You take the white bus today. Traffic is usually bad this time of day, so you would rather play it safe and guarantee that you get to work on time.

Unfortunately for you, you live in Obezag, a dictatorship that you wish you could escape from. The trashed streets and extremely impoverished residents are reflective of the corrupt, selfish government that rules over you. You work at the ONOC, the Obezag National Office of Censorship. Your job is to scan all mail entering and exiting the country and censor anything that could potentially be illegal or treasonous. In Obezag, all mail must be officially deemed “lawful” and certified with a green stamp to pass through the system. If an ONOC worker, including you, finds a piece of mail to be dangerous or possibly treasonous, a large “W.F.I.” will be stamped on it in bright red, indicating a warrant for investigation. If mail is flagged with a red stamp, it is sent to the head of the ONOC, where it will be probed and inspected by several officials for any suspicious messages or double meanings that could prove dangerous to the state. Regardless of the content of the letter, once it gets sent to the ONOC head, the writer is done for. He or she will inevitably be disappeared by the state.

Despite the obvious disadvantages of working for the government of Obezag, your job has enabled you to essentially cheat the system. You have written a letter to your sister Maria, and you want to make sure it gets sent to her. To do this, you will clear it on the censoring floor, where you work, and make sure it does not get flagged for investigation. It currently sits hidden in your briefcase in a bright, orange envelope. The only difference between your escaping Obezag and your being dead is this letter reaching Maria.

As you hold onto the briefcase tightly, the bus screeches to a halt, and the dirty concrete steps of the ONOC become visible. You step off of the bus and look up at the thick, dark clouds covering the sky. 6:58, your wristwatch reads.

You stride towards the door and grab the handle, which has been wetted by a drizzle of rain. You enter the building and see Mr. Castigo in his office, surrounded by glass walls and big potted plants. You make eye contact with him and wave at him with one hand, but, as usual, he looks away. As you walk towards the elevator, your eyes trace the dark carpeted floor beneath you.

Ding. The elevator opens.

“What floor?” the man inside asks.

“Two, please.” You smile at him. I’ve never seen this guy before, you think to

yourself, maybe he’s new.

You step out onto the second floor, and, to your surprise, the man in the elevator with you steps out too.

“Are you new here?” you ask.

“Got hired yesterday. They had an open position for another censor to work this floor.” 

“I’m the censor overseer of this floor. It’s nice to meet you, sir. What’s your name?” 

“Tomas. Good to meet you too.”

Surprised that you weren’t informed about the new hire on your floor, you head over to your desk. Your plan is to sneak the letter to Maria onto your desk and secretly clear it through to mailing. Because of the new, extra pair of eyes watching you, finding the right time to do it may be a bit more difficult, but you tell yourself that it will work out.

A few hours pass, and it is almost time for lunch. You decide that it is time to pull out your letter. You reach into your briefcase on the floor and move your hand around the pocket in which you placed the brightly colored envelope. To your surprise, the letter isn’t in the mesh pocket you put it in earlier that morning. It must have fallen out of the pocket, you tell yourself, and dig around the bottom of the briefcase. A feeling of sheer terror overcomes you when you still cannot feel the letter in the bag. Beads of sweat begin to form on your forehead, and your eyes dance across the room, trying to catch a glimpse of the bright orange envelope, but it is nowhere to be found.

Maybe it fell out in the elevator? Or downstairs? You jump out of your seat and run into the elevator. Your heart sinks when you see the floor of the elevator clean, no envelope in sight. As the elevator dings and the door opens to the bottom floor, you storm out, your heart racing in your chest. You see Mr. Castigo in his office through the glass walls and Tomas, the new guy, walking towards his office.You heart sinks when you see the flash of orange in his hand.

You feel your legs start to shake, and your arms feel weak. Your eyes are focused on Mr. Castigo and the new guy. Feeling paralyzed, you have no clue what to do next.

“Tomas!” you yell across the room.

He glances over at you, still walking towards the door of the office. You sprint towards him and grab his hand before he can knock on Mr. Castigo’s door.

“What are you doing? That is mine!” You look down at his hand, holding the bright envelope.

“Sir, please get out of my way,” he says, avoiding eye contact.

“I’ll give you money. As much money as you want. Please, Tomas,” you beg.

“Twenty-thousand dollars or I show this letter to Castigo,” he says. You sigh. You have nowhere near that kind of money.

“Fine. Please, let’s go upstairs and work this out, Tomas.”

You follow Tomas to the elevator, your letter still in his grasp. As you travel up the dingy elevator, a thought comes to your mind. Maybe you could figure out a way to send Maria the letter without having to pay Tomas. You could frame Tomas for writing a treasonous letter, and, once he’s arrested, send your letter. 

Do you frame Tomas or pay up?

“Twenty- thousand dollars, I said,” Tomas repeats, stuffing the orange envelope in his jacket pocket.

I can’t get away with framing him. He’ll just show them my letter.

“I heard you.” You fish out all of the cash you have floating around in your wallet, but you and Tomas both know that $43 will not pay for your life.

“That’s not enough,” Tomas brilliantly remarks.“Twenty-thousand or I turn you in.  Today.”

“Look, I can’t get you that much today. Maybe by the end of the week,” you reply. “By the end of the week, I promise.”

The week ends, and you’ve only been able to give Tomas around $4,000. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t pay up.”

“Look, Tomas. I just don’t have that much money. But in a few months-”

“You said you would have the money by the end of the week.”

“Tomas, I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t have-”

Before you can even finish your sentence, Tomas turns away and storms towards the elevator.

“Tomas, please,” you plead, chasing after him. He closes the elevator door before you can get in. “Tomas!” you yell, but he’s already gone.

You run down the flight of stairs.

“Tomas, please!” you yell across the room. But he doesn’t listen.

You freeze, and through the glass that surrounds Mr. Castiago’s office, you watch Tomas turn you in. Tomas points at you, and Mr. Castiago looks up and then back down.

I’m dead, you think to yourself.

You turn around and step into the elevator. You press the button and travel back up to your floor, expecting a horde of guards to find you at any minute. You sit back at your desk, accepting your fate. You knew from the beginning that you didn’t have enough money to give him. You should have chosen differently.

You hear the growing stomp of boots in the stairwell. The stampede gets louder and louder until it stops for just a moment. Then, a loud boom, and the stairwell door busts open.

Your thoughts start to jumble together as you consider framing Tomas.

I’m gonna write another letter with Tomas’s signature at the bottom. And then I’ll take it to Castigo and get Tomas arrested and maybe killed, that idiot, but then I’ll write another letter and I’ll be out of here for good-

“Twenty-thousand dollars today, or I turn you in.”

“I can’t get it to you today, Tomas, but I can definitely have it by the end of the week. You have my word.”

“Fine, but I’m keeping this with me until you pay up,” he says, holding up the letter and stuffing it into his pocket.

The next day, when you come into work, you bring a new letter with you, this time in a beige envelope. At the bottom of this very treasonous letter is Tomas’s signature. You don’t even bother going upstairs and facing that idiot. You walk straight into Mr. Castigo’s office.

“Hi, sir. I wanted to speak with you about a letter I found yesterday at Tomas’ desk. I shouldn’t have been snooping around his desk, but it just seemed suspicious to me that he was trying to clear his own letter for mailing. And when I read it, it all made sense. Here, just read it and see for yourself.”

Castigo scans the paper for a minute or so, his expression blank. “Thank you for your help,” he responds. “I will take care of this.” 

“Thank you so much Mr. Castigo.”

You ride the elevator back to the second floor and sit down at your desk, feeling relieved.

Tomas approaches you, making sure to flash the orange envelope at you. “Where is my money?” he prods.

“I told you, I’ll have it by the end of the week.”

“Fine. But I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow. That money better be in my hands in the next three days.

But the next day, not to your surprise, Tomas doesn’t show up to work. Nor does he show up the day after that. By the end of the week, Tomas’s belongings have been removed from his desk, and a replacement sits in his chair.