Catalyst by Lydia Kang

like a lumpy L shape. But there are flat lines that look like doors and windows, and a little island in the center.
    “Wait a second.” I scan our surroundings. This isn’t a map of Inky. It’s a map of this magtrain atrium. So Level One clearance only gets us to the doors of this stupid station?
    Just then, a young girl with striped red-and-black braids breaks apart from a line of people waiting to leave the atrium.
    “No. I can’t. I’m going back to my mom,” she says as the leader makes a grab for her arm. “I’ll take the magtrain back. I don’t care about the stipend. I’m goin’ home.” The guards smirk knowingly at each other but don’t try to stop her. The girl dashes to the arched doorways leading back to the magtrain platform.
    A muffled bang echoes inside the atrium. We all cower defensively, trying to dodge whatever caused the shot or explosion. The only person in our group who hasn’t flinched is Micah.
    The girl screams. Her shriek echoes so loudly that the building itself sounds like it’s in agony. She hits the ground hard, her legs scrabbling and twisting in the heavy fabric of the cloak.
    Two guards walk calmly over. “Not a normal day without at least one runner.”
    One of them speaks into his red bracelet. “Medical and sanitation to the atrium please.” Together, they pull her back through the arch and into the atrium, leaving a trail of smeared red blood on the pristine floor. The girl moans repetitively, Why why why why why.
    Blood pools by her body in shades of scarlet, coming from somewhere I can’t see.
    “Aren’t they going to help her?” I ask. I automatically turn to Cy. He was the medic when we lived at Carus—I’ve had only a year of holo training. But Cy’s still in shock. He seems terrified to do anything. When no one makes a motion to help her, I run forward to the girl’s side. She’s clutching her right arm, and crimson stains her cloak darkly.
    “Oh geez, you’re hemorrhaging.” I bend closer. “Shh. Calm down. I’m going to try to stop the bleeding.” I lift her arm and a thin spray of cherry-red blood shoots out. Instinctively, I grab her wrist and she howls in pain. It’s squishy and hot, and bone shards meet my palm.
    Her hand. It’s gone.
    “Oh god, oh god!” she screams. “It hurts!”
    I immediately grasp her stump with both hands, holding pressure on what’s left of her wrist. “Someone get some bandages! Rip a piece of clothing, anything!” I bark.
    The guards don’t even respond. Their lack of empathy is chilling. Cy finally jerks out of his shocked state and runs to the satchel I dropped. When he brings one of Caliga’s cloth bandages over, I whisper to him hoarsely.
    “Holy shit. What happened here?”
    “Look,” he says, and points.
    Shards of shattered bracelet lay on the platform. In the center is a hand. A disembodied hand lying palm up, the dead fingers pointing to the magtrain, her failed destination.
    I blink several times, but the vision of the grisly severed hand won’t disappear. It merges with the memory of my father’s hand, mangled on the street after his fatal magpod crash. With horrifying clarity, I can still see his gold wedding ring gleaming against torn flesh.
    Red-clad medical techs arrive to whisk her away, leaving a garnet stain on the white floor.
    “Messy way to enforce citizenship, but it works,” Micah comments quietly, waving us to an exit. He’s wearing a red bracelet too. He’s as trapped as we are.
    Micah touches his bracelet to a sensor at one of the arched ivory doors. One by one, we walk out.
    Fancy new magpods in all different colors zoom on the road before us. The buildings are all oval-shaped and shades of pale—cream, buttery yellow, chalky blue. Like fancy Easter candies fell out of the clouds and embedded themselves into Inky. Not a single building has windows.
    “Where are we again?” Caliga asks.
    “Coventry. A small city near the border of Ilmo,” Micah explains.
    Before long,