[ 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 .

His wife rustled beside him as he rose. Eric made sure to move quietly so she would n't wake, it was early and the night sky had just begun to break with a faint glow. He had n't slept, his mind was too restless. 
 
 He shuffled out to the porch and sat down in his armchair. His eyes adjusted to the dim light as he lit a cigarette and looked around. There were boxes everywhere, piled up from floor to ceiling, except for the space by the window. This was his favorite spot in the house, every day he would watch the sunrise from here before heading to work. Where his neighbor would have been was replaced with farmland, acres of golden wheat ready for harvest in the coming month. The sun would rise over it in a few hours, spilling colors of all kinds over the horizon. 
 
 He was grateful for his placement this time. The fields and farmlands of District 114 were a welcome break from the bustling streets and crowded shops of 103, the cramped multi-family complexes of 92, or the shanty homes of 85. He had worked hard these past years, starting out as nothing more than a glorified street sweeper in District 39. That job was ran by the Center for Standardized Housing, the people responsible for deciding where you get to live after your test. He had gotten in good with one of the head executives when he cleaned up a multiple-homicide gang shootout that had ended in a bloody mess on their front lawn. 
 
 That first move took the longest, apparently they always do. Building up trust in District 39 is about as easy as you would think. The Officials do n't trust anyone down there, and for good reason. Eric was an ex-con, only allowed to live in the bottom quarter of society until his term was up. Even in the years after his sentence, moving up took time, money, and contacts. 
 
 Eric chuckled to himself as he thought back, finding it funny that all it took was 6 people to get murdered before he got himself an in. He had made the best of a bad situation, and it had worked out in his favor. That was 23 years 8 months and 2 days ago, not that he was counting. Since then he had been busy, he did n't have any money, so he became useful. Exactly seven years after the shootout he made his first move. From District 39 to District 44, only a small victory and honestly not much difference between the two, but he had regained hope. This is the process he continued, throughout every district he moved to. 
 
 Move up, get your name out, get in with The Officials, and repeat. 
 
 This morning was that morning. He was all set to move, boxes packed, movers scheduled, wife and kid sound asleep. He had turned his life around, met the love of his life in District 78, and was now moving again, scheduled to be in District 150 by this afternoon. It felt right, a nice clean number, even, and in the top quarter of society. His reputation had spread through the districts, and he had been offered a more permanent housing situation in District 150, where he could work as an Official until he retired. As he stared out the window, looking out on the now-rising sun, he beamed, his thoughts only interrupted by the knock on the door. 
 
 `` Eric Stratton?'' The man at the door wore the classic outfit of The Officials. Double breasted navy suit jacket, white collared button down, red striped tie, and a small triangle pin on his lapel. 
 
 `` Yes sir, everything is packed up for you. If you'll follow me I can show you where...'' 
 
 `` I'm going to need you to step out here slowly. You'll be coming with us.'' The man stated, a little too blunt for Eric's liking. 
 
 Eric took a step back, his hand still firmly on the door, `` What? No, I'm moving today. You guys are n't...'' 
 
 Suddenly there were two men crashing through the door. Eric stumbled back as a firm hand grasped around his neck, and felt a hard jab in his ribs. The next thing he could see was the ground, fast approaching, as his face slammed into the concrete walkway outside his front door. It took every ounce of him not to cry out, but he was worried about waking his child inside. 
 
 As he was dragged down the walkway, he noticed a blacked out car idling on the street. The man who had knocked stood there, holding the back door open. The vehicle had no windows, the doors were thicker than normal, and inside the back seat there was nothing, only a single chain bolted to the floor. 
 
 `` What is this about?'' Eric spat out, blood and saliva dripping down his chin `` I've done nothing wrong!'' 
 
 `` Mr. Stratton you've been ID'd as the guilty party in the murder of 21 individuals, from 9 different districts.'' The man said calmly, his voice almost robotic, `` As someone whose gone through this before I think you know what this means.'' 
 
 `` I do n't know what you're talking about! This is crazy!'' 
 
 They stopped right before the car, and Eric crumpled to his knees. He turned his head to try and face the man by the door. 
 
 `` Mr. Stratton.'' The man whispered as he leaned in close, `` You think we did n't know? You think we brought you along because we trusted you?'' The man let out a small chuckle, `` Mr. Stratton, we know everything.'' 
 
 Eric let his head droop down for a moment, trying to grasp what he was being told. The man nodded towards the car and his captors grabbed at him, picking him off the ground and throwing him inside the welded steel cab. 
 
 `` No! No! No!'' Eric fought with all he had, but his head was fuzzy and his strength gave way. `` You ca n't do this! Where are you taking me?'' 
 
 The man by the door turned to look at Eric, one hand gripping the vehicles armored door. The vehicle started with a low rumble, muffled by the soundproofed cab. He looked at Eric through mirrored sunglasses and smiled. 
 
 `` One'' 
 
 The man by the door swung it closed, and Eric was encased in darkness.
