Under a gray, heavy-bellied sky that threatened a downpour, the alleyways of Manchester's 3rd District were thick with the acrid scent of paper and industrial paste since the crack of dawn.
New posters were slapped over the ones pasted just last night, only for someone else's hand to daub fresh glue over them—or tear them down entirely.
The slogans on the banners were remarkably uniform.
Revolution, reform, security, bread, housing, electricity.
Yet, disparate colors and symbols inflated the weight of these same words.
To the grinding cadence of tram wires screeching against the collectors, Arthur O'Connor was the first to take his place in line at the corner by the polling station.
He made no effort to conceal his mark of the Infected, idly tracing the bandages wrapped around the back of his hand.
Madeleine Durand, standing behind him, asked in a voice still tinged with a faint Gaulish accent.
"Arthur, who will you be casting your vote for?"
Arthur offered a sharp, curt laugh.
"Who am I voting for? I look first at who promises to increase safety inspections, then at who offers better rations, and finally, who builds the housing."
At this, Conner McIntyre, a young Sarkaz with horns of an impressive curvature, cut in from the side.
"By that logic, you're describing the same four groups. You might as well just vote for everyone except the Liberal Party."
"Heh, one might think they're all the same, but the moment you stand before the ballot box, things look different."
Madeleine nodded in silent agreement.
Hans Weber, positioned behind them, began organizing the line.
His Leithanien inflection weighed heavily upon the queue.
"Stand in line, keep the interval tight. Have your identification ready."
Fiona McKenna, wearing the brassard of a polling observer, sorted through stationery at the entrance of the station.
"Pencils go here, the stamp pad is there. We have plenty of reserve ballots."
Beside her, Michael wiped down the dividers of the voting booths.
"It being a school, it's covered in all sorts of stains. If I clean up the ink the children left behind, maybe the day will go smoothly."
The same scenery repeated across every district in the city.
The elementary school opposite the factory in the Liz 2nd District, the church basement auditorium in Sheffield 1st District, the tram depot in Newcastle 4th District.
Long-named parties and short-named parties, new factions and old-guard factions—they all vied for space on the same ballot.
The UTSSR-Social Revolutionary Workers' League, UTSSR-Centralists, UTSSR-Alliance for Hopeful Progress, UTSSR-Liberty League, the Liberal Party, the Manchester Independent Labour Party, and Independents.
An old man, struggling to distinguish between the plethora of listed names, asked his grandson standing at the front of the line.
"Tell me, what is that—the one with the name so long it leaves one breathless?"
The grandson whispered back with a smile.
"Grandfather, that's where the labor unions have gathered."
"Then is that the one that promised fewer factory accidents?"
"If you only count that, there are three or four just like it."
The old man nodded.
"Well, if there are many places looking out for us, that's a good thing."
By lunchtime, the city's bakeries were uncharacteristically quiet.
The parks, usually crowded on Saturdays since the advent of the five-day work week, were desolate today.
Everyone was at the polling stations.
Inside the tram, the radio held by Jean-Pierre Leroux let out a faint, static breath.
"Turn it down, it's a disturbance."
At the command of tram conductor Alfred Grierson, he nodded.
**********************************************
"The counting begins at six," they said.
At six in the evening, the seals on the ballot boxes at the Manchester 3rd District stadium were applied in sequence and stamped.
Observers exchanged paperwork and signed.
Instead of church bells, the blare of truck horns echoed.
Every time a truck shifted, the wooden radio in the corner of the plaza crackled.
It was the signal marking the start of the first counting broadcast.
As children gathered, the adults yielded their seats.
Before the sun had fully set, radio waves engulfed the Union.
"This is the All-Union Radio Station. November 10th, coverage of the by-election returns begins now. This election fills 1,780 newly established seats. Current time is 18:30, counting completion at 1%. The first returns come from the city university districts and medical wards, where statistical processing is swift. We remind you that initial trends can be overturned at any moment."
The voice was stoic, the edges of its words precise. Then, another signal intruded.
"This is the Voice of the People! Comrades of the factories, shipyards, and paper mills, lock your frequencies. We see this through the eyes of the workers. Today's vote will become tomorrow's wages, tomorrow's safety, and tomorrow's culture. First news: Sheffield 2nd District, the Social Revolutionary Workers' League is in the lead!"
Though it sounded as if cheers and applause were erupting within the studio, a different cadence mixed in on the adjacent frequency.
"This is Philadelphia Liberty Radio. Reporting from the City of Liberty. We bring news of the Liberty League, speaking for autonomy, solidarity, and community freedom, and the voices of true liberty defending the rights of citizens and human rights. Manchester 1st District, University Zone: Liberty League candidate Eileen Maddock in the lead."
The faces of those gathered in the plaza rippled in tune with the radio's narrative.
The young cheered, while the elderly leaned in closer.
McIntyre's ear tips twitched at the vibration of the radio.
"Confusing, isn't it?" Madeleine smiled, and Conner replied.
"It's only just begun."
**************************************************
Counting at 10%.
Official-Union Radio unfolded a map.
"Current trends: Liberty League and Social Revolutionary Workers' League showing strength in city university areas, dockyards, and artist enclaves. The Centralists are weaker than expected in public housing developments and administrative centers. However, rural areas and the Central Industrial Belt have yet to report."
The Voice of the People plugged its microphone into the Sheffield Union Hall.
"We shall watch throughout the night from here. Just now, in Liz 3rd District, the joint candidate of the Liz Workers' Council is narrowly edging out the Centralist candidate Karahan— ah... a reversal, it is tied again."
Slogans flooded the studio and surged violently into the plaza.
Philadelphia Liberty Radio raised its tone.
"The Liberty League's proposals for community urban parks are translating into votes. Strengthening resident council powers, permanent zoning for residential planning, expanded communal experiments. The phrase 'The State is distant, the neighbor is near' is resonating with the youth."
***************************************
Counting at 25%.
The numbers leaped from the radio.
"Confirmed winners: Social Revolutionary Workers' League 198, Liberty League 160, Centralists 152, Alliance for Hopeful Progress 40, Liberal Party 26, Others 1."
The air in the plaza turned humid.
Arthur, having voted for the Centralists, removed his hat to smooth it out before pressing it back onto his head.
"That's how the start usually looks."
Fiona answered.
"The countryside is slow, after all."
Coverage of the counting stations followed.
In the Liz 2nd District gymnasium, layers of seals were stacked high, while in Newcastle 4th District, observer Thomas Doyle demanded a re-signature.
"Here, on this line. The stamp has blurred."
The official in charge, Matilda Lacroix, calmly stamped again.
"Well, let's be thorough. Tonight is long."
*************************************
Counting at 40%.
Union Radio took a live feed from a warehouse counting station in the Central Industrial Belt.
"Manchester 5th District: a Centralist reversal has begun. The analysis suggests that expanded rations and intensified safety inspections have translated into votes within the factory blocks. As two more boxes open, the trend will become clearer."
The Voice of the People issued an immediate retort.
"Even in the industrial belt, in areas where unions are strong, the Social Revolutionary Workers' League continues to lead. The more potent the union's bargaining power, the more they field their own candidates. Today, votes are cast based on merit, not on a hierarchy of solidarity."
Philadelphia Liberty Radio reported from the countryside.
Yorkshire Plains 1st District: Helga Stoltz, the cooperative farm manager, gave an interview.
"Our village believed in the New Village Movement, and new roads, new roofs, new machinery—they all arrived as the government promised. It isn't a matter of who raised the promise first, but who actually sent the tractors that got the votes."
The host nodded.
"Then, Ms. Helga—"
She replied.
"I voted for the Centralists, but the house next door voted for the Social Revolutionary Workers' League. The team leader at the ration station is for the Alliance for Hopeful Progress. We haven't been fighting."
*************************************
Counting at 55%.
The first major battleground reached a conclusion.
Manchester 3rd District: George Hamilton, an aging Centralist incumbent cadre, edged out the newcomer Louise Aubert of the Social Revolutionary Workers' League by a narrow margin.
The radio cried out in unison.
Union Radio declared:
"The Centralists secure an additional seat."
The Voice of the People screamed immediately.
"A neck-and-neck region within the margin of error, it will likely flip in the next election."
Liberty Radio commented, "The Liberty League candidate came in third but exceeded 30%—as expected, this constituency has a strong leaning toward civic autonomy."
Madeleine, standing in the plaza, let out a breath.
"Grandpa George was elected."
Arthur nodded.
"It's a district with many households benefiting from the safety inspectors."
***********************************
Counting at 70%.
In the second wave, the Centralists' blue bar slowly lengthened.
It raced against the red bar of the Social Revolutionary Workers' League, their edges grazing one another.
The difference was roughly 10 seats. The green bar of the Alliance for Hopeful Progress scooped up the ambiguous middle ground as promised.
Their entry into parliament followed in the Yorkshire Belt and the small towns of the Pennine foothills.
Philadelphia Liberty Radio visualized the Liberty League's dominance by aggregating the city's small electoral districts.
"Green dots are popping up like jewels in the city's Sarkaz communities, park belts, artist zones, and university towns."
The Voice of the People countered with numbers. "The red dots in the rural districts are larger, and they are broader."
Union Radio concluded, "30% remains yet to be counted."
********************************************
Counting at 85%.
The three districts that would dictate the results were called by different names on every broadcast, tossed to and fro in debate.
Sheffield 2nd, Liz 5th, Yorkshire Plains 3rd.
In Sheffield 2nd, Vera Schmidt, a Social Revolutionary Workers' League candidate formerly a steel union head, pulled ahead of the Centralist candidate by 200 votes.
In Liz 5th, Alex Flenner, a young Centralist technocrat, flipped back and forth with a former field supervisor from the Social Revolutionary Workers' League.
In Yorkshire Plains 3rd, the Alliance for Hopeful Progress candidate O'Brien squeezed between the two giants to take a slim lead.
The noise of the plaza trembled like a piano tremolo.
***************************************
11:20 PM, the counting for Sheffield 2nd concluded.
The Voice of the People shouted first.
"Vera Schmidt, elected!"
Inside the studio, someone quietly hummed The Internationale.
Then 11:30 PM, Liz 5th.
Union Radio's composed tone.
"Alex Flenner, Centralists hold the fort."
11:38 PM, Yorkshire Plains 3rd.
Philadelphia Liberty Radio's low, long breath.
"Alliance for Hopeful Progress, James O'Brien, gold badge acquired."
***********************************
Counting at 95%.
The numbers were rearranged for the final tally.
The Centralists held a slender lead; the Social Revolutionary Workers' League followed with breath on their neck.
The Liberty League firmly secured their urban fortresses, and the Liberal Party continued to campaign tirelessly at the 100-seat mark.
Beside the plaza radio, Hans Weber traced bars in the air with his finger as he calculated, while Fiona bit her lip.
"One seat, two seats... it's razor-thin."
Just before midnight, the Federal Election Commission finally switched on the microphone at the press conference. Union Radio gathered its breath and opened the signal.
"This is Union Radio. We now bring you the final results of the by-election. Total vote completion 100%. Final results: Centralists 618 seats, Social Revolutionary Workers' League 604 seats, Alliance for Hopeful Progress 162 seats, Liberty League 276 seats, Liberal Party 118 seats, Others 2 seats. Total 1,780 seats. Voter turnout recorded at 72.4%. Void ballot rate 1.8%."
The plaza fell quiet for a moment.
And then, like a crashing wave, cheers and sighs collided.
Conner McIntyre covered his ears with both hands before laughing.
"Barely held on."
Arthur took off his hat and pressed it to his chest.
"Now, time to get to work."
Madeleine turned off the radio and drew it closer.
The plaza, now silent of the broadcast, remained alive with the voices of the people.
Jean-Pierre Leroux extended his arm to support the elderly man beside him.
"Let's head back."
The old man nodded and asked.
"Who did you vote for today?"
Jean-Pierre smiled.
"That's a secret."
The old man did not ask again.
Instead, he looked toward the sky.
A drift of clouds veiled the moonlight, and behind it, something resembling a star moved at a glacial pace.
In the narrow alleyways of the Manchester 3rd District factory blocks, the sound of a violin drifted through a window.
Someone was ensuring the late weekend night was not spent in vain.
Conner stared at a poster in front of the ration station on the roadside.
Next week's recommended performance, next month's new book, next year's new roads, new roofs, and new machinery.
The city's tram lines clawed at the night once more.
Inside the tram, Hans Weber looked out the window, splaying and curling his palms.
Stains of ink remained between his calluses.
Ink from the polling station.
As he clenched his fist again, Arthur O'Connor spoke.
"Still, right now, our hands smell more of ink than industrial grease."
Hans laughed.
"I hope that scent lingers for a long time."
The night was deep, and the radio frequencies slowly faded.
But the city was not quiet.
In meeting rooms and union offices in every district, before maps hung on the walls, fledgling parliamentary aides drew lines with lead pencils and erased sentences with erasers.
Upon the lines where 618 and 604 crossed, 162, 276, and 118 leaned back and settled.
No one held an absolute majority, and no one could let go of the hand of the other.
A child pulled their mother's hand.
"Mom, let's go to the library tomorrow."
The mother replied with a smile, "Of course, let's borrow a book tomorrow. How about a fairy tale?"
The child asked in follow-up.
"And when does Dad rest?"
The mother looked to the sky. "Dad rests tomorrow. They set it by law, you know."
The child nodded.
"Then let's go to the park with Dad tomorrow."
The city summoned tomorrow in advance, just like that.
So that tonight, measured by numbers, might connect to the tomorrow rewritten by the footsteps of the people.
And so that the hand holding onto that tomorrow might retain the scent of today's ink just a little longer.
And the hour and minute hands of the clock merged, pointing to the exact hour.