SUBJECT: AG6448                   
MISCONDUCT: DISRESPECT TOWARD THE BEES
PUNISHMENT: DEATH IN FORTY SECONDS

          I stare dully at the screen of my watch as I hold onto the handrail above me, the train rocking back and forth, back and forth. All across the city, everyone is staring at their watch, staring at the words flashing in red. Everyone will know of his misconduct. His family will be humiliated. Shunned.

          His screams rip through the air, tear through the steady rumble of the train as two of those black and yellow striped bodies hover above him, kept afloat by metallic wings. Their robotic stings whirl in victory, glassy black eyes automatically capturing and storing his every move. They see everything. They are the watchers of this city, keeping an eye out for misconduct. They see everything. Everything. From the way his dirty, unkempt nails claw at his face to the messy state of his clothes—they see everything.
          My legs tremble as red numbers appear on the screen of my watch. First 40. Then 39. Then 38.
          "No,” he moans. His voice comes out muffled from behind his hands as he rocks back and forth on the ground. “Accident. Accident. It was an accident.” His voice is a weak cry for help in a sea of corpses. No one approaches him, no one helps him off the ground. Barely anyone dares to look at him. We are only a cluster of flesh and bone and hard, forced labor.

          The Bees in front of him remain abnormally still and unmoving, simply buzzing away, unaffected by his crumbled state.
His agonized wail pierces the air once more as his calloused hands clamp onto his face and through the cracks in his fingers, I can make it out. The red. I shudder. This is the second time I’ve seen it now.
          …34…33…32… The numbers on my wrist continue to flash. A lump forms in my throat. Time passes too slowly and I want this to be over with. I do not want to stand and watch. My knuckles tighten on the handrail above me.   
          “Accident! It was an accident!” This time he removes his hands from his face so that the red mark on his left cheek where they stung him and marked him forever is visible to everyone. I flinch. “It was an accident! The train was moving and I bumped into them by accident! By accident! Accident!” he cries helplessly. His words come out rushed, pour out of his mouth almost incoherently.  No one on the train responds. The only sounds anyone can hear are the monotonous buzzings and rumbling of the train that carries on as if oblivious to the screams bleeding out from its insides.
          The number on my watch is now 30.
          Ten seconds have gone by. Thirty more to go.
           “I didn’t do anything!” His pale orbs are ablaze in fear as he looks around wildly, trying to catch an eye that isn’t afraid to meet his. Accidentally, our eyes meet and for an instant, time stops and the numbers on our watches seem to stop flashing. No words are exchanged. Just a million messages overflowing with too much fear and terror to comprehend.
           …27…26…25…
          “I didn’t do anything! I didn’t!” His gaze still holds mine. But for some reason, I can't respond. Can't even move. I should tell him that it'll be okay. That he'll always be treasured by friends and family. I don't. I can't speak, can't move. Can barely hear him. All I hear is the sound of buzzing. Buzzing. Buzzing. What’s wrong with me?
          …22…21…20…
          Once the number reaches 20, he melts into panic. Jerks his gaze away from mine. Drops to his knees in front of the Bees. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he screams but to no avail. They keep buzzing.

          I avert my eyes. I do not want to look. I can’t look. All it will do is give me even more of a reason to jump in. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do that. The stakes are too high. No matter how much it pains me, I cannot interfere. No one should. Not interfering is essential to survival. Watch, if you can, but never interfere with the Bees.
          …15…14…13…
          In his state of agony, he can muster no words. I can hear his fists pounding against the ground, hear his scream of anguish, one that makes my stomach curl and sends shivers buzzing down my arms and legs. My hands cling to the handrail tightly, my knuckles turning deathly pale. If I didn’t, my body would react on its own, lunge toward the man and play hero.
          But I cannot, I cannot, I cannot. The risks are too high.
          …10…9…8…7…
          I wonder if he had a family. A wife. Maybe a little girl he’d pull into his arms every night after an exhausting day of work and tell bedtime stories to and kiss her goodnight.
          No. I cannot, I cannot, I cannot.
          …6…5…4…
          I wonder if he dropped her off at school, kissed her goodbye as he left for work today. Was that really goodbye? Would I make it goodbye?
          My grip almost loosens.
          I can see him pleading and begging. Tears stream down his face.
          I cannot. I cannot. I cannot.
          Could I? Should I?
          He looks weaker. His eyes glaze. Head lolls forward. Body sways.
          I cannot. I cannot. I cannot.
          My right hand leaves the handrail. My left follows.
          …3…2…
          Color drains out of his cheeks.
          …1…
          Too late.
          …0…
          Thud.