Please Observe the Order of Your Death

At midnight on my eighteenth birthday, in my eyes, there is a series of cold numbers above everyone's head. That is the "death label" that the world puts on all living beings in order to maintain its operation. The smaller the number, the higher the order of "recycling" by the system. But I was horrified to find that there was nothing above my head in the mirror. In this precise and strict sequence of rules, I am the only exception and the only loophole. When the world decides to sacrifice some people to survive, who has the right to decide the order of our deaths?