The clocks were striking forty, and the day had just begun. For what seemed like the thousandth time, Rarity looked out her window, sighing, wondering how this all came to be. She kept the thought to herself—there was no tolerance for dissent in the Neighbourhoods, especially not in First. In Eleventh, Rarity thought, there would be more tolerance for such things. She foraged through her memory for an article in the paper that had mentioned such a fact—catching sight of a tall building in the near distance, she promptly cleared her mind of the notion. It was far more important to deal with the uncompromising clock tower, which took advantage of her idle thoughts by displaying a menacing “forty-point-two” in solid red lettering—digitized, of course, as per the usual.
There was no time to think—thinking was a waste of time. Rarity still hadn’t gotten the hang of that yet. She slipped quickly through the wooden door of her home; thankfully, it was on the lower floor in one of the taller residences in First. Any higher and she’d have to take the lift—she shuddered. Two hours with nothing but the Colour plastered against the lift’s wall and an odd smell of rotten cabbage and burnt bread was rather undesirable compared to her current living conditions. It took her only two seconds to be out her door and into the hallway, and only three more to reach the glorious outdoors, and that quickness meant extra time.
Rotten cabbage, she thought. It was probably that poor stallion on the third floor. Celestia help him—or rather, Zero help him, but she hadn’t gotten used to that rule either. The Neighbourhood Watch would be after him in no time, for allowing any wastage of food, especially letting it rot, would be considered hoarding and neglect of valuable resources—both of which were absolutely forbidden, as were a great many other things. Rarity never kept food in her living space for exactly that reason.
Forty-point-five. Rarity thanked the great Zero—she remembered this time to thank the right pony, both to her delight and her dismay—for there being ten minutes in every twenty-hour day allotted towards getting to work. Five minutes too late and the Watch would have come looking for her. Down a paved road that smelled of fresh paint—renovations all over First, but for what purpose Rarity did not know—she quickened her pace. Not too slowly as to risk being late, but not too quickly as to arouse suspicion. She did not know which would have been worse, nor did she want to find out.
Forty-point-seven. The smell of paint was particularly strong in front of the clock tower, which now stood lofty in front of Rarity in all of its brick-laden, Colour-covered glory. She noted the current Colour, a shade of silver that she did not remember the specific name of, and sighed. It wasn’t the perfect choice to keep all of the Neighbourhoods inspired and happy for this week, but it would have to do for now.
She slipped through the tower’s glass doors, allowing only a short squeak to escape its hinges; several nearby ponies, all sitting on a row of chairs on either side of the room, gave her a quick, stern look. One of them is most certainly an undercover Watch agent, Rarity figured—better not to show that suspicion on her face. With a straight face and in haughty form, she walked over to the front desk and met a grey-coated old unicorn—Rarity could never tell, thanks to the huskiness of the fellow unicorn's voice and its long, curled eyelashes, whether it was a mare or a stallion.
'Is your designated nickname "Rarity"?' the husky voice began, sounding rather flat in tone—complementing the steady silence that filled the room and its totally-grey decor.
'Yes it is, Ten,' Rarity replied. Ten gave her a stern look—she must have gotten her number wrong.
'Nine died last night. They placed me as Nine in her stead—speaking of which, something similar happened to you.' As Ten—Nine, spoke, Rarity's ears perked up. 'Your living arrangements are the same as they are now, but a worker down in the garment district died of natural causes. You are now assigned as Forty.'
Rarity cringed, and promptly hid it away from Nine. Nine is so close to Zero; perhaps it was he—or she, whatever the case—that was the one to worry about, and not the Neighborhood Watch. The thought she had to worry about was her own dissentful ones, since she knew it wasn't natural causes that took the life of both the last Nine and the last Forty; Rarity was Forty-Two just a few seconds before.
'Besides a higher title, you are not eligible for future changes to your life as of right now. Your terms of employment remain the same.' A grey aura—unsurprising, Rarity thought—covered a stack of papers, which were promptly shuffled through until one sheet in particular stuck out. 'Ah, orders from Zero himself. “The heat of summer appears to be bearing down on all Neighbourhoods, and the pegasi—' Nine curled her lips into a tight frown '—can't seem to compensate enough for it. You are to reflect summer's wrath and showcase the greatness of the winter through your choosing of the Colour.”.'
Easy enough. 'Thank you, Nine. Will the other Neighbourhoods have enough time to change the streets to match the Colour before the following week?'
Nine gave her another stern look. 'Zero always knows best, and nothing he orders ever comes in late. Dissent is not tolerated, Forty. I think it's best that you do not question anyone of a higher title than yourself.'
Rarity gulped—but she did not mean to show her anxiety so readily, and so she hastily made her way up the staircase to the back of the room. Once she was free of prying eyes—she was never free of such things, but her mind felt it owed her a little white lie for once—beads of sweat formed down her forehead. As she made her way up the staircase, breathing in and out, she cleared her mind of its strife. She did not believe in it, but the familiar chant of Many Is Righteousness; One Is Evil; Righteousness Triumphs Evil, as it echoed from a nearby loudspeaker, gave her a feeling of relaxation and calmness. Her tense body evened out, and the sweat ceased.
On the fifth floor, a plain door stood facing Rarity. Without hesitation, she entered, although unsure of whether she could complete her task to Zero’s satisfaction. She had never seen him, but the thought of displeasing him was absurd... and dangerous. Inside, a
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