Dystopian fiction opening

Pain shot up Micheals leg, he glared accusingly at the low coffee table as he hopped on one leg almost comically around the small cluttered apartment. “Dammit” he muttered under his breath, contempt lacing his voice, the sofa on the other side of the room attempted to seduce him into sitting down for a minute and wait for the pain to subside. He let that thought linger for a moment, savouring the idea of real rest, however he did not have that luxury today, he had already been late this week and he would almost definitely be arrested if he missed even a second of Enrichment. Hobbling across the apartment, picking his way through littered hallway he snatched his coat and identity card from there corrosponding pegs. Flinging the cold steel door open he stepped into the motionless streets of city 71, the acrid tang of factory smoke bit at his sinuses as he walked hastily around the winding chaotic streets, slowly worming his way towards Victory square at the centre of the city. Taking a short cut through one of the city’s many backstreets he took note of the familiar graffiti that usually lined the walls of the lower class districts, a red cross with a picture of a fox that smiled cunningly out of the wall. It was strange to see the symbol so close to victory square, usually they were reserved to small villages or the outskirts of the city. Few men, even the resistance themselves, would so openly defy the government so close to the site of their greatest victory. Forcing himself to continue down the dank backstreet, the sheen off the great twin towers rising high above the city almost outshone the grime of the city streets. The towers had only been erected a few years prior, costing unheard of amounts of money and with an army of workers. The crunch of gravel underfoot changed to the gentle slap of footsteps on concrete as Michael slipped into the surrounding streets of the square. As he glanced at his simple steel watch his heart jumped into his mouth, the watch read 9:10, he soon calmed himself however as he remembered that the watch was pathetically incorrect. Further reassurance came from the noise coming over the rooftops, hundreds of voices joining together until all they were was unintelligible noise. Michael hurried to join the sea of bodies in the centre of the square. The menacing looks of the police slightly unnerved Michael, as they always did, dressed in their black body armour and balaclavas. They had the entire square surrounded in case of a riot, although this seemed like a pointless precaution when Michael looked around, most people looked ill and others no longer had to will to fight the government, their sunken faces showed their lost resolve. Suddenly, music blared out of the loud speakers, everyone fell silent instantaneously, only the god awful tune of the music met Michaels ears. On the stage in the middle of the square, a platform rose slowly, the banner of the government hanging from its edges. A short fat man stood with his nose in the air on the middle of the platform, glancing boredly at the citizens below him. His black hair was slicked back with what looked like motor oil. He ran a hand through his greased hair and the snatched at the microphone. ” Hello citizens of city 71, my friends my colleagues” the lie reverberated around the concrete square.