Because We Breathe in Sound The smell of music pounded on the speakers.

It was soft, like downy, and rocked Andrew into sleep. He began to hum a lullaby. Lullabies had always reminded him of grandma, though he could hardly recall more than her wrinkles and whispers; the murmurs and the songs about kings and plagues and bathtubs would cross his mind every so often, like her fingers wouldve crossed his brow and brushed his eyes closed before bedtime. Now her hands were replaced with cords and scents, ever since the memes became the mothers and the mothers became obsolete. But his memories never lasted long at all. Curry splayed through the sensors and marched into his nostrils, troops of red armies sent to wake him. They were strong. He was late. He was at least seven minutes late-- the intense seasonings didnt start until exactly 8:36 am, and curry was always the second. The navy pinstriped suit sat ready, and showering was not an option as water could only be turned on before 8:34 and was shut off at 8:40. Tripping to the dresser, Andrew half buttoned his shirt and shrugged his pants on, grabbing a piece of automatic toast before hitching out the door.

Crack. Crack. Crack. Each knuckle popped; one day hed have terrible arthritis. His hands held the steering wheel, clasping the faux wood hard enough to turn joints a stark white to match his sullen face. Everything was sinking, his cheeks past his cheek bones, his stomach to his ribs, New York because of that damn global warming. The world was his Titanic, just without any of the famous replications. Andrew pressed his fingers harder into the plastic and

pushed his foot further on the accelerator. It was 8:56 am; work was four miles too far, and with all the hints the memes boss had been tossing, those four miles could be fatal. He heaved into the parking lot and slammed his door. Youre late, croaked the security guard. No shit, Andrew mumbled, crossing the pavement. At the entrance, he placed his hands to the sensors. The cool gel enveloped his fingers, and momentarily, the digits were covered with three or four inches of clear substance. A graph flashed onto the surface as the scanners laser beamed over his flesh, sending a sharp shock from his wrists through his finger tips. His picture flashed on the screen, along with his data. Age: 24; 11/29/2130 Height: 511 Body Type: Muscular Eyes: Blue Hair: Brown Intelligence: Class A Bureau: Feeling Address: Appt 221, Blue Bell Complex Please give your code, the computer beeped. R, Four, Tea-cup, pistol, Andrews voice was bored with monotony. Youre late, the computers tone was harsh, and the door flung open, shutting on Andrew while he hobbled inside

Up the elevator. Floor seventeen. Sixth door on the left. Fabrics and Homes. It always smelled of coffee in the mornings, and the air felt like energy. To Andrew, the java served as a petty reminder that, yes, he was supposed to be awake, and that, no, he hadnt slept well the night before. The generic secretary had generic red lipstick on which matched the mornings wake-up curry. Scents had been blurring to colors. She smiled, her frozen lips curling into a systematic grin. Sir, I believe youre late. He nodded, ignoring her, and fumbled to his desk. It was made of cool stainless steel that felt hard and unyielding against his cotton pants and drumming fingers. Precisely two minutes after sitting down, whilst he was still organizing his jacket and papers, a video flashed onto his work monitor. Youre precisely seven minutes and fifty-four seconds late, the recorded meme recited from the computer screen, its plastic red eyes glowing from its steely cheeks. As punishment, your workspace will be lowered to thirty degrees for the next fifteen minutes. The temperature change kicked on, and his thighs began to shake. Your assignment today is to continue working on the data analysis on the infant linen vs. wool study. Thank you, and remember: you only know what you feel. Immediately the screen switched to numbers. The memes instruction left him chilled, not because his chair felt like ice. The thought of his nearly unknown past affected his mood, but not terribly; its not like he remembered his parents or his relatives or his home the past anyway, before, when life was controlled by real, fleshy people, and robots were just the manufacturers.

But whatever, nostalgia would change nothing Andrews calves were beginning to turn blue, and he turned to work on the project. For the past month he had been comparing statistics between the effectiveness of different blankets because the government was looking to discontinue production of small linens for children. All of his data pushed towards keeping the blankets, but with the recent government cuts to the youths well being, he wasnt sure what all difference it would make. Oh, you win some, you lose some he sighed, and after his recent successes in giving every newlywed couple satin sheets, this sentiment was especially true. It was difficult to get things passed in this government, especially since the memes all had consensual opinions; once they had decided on something, there way no way to change it short of hacking the entire system, a tactic which no one had ever successfully executed. Andrew punched his computer keys, matching facts and figures together. His legs were still cold. In a flash of red light, the meme came back onto his desktop. There is an emergency in sector four. I repeat an emergency. Report to your advisor immediately. Thank you.

CHAPTER 1 His metal chair quickly scalded, and Andrew jumped, getting in line with the other workers. Sector four was the blanket sector of his building, and he couldnt imagine what could be all that wrong. Shipments went out yesterday, and the transits seemed to have run smoothly. The supervisor was a meme from the beginning. His metal joints had begun to rust, but he could still move with a fluidity superior to most men. Standing on the podium, his voice

filled the loudspeaker. The flannels have been sent to the geriatric ward, while the wools went to the nursery. If immediate action is not taken, the children will be harmed, and the death rates of the elderly could skyrocket; remember their sensitivity. Andrew hardly believed the threats, but the rest of the audience seemed to, gasping and clinging to their sleeves. He began to crack his knuckles. Workers 340-370, not Andrew, will be sent to the nurseries. Test all the blankets as per protocol 87A and remove all of the 600 thread counts. Workers 371-400, also not Andrew, will be sent to the elderly centers. Test all of the blankets from the geriatric wards and remove all 400 thread counts. The 4-600s were announced, and then it came to Andrews group. Finally, will workers 601-606 please report to the Health Office, where you will be assigned an independent task. Thank you. The meme retreated into its cell, and the workers rushed to their respective ports. Andrew pushed through the crowd to the elevators, where workers 601-605 were waiting. Well need to take number 5, a redhead, worker 603, informed him, strutting over to press the left button. The metal gate cranked open, and the six of them piled into the spacious lift. Lift was a sort of outdated term though, as it implied these contraptions could move only vertically. The lift Andrew stood in moved between the northern Senses Bureaus and, of course, the three main offices, Health, Theory, and Spirit, which marked the center of the city. The five Sense Departments bordered the city in a pentagon, with the three offices in a triangle in the center.

The Health Office was the northern most office lying between the Sight and Sound Bureaus, at the opposite end of the pentagon from Andrews Touch Bureau. It was where the red memes worked, as they presided over all aspects of the bodys care. The doctors worked here. The barbers were here. It was rumored the terrorists, societys viruses, were taken to the basement and strapped to various apparatuses. No one really knew for certain, though, as government reports rarely seemed complete. As the lift moved towards the Heath Office, Andrew couldnt help but shiver. Ever since he had been consciously taken to his first exam where he was poked and prodded and measured, the sight of the building made his spine twitch funny and uncontrollable. The appointment was the most hed been touched since, as human contact was looked upon as dirtier than machine interaction. Maybe he felt strange because of the fuss he had made as a child, or maybe it was because of how much older he was now. Something about the red-stained windows against the fiberglass outer walls felt as foreboding as the hard ivory tiles and the tapes and tools that laid inside the medical wing. Can you please stop that? 603 snapped Andrew furred his brows. She pointed to his hands, which Andrew realized hed been cracking. Oh, right, sorry. He shoved them into his pockets, fumbling with string and lint. His hands were never comfortable. The redhead stood at the window of the elevator, staring at the track with a clenched and determined jaw. Her breathing tensed with each meter closer to the office, and Andrew saw her

shoulder blades rotate backwards. To her right, worker 602 paced back and fourth. 604 ran her fingers through her hair and pulled out strands from the back of her head where the remnants of a bald spot lingered. This wasnt a normal occurrence for her, anymore. 601 and 605 stood together, talking quickly and quietly. Andrews fingers felt lonely as they clenched inside the pockets of his pants. Almost like they had their own minds, the muscles in his palms contracted so his nails dug themselves into the flesh of Andrews hands. He tried to keep composure, breathe, do something to keep his hands from locking like this, but sweat was forming beads and rolling down onto his cheeks, falling faster the closer his car became to the medical building. Andrew nervously searched the tram for a way out, for a towel, for something he couldnt place. The redheads jaw was clenched so hard she was twitching, and her back was tensed in the same way. 604 had a pool of hair surrounding her toes. They needed to get out of the tram; the office was only thirty seconds away. Andrew strode to the door, taking his hands from his pockets and tapping his wrists on the railing. The redhead was blocking the exit, but he dashed out before she could, bumping into the side of the railing. Seeing the inside of the medical building, with its white floors and red accessories, Andrew hit his hand to bruise against the craft, but as he stepped in, he smelt lilac and heard the soft music of a flute. He felt in control of his hands again, pulling his nails from the flesh of his palms. They now had crescent moon marks, but they would be alright. Andrew felt the desire to crack his knuckles again, and he did- softly and slowly waiting for the crew to get inside.

Were going to the first floor, the redhead announced once everyone had gotten off the tram. Follow me. Systematically, she led to the stairs; workers were hardly ever allowed to ride upand-down elevators for fear they would become sedentary. Plus, the real lifts always played high pitched tunes that the old ones couldnt hear, making the ride up or down excruciating. CHAPTER 2 The group fell into line, taking the stairs two at a time, their feet pounding in unison. Reaching the bottom, the redhead opened the door and led them in. The room was bright, primary red. It had crimson accents but no white. The entrance sign read Quarantine Zone. Andrew felt his face grow paler with every quickening, deep drum beat from the speakers. As the music was brought to a crescendo, a black meme rolled out from behind a curtain, a matching female nurse trailing behind. Youre quicker than I would have expected, the meme beeped, rolling around the gathered group of waiting workers. Thats good. Its voice reminded Andrew of the cold punishment hed had this morning. It was harsh and stale. The meme rolled up and down the aisles of people. Youll be wondering what youll be doing and how it relates to the blanket issue. She paused in front of two workers. Well, I hate to break it to you, but this has nothing to do with blanket recall. A few of you are new to the 600 class. Andrew and another worker nodded. These number assignments are no coincidence, for us at the department have been looking at you six. Despite your occasional indiscretion, it

stopped in front of Andrew momentarily, whose face was white by now, or your minor flaw or two, you have been not only our best workers, but also our best thinkers. We dont exactly reward you with physical things, like money or possessions as they used to, but we reward your minds. We dont change our workers statuses. There are no promotions, for that would just foster competition and discrimination. And well, you humans are all equal in the eyes of us memes. We reward your minds. We allow you to take gratification in the exercise of your thoughts and talents to help the greater good. From now until your task is completed, you will have two jobs: the one you go to work for every day and another to stop the emergence of insurgencies around the city. You will be expected to maintain proficiency and punctuality in your normal position. This extra job should be just that: extra. However, you are expected to put your full effort into both posts. Poor performance will not be tolerated. Each one of you is receiving a case file, and a pair of you will work together, it pointed to the redhead girl and then immediately to Andrew. She grumbled slightly, and Andrews face turned the color of the rooms walls. The nurse handed everyone a manila envelope with their numbers written in black on the top. You will need to report here every day after your normal job is over, unless the file tells you otherwise. In said file, the meme continued, you will find the name of a possible threat. Some of you will find people, some will find groups, and some will find products. It is your job to learn as much as you can about them. Later, you may be asked to extinguish them. It would

be worthless, and possibly dangerous, for you to converse about these to each other; all of your subjects are wildly different. Each of you should stay here and review your files. We have special rooms set in the back, and everyone will receive their own desk in our department. Take any questions to either my nurse or me. The meme rolled off behind its large desk. Throughout its speech, the workers had stood at attention, listening, not moving, as was required when a meme spoke. They were never interrupted. They were never questioned. They were truth.

We should get started. The redhead grabbed Andrews forearm, pulling him to a room with double desks. He hadnt been paying attention and gave a small yelp. Her green eyes sunk like daggers into his chest. Alright, open your folder. Read it, and Ill do the same, she commanded, twisting the string to open the flap. Andrew was still timid, still moderately flushed. Her rudeness wasnt helping his complexion or his confidence in whatever this endeavor was. He poured the contents of his parcel on the table after tearing the top off. It contained a pile of papers with another, smaller folder labeled photos. A yellow piece of paper lay on top. Welcome 606 (Andrew), Youve been selected to participate on our antiinsurgency team, as youve been briefed. This team is

vital to the existence of our citys survival, and this information is not to be spoken of. If it is, you will become the hunted, no longer the hunter. I cannot stress the You may talk to

importance of your silent participation.

your partner, number 603 (Brigitte), exclusively about this mission, and you two must learn to work together. This

should be no problem, as your personalities are best suited for partnership. Andrew looked up, stifling a laugh. She was crazy. Her papers were evenly and neurotically laid out in front of her, and she read her yellow letter with a scowl on her face. He turned back to the page. Just trust us; it will work out. Your first assignment will be to visit the concert tonight. It will count as your necessary bi-weekly sensory experience. Both of you must dress in all green and go to the front of the 2nd balcony. There you will meet a Mr. He is a possible

Oliver Adams, whose file is attached.

terrorist. We have set up a meeting with him, and you two will be posing as rebels. Tonight, your job is to learn as much as you can about him. Bond. Make friends. Do anything to infiltrate

his life. More details will follow later, but just be assured that you will need to make the best impression you can. Be forewarned that he is very convincing and very tricky. Take everything he says with a grain of salt, and do not fall for his traps. He is an enemy. Meet up with 603 at 20:00 in front of the venue. You will meet Adams at 20:15. Be prompt. That is all.

Andrew looked up when he was finished reading and met 603s stare. Her eyes would match tonights uniforms. She had arched eyebrows which she slanted downwards, minimizing any chance of beauty. He knew she had been pretty once, but the harsh angles she imposed on her face made her seem raggedy and middle aged, even though she was Andrews age. Her hair was brilliantly red, and her lips were full. She would have a lovely smile, if she ever chose to show it. Well? she said, expectantly. He was lurched from his petty facial analysis. Um, what? Her scowl became harsher. What did you think of the proposal? I think they picked the wrong partner. I dont think it sounds too complex, yet, but Ive never worked on anything like this before. It just seems like networking for now. Right. Well, we should return to the Feeling Bureau and finish our work. I need to stop by the hospital here, so Ill see you tonight. They nodded in agreement, and she left.

Andrew took the tram back to the Feeling Bureau and the stairs to his desk. The office was nearly empty, with most of the workers still out on the blanket recall task. When he sat down, his chair became cold again, finishing this mornings punishment.

CHAPTER 3

That afternoon seemed to linger on for weeks, as Andrews work felt more trivial than usual. When the 17:00 oclock bell rang, Andrew jumped from his seat and was first out the door, speeding back to his apartment. Once he got home, he realized he had nothing to do, again, and by 19:00 his apartment was cleaner and more sterile than it had been when he moved in. At that time, his kitchen started stirring, cooking the dinner that was required at this hour. The shower also turned on, and Andrew soaked in the water he missed this morning. He ate dinner in a robe before putting on dark olive pants, a white shirt, and an emerald blazer; try as he might, he couldnt escape looking like a leprechaun. Deciding to capitalize on his nearly monochromatic apparel, his slicked his hair back, pinning on a Kiss me Im Irish broach to his chest. He wasnt really sure what Irish was, but he knew that leprechauns were Irish. How exactly he knew that, he wasnt sure, but it probably came from his grandmother and the stories she used to tell him-- or something. Whatever, this wasnt time for nostalgia or metacognition. It was time for speeding, as it was 19:50, and the concert hall was at least 15 minutes away. She already hates me, he

thought, turning his keys and pulling his car out of the parking garage, now itll just be murder. As he was consistently late for everything, Andrew had mastered the art of breaking the speed limit. He twisted, turned, and squealed his car to the concert hall, just missing the road monitors and disobeying all the limits. Granted, there would have been videos and pictures of his racing, but they wouldnt be processed, and he wouldnt be punished for at least a week. Somehow, he was on time. Arriving to the entrance, he looked for 603. The building was made of white marble, and it was rumored to have been used for governmental business back before the memes took over. High stairs led up to the opposing front entrance of the rectangular building. The middle part of the hall was topped with a high dome, and that dome was topped with a statue of the first meme, called The Statue of Organization, representing the uprising of technology and its ultimate benefit to society. Andrew stood at the top of the eastern staircase, waiting. Youre actually on time. Andrew turned around to face 603. She stood, leaning on a scent pole, red hair hanging down, curling around her shoulders. Her dress was emerald, like Andrews blazer, and hit her mid-thigh. It was strapless, and her collarbones stuck out against her pale skin. Her eyes were green and sparkled with the satin dress. Uh, um. Yep. I got here extra early.

No you didnt, you passed me getting off the exit, she smiled and took his arm. Wed better look like we like each other, or else hell start to get the wrong idea. And by wrong, I really do mean right, but whatever. They scanned their fingers to enter the venue, walking to the second floor and standing by the front of the balcony. The inside of the building was painted bright yellows, oranges, and reds. Combined with the sweet mango scent that lingered in the air, the effect of the rooms was similar to a roller coaster, making Andrew more excited than he could remember. I think that may be our man, 603 whispered. Andrew could smell her perfume. It calmed of lavender. How can you tell its him? Hes searching. Wearing all green, too. We shouldnt go over to him. Hell find us when he pleases, chances are he already knows who we are. How do you-- You dont think this is my first case, do you? She raised an eyebrow. They wouldnt assign you to your first project without a mentor. Especially with your lackadaisical tendencies. But the other new 600? Is assigned a much easier project. Simple things, like stopping a scent deal or graffiti artist. Most 600s will probably never move up from that basic level of crime, but theyre still doing more than most citizens ever will.

Not that you know this or anything, of course. Not that I know this. Were never expected to retain anything, analyze the assignments of others; then wed know too much. I think hes coming over, Andrew warned. So what band are we expecting? Something Swedish, I think. They dont actually call themselves a band, theyre a musical experience. Very popular with the memes and Hello madam and sire. How art thou? An older man in dark green interrupted Brigitte, kissing her hand. She blushed, wonderful. May I call you Oliver, thus the green, his eyes, too, matched his suit, and he winked his left, turning. You must be Andrew, then? Andrew nodded, shaking his hand. I believe the band is about the start, sir, we should pay attention if we know whats best. Of course. Let me just squeeze in between you, so we can still talk. Brigitte was situated on Olivers right, Andrew on his left. The lights dimmed and the mango scent turned to that of burning wood. A lanky man in tight, tie-dyed pants walked onto the stage, muttering lyrics in a language Andrew didnt understand. Drums cut in with a quick, 5:4 tempo, and the lights started to strobe. The audience began to sway in unison, and Andrew resisted the urge to sway the opposite way.

CHAPTER 4

So, you know how everyones doing the same thing? Oliver asked, swaying himself. Its because of our training, which Im sure you all know of. Brigitte nodded, Everyones raised in communes, subjected to the same sensory experiences, teachings, behavioral training, and living conditions. Exactly, Oliver said, so everyone has the same thoughts and feelings about everything. They all feel together. They remember the same things. Similar memories create similar feelings. Then, if the common memories were known, these memories could be evoked by using common stimuli on the people. If everyones mothers sang them lullabies, then soft songs would remind everyone of their mothers, and if everyones mother was gentle and cared for them, then lullabies would make them feel safe and secure. If someone knew what stimuli created what reaction, and if that someone had control to send out mass signals, that someone could send out sounds, words, smells, colors, tastes, whatever, evoke desired emotions from the populous and thus control the population. Now, granted, this would require a strict set of guidelines for child rearing, and this rests on the assumption that everyone is intrinsically the same or blank from birth. This is where there are problems, as people do process things differently. I cant see the color green. What does the color green do to you? Andrew furred his brows. Hed seen green. Hed reacted to green, but he didnt see the correlation. Think, think. Green things. Grass? My bed linens? The relaxation chambers? Green is calming, obviously. Oliver nodded. Exactly. What about you Brigitte?

Well, green always reminds me of the color the praying mantises that used to climb the rails at our familys country cabin. They were small and tiny and helpless, and I just loved them. They were peaceful. And peace is calming, yes? Oliver continued. Andrew, did that cabin seem familiar to you? His face was flushed, Um, yes. My family had one, too. We used to sit on The porch swing, Brigitte chimed in, and drink-- -- yellow lemonade, Andrew finished. You see, said Oliver, everyone thinks of the same things because everyone has similar, if not identical, memories. Everyday youre bombarded with pictures and scents and sounds. Do you ever stop to think what they do to you? Have you noticed that the clamor of metal on tile makes you want to run away, no matter the volume or size of the clang? Youre programmed, just like the memes, except most all of you will never realize it. Youll notice the curry alarm clocks and the sensory experiences, but youll think them normal. You wont think control. So what can I do about it? What the hell does any of this have to do with why youre dressed up? Truth be told, I just like the color green. Not that many people wear it, so its a nice signal. Oliver chuckled, his voice deep and resonating. But you see. People will never be able to fully make their own decisions unless their senses resist attack. Theyll never be able to see the world through their own eyes unless the complimentary colors are removed. Theyll never really smell the sea. Theyll never feel the softness of a hug. Theyll never hear love.

Never hear love? Andrew asked. Its supposed to be intangible, indescribable, Brigitte added. Thats because its beauty. Beauty in its purest form. Really, it was elusive back when, as most humans ended up living without it or surviving on its tainted cousins, lust or logic. The former was solely carnal passion, the latter was only reason. They were allowed to choose their mate, as you are, except youre manipulated. I can get into those details later, though, as love is really just one small part of the whole. Im getting side tracked. The reason I called you two here. You specific two is because I know about you. You both have always thought a little differently, reacted a smidgen off norm. From the small tests Ive been doing, subjects like you--different but not too different--perform best inliberation movements. By now the band was in full swing. The audience and everyone surrounding the trio were dancing, jumping side to side as the lead singer belted a tune about following the memes. Since the government hosted the sensory events, their message was plastered throughout the gatherings. Feasts had governmental silverware; immersion parties were hosted in memes private bathing pools. You see how theyre dancing? How theyre swaying in such unity. Its like clockwork. I can see you two are holding your own urges to join them, Oliver turned and smiled at Brigitte and Andrew, whose hands here wound tight around the balustrade. Do you honestly want to be dancing?

Brigitte grinned. Ive always loved dancing in nearly any situation, sometimes Ill do it alone. Andrew shook his head. I just feel awkward, like my movements are forced, and that force is pulling up my legs and shaking my arms. You just do it. Ive studied participants at every sort of event. At the feasts, people eat because they feel compelled to. Therell be adults close to vomiting, shoving a final few biscuits into their mouths. Children eat vegetables and dishes that they know they hate. They dont enjoy it; they just do it. Imagine how those adults, children, you would act if you didnt taste the scents, if you couldnt hear the colors. You wouldnt be compelled, and you would do things because you wanted to, just like you, Brigitte. You dance because you like it, yes? Would you stop if you didnt feel a connection? Of course. I never really thought about it, I guess, that others had to do it. I liked gorging myself but never to the point of sickness. Do people feel differently? All the time, Andrew answered. I hate these sensory experiences because theyre all overloading, and I dont respond. When I was small, I was tested. A lot. While the other children would be stuffing themselves, Id be sitting and chewing slowly. I never danced to the fast songs, only the slow ones that everyone else would sit out. My clothes never matched. They thought I was colorblind or deaf or had some sort of disorder, and I had to go in for therapy with a human doctor. A human? Brigitte asked, appalled.

Andrew nodded, Goes to show you how screwy I was. The memes, you know, cant smell or taste or feel. All that metal allows them to make the stimuli and not react to any of it. Apparently thats why theyre most fit to rule; they cant get distracted, and they cant have disorders like me. He shrugged. At least thats what the doctor told me. Anyway, I just had to go through tests. Id be given a scent and required to say the first word that I thought of. I never really understood why, but if I didnt give the right words, theyd shock me. If I didnt get the word right after a few chances, the shock would get harder and harder and harder; the first time I even passed out. After a while, I just sort of learned what they wanted, and parts of me started to feel what they intended me to feel. Eventually, when the treatment and testing were finished, I stopped feeling what they wanted, but I acted like I did. He laughed, nervously, You have no idea how afraid I was of going back. Oliver was smiling. Youre perfect. Pardon? Youre perfect. You feel the exact way we need you to feel. You dont buy into the senses. Um, I guess, said Andrew. They told me I just had messed up electrical signals or something. Like the messages werent relayed well from my body to my brain. I have a glitch. An incurable virus.

Brigitte nodded, I think I remember learning about this is in Health School- I was training to be a medical assistant once. The government has a rehabilitation program since it doesnt like, he paused, searching for the right word, extinguishing people unnecessarily. The level of treatment you received, though, is only reserved for the most promising- Individuals that could be the greatest asset to the bureaus? I know. Trust me; they fed me that for years. Thats why I had to get better. So I could help them. They wanted me to function so desperately, so I did. They forced you to feel, Oliver said, more as a conclusion than a question. You really are perfect for this. What? Oh, what I mean is that youre ideal. You think just like me, Olivers chest puffed slightly, and you can distinguish from what you feel and what they want you to feel. Its almost as if the smells and sights and, you know, dont affect you like they do everyone else. Youre a perfect specimen, and you think the way we want people to think. Your main problem is that youve learned to obey. You need to forget that if you want to help me. Oliver turned to Brigitte, Now you are also good. You dont fit in because you feel compelled to, you fit in because you, coincidentally, like this society. You do what you want, and what you want happens to be what the memes schedule. You like to dance. You like to eat. Youre grateful for these opportunities and these sensory experiences because they allow you to do what you enjoy. Brigitte blushed a little, I guess so, sir, but isnt everyone like that?

Oh no! Oliver was taken aback. Havent you been listening to what Ive been saying at all, dear? People are coerced into liking things. If you ask the average person why they feast, they say they feast because the food smells so good. Why do they dance? The music sounds so exciting. Their emotions are linked to their senses, not their own ideas. Im glad my men have finally found good souls. Good souls? Andrew asked. Yes, yes. Oliver replied, you two fit the two models for success. Youre natural humans, and youre not swayed. Youre pure. Brigitte laughed, You have it all wrong! The memes are pure! They arent swayed by physical desires; its like they exist on an alternate plane without any of the physical desires were prone to. You just said that people are swayed by their senses. Memes have no senses, and even if we, Andrew and I, dont respond to all the messages the memes send out, that doesnt mean were by any means above them. You must remember that the memes were created by humans. The memes are a representation of what humanity thinks a life without senses is like. How were those scientists any more sense-free than you are? Sure, theyve done tests and studied the results, but those tests were still, to at least a small degree, muddied by their being a human. We cant allow ourselves to be subdued or controlled by the memes for this reason. We must analyze what they do because if we dont, well be eating from the palm of their cold, metallic hands.

What should we do, then? asked Andrew. By now he had leant in close to Oliver, eyes wide and listening intently.

CHAPTER 5

We need to spread this. How? Well, Andrew, you were tested for blindness right? Andrew nodded. And deafness? Nod. And tastelessness, and loss of touch, and loss of scent? Nod. Nod. Nod. You see, their biggest fear is people not having their senses. When I was small, my sister was born a little too early. As a baby, she never woke up during naps when my mother called her. She didnt gurgle to music. She never cried while I was screaming. For a while, we just thought she was complacent, until we received a letter in the mail. We were supposed to take her to the Health Office to get evaluated. She was taken into her appointment, and she was never brought out. A month or so later, we received another letter saying she had had heart complications during her testing, and that she had died. My mother cried, my father cried, but I just thought the

whole mess was sticky. Granted, I was eight years old at the time, so no one really listened to me, but as soon as I was capable as a student, I accessed the database and found her file. She was deaf. She was extinguished. Im sorry, said Brigitte, hand cupped over her mouth. Oliver shrugged. That was a long time ago, and regardless, its the only reason I got into this. Its what, sort of, showed me the truth. How does this affect our, er, mission? Youre thicker than you look. Oliver quipped to Brigitte. Cant you think of the correlation? The government controls you by senses. The government gets rid of people who cant perceive all five senses. You two are special because you dont rely on your senses. To be free, we need to liberate the people from their feelings! Andrew finished. Precisely. We need to allow everyone to cover their ears from the music, their noses from the smells, and their eyes from the colors. People need to learn to make their own memories and associations. They need to break away from the government. Well how do you propose we do this? Oliver shot Brigitte a sharp look. Im getting to it, right now. We need to give them mufflers, so to speak. Ear plugs, nose plugs, eye patches: things that will temporarily suspend their perceptions so they can focus on thinking, not feeling. They wont need to be blinded forever, as eventually theyll rely on their thinking, just as the great men before the memes did. But, if only the great men thought before the memes

The great men controlled the society, Andrew, not the robots. And thats better than the machines? Its not ideal, but at least with men ruling, it would give the skilled the opportunity to rise to greatness. Not everyone will be able to separate themselves from their feelings, but the people who can separate from their feelings will also have the abilities to express these deviations and not be repressed for it. Granted, Im sure the few humans who could rule dont act with sensory motivation now, but theyre still repressed and unable to rule. Theyve realized that they must act with sensory motivation because, if they dont, they know theyll be exterminated. The would-be rulers are intelligent; theyre the natural leaders, not some of the old spineless commanders that were in power at the beginning of the memes reign. How do you think robots could overthrow their creators? Frankensteins monster overcame his doctor because the doctor was weak and because Frankenstein was flawed, not because of the monsters inherent greatness. Humans fell because they placed their weak where they shouldve put their strong, and just because some populations fell astray, that doesnt mean the entire humanity is useless. These leaders need to reemerge so we can be put back on track and overcome the machines, and they can only do that if we allow them to. Oliver leant over the banister, looking into the crowd. Everyone just listens. Theyre so influenced. How do we change them? Andrew had moved next to him, hands pulled under his chin and head cocked to the side.

That, Oliver laughed, is something youll learn later, but only if youd like to. Now go home or conference or whatever you young people do. If you decide to go against me, realize that youll have no proof, and no witnesses. You dont think any of these people were listening, do you? He smirked, continuing and if you want to meet again, just find me at the branch of my namesake. Waving, Oliver walked into the crowd.

CHAPTER 6
Lets go, Brigitte said into Andrews ear, pushing in the opposite direction of Oliver, towards the exit. Remember all you can, we need to write as much as we can down so that we can tell the office. Finding a clear corner, she pulled out a small notebook and began jotting down vaguely coherent phrases. Govt controls senses-> senses must be blocked -> people can be fr-Staring over her shoulder, Andrew grabbed Brigittes forearm. Youre not to tell the memes about his philosophy. Her voice had turned normal, cold, and steely again. We must. Its our job, and its probable that they already know. I know, but he might have something, and its still possible they havent heard his specifics. We shouldnt stop anything until we know its as detrimental as the memes tell us it is. What if he is right, and were all pawns? 1

It could disrupt the government! The entire society, even! We would be nowhere if we didnt have their control! Brigitte pulled from Andrews grip and started to walk away. NO. Didnt you even listen to him? The society is corrupt! It needs to be disrupted, Andrew growled through gritted teeth, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her back up against the nearest pillar. We, humans, ruled ourselves for thousands of years before them. We created them. Were their God, and we should think for ourselves. Youre just regurgitating everything hes said to you. She paused, but Ill give you one more meeting before we- I- tell them anything, she spat. But this is only temporary. Good, slipped from Andrews sly smile as Brigitte released her from his grip. Next order of business. Brigitte continued, is where were meeting him. What did he say? Meet me at my namesake? Oliver? Oliver like olive maybe. Or green, like our outfits. Is there a green building? asked Andrew Theres the Theory Office. Its a shimmering kelly, or at least its floors are. I dont even know. Well meet tomorrow, then, after work and investigate? Fine, even though, you know, this is a wildly stupid idea. He probably knows who we are- how else would he have set up a meeting? How do you think the memes brought us here? II dont know. Well, think about it, Andrew, and Ill see you in the morning. Brigitte left for the parking lot, leaving Andrew alone in the venue amidst the still-dancing crowd.

He pushed and prodded his way out of the sweating room, gasping in the fresh, cool outdoor air. During his exit, he was hardly affected by the music, not needing to dance or sway or even tap his foot a little; the beat didnt matter.

CHAPTER 7

Andrew got into his car, driving away from the full parking lot. Seemingly, everyone was still enthralled by the music as he was the only car leaving. People would dance and dance and sometimes stay without the music, he remembered, while he always wanted to escape as soon as possible. But how did Oliver know he would be there? His thoughts jumped suddenly to what Brigitte had said. Think about it. So he thought, and he thought fast, and he thought so that his mind was racing, just like his cars highly illegal speed. Had the memes told him to meet them, so he knows theyre sent by the government? No. No, then he wouldnt have told us all of that, unless theyre just testing out dedication. But no. They wouldnt know their flaws because if they did, the memes would fix them, right? So what. Does Oliver have regular conversion sessions? Did the memes capture two people who were going to meet him tonight and force information from them? Still, Oliver must have known. NO he didnt. YES he did. NO. YES. NO. YESNOYESNOYESN-STOP. If he hasnt said anything, youll be fine, especially

if you dont get too into what hes saying. Or act too intensely on anything hes saying. Remember, this is still a game. By now, Andrew was nearly sweating because he could be caught. He agreed with Oliver, or at least Olivers messages made sense to him, and that sense wasnt supposed to be there. Andrew was supposed to be like all of the others: he was supposed to obey. He had promised himself he would obey, and now he thought that promise might soon be broken. At the threshold of his apartment, Andrews hands were too moist to hold the door handle. He held his right wrist with his left hand, forcing his shaking palm into the admittance sensor. The electric shock hurt worse than usual with all of the conducing water, and it needed his information three times. Immediately, Andrew collapsed on his bed, ignoring the pale blue lighting that would usually lure him to the shower. His dreams that night were irregularly vague. There was no bold color, and his thoughts were void of their usual lucid touch or sound. He chased a green shadow through murky gray water and past a dark forest, emerging at the precipice of a mountain. The shadow stood for a moment, and Andrew stepped forward to see its face, missing to fall off into the cool air. White fingers grasped for something that didnt exist to hold him, and Andrew fell faster and farther, through clouds and crevasses and down into the ground. With a thud, he stood in front of the head meme who held a black cloth for his eyes. As the metal was coming closer, Andrews eyes jolted open. The alarm clock read, in a pale purple, 3:24. He should go back to sleep. But he couldnt. Andrew slid to his bedside, wringing his hands as if to wrench all of the sweat from the

caverns of his pores. His brow was freezing, and he began to shiver, making his way to the kitchen for coffee. The appliance wouldnt turn on, and the artificially lavender air tried lulling him back into bed. A notebook lay in his desk, graffitied with scribbles about blankets and the department. Its black leather binding was beginning to have creases, and the pages ripped in response to accidental rain damage. Andrew picked it from the pile of paper, flipping to an almost blank page. He began to sketch plugs to go inside and clamps to go on the outside of ears in order to muffle sound. The devices seemed shaky because no one would ever want to shove plastic in their ear cavity or walk around with sound barriers for earrings. Andrew crinkled the paper and put it in his waste basket to the right of his desk. In that basket lay other writings and drawings and scrawlings of photos and memories and other things of little real significance. That was the basket that never got emptied, unless it was over flowing. Some of the papers at the bottom had been there since Andrew had been relocated to the apartment when he was sixteen and seen fit to begin working and training. CHAPTER 8 Andrew had completed basic school three years early, showing a quick mastery of the senses, even after the minor divergence as a young boy. He possessed synesthesia, or he at least convinced everyone he did, molding all of his senses together into one big ball of color, sound, sight, smell, and touch. The symphony was delicious, or the painting tasted like oranges, hed tell his teachers.

Theyd always smile, a little worried, quite pleased, and often a twinge jealous. Their faces would remain cross for a fraction of a second, long enough for Andrew to notice, and then quickly revert back to a placid well isnt that sweet encouragement. Those smiles followed him and eventually became smirks. Those smirks became grins, and finally, those grins became genuine, beaming appreciation. The younger kids, the pre-basics, would always run to Andrews side after a show or a concert or a feast, asking about what hed felt. Hed crouch down, pulling up a pant leg and grabbing the two or three cutest in closest to him. Hed tell them first, whispering detail about the sound of the meat and the smell of the drum beat into their tiny ears while the other six or seven waited with gleaming eyes. To those, Andrew would describe different things, different sights, and send the two groups of kids together to debate and fight about his experiences. A few minutes later, after pulling the screaming toddlers off of each other the teachers would sit him down and scream questions that started with whys and how could yous and dont you know theyre only children and ended with but what did you sees and did it really taste like that. He would feed the teachers the same lies as he did the kids. They would criticize his false perceptions, yelling at his shrunken form. The few that believed him would put their hands on his forehead and call him gifted and wise and someone with a future, but, more often, he was simply slapped with rotten smells and extra down on all fours scrubbing duties.

After these meetings, the disagreeing teachers would grab his ear, yank him from his chair and out the door. Down the mint green hallways, which fostered calm and cooperative learning, of course, and straight through the swinging steel doors marked NO STUDENTS. Get down. Theyd throw a brush at his bent back. Close your eyes. A soaking cloth tied around his mouth and nose. Inhale. Fish juice or spoiled meat or remnants of a primarys diaper. NOW. Cough and spit and gag your little heart out. Clean. Grasp for the brush and scramble to rub the bumped ground. Well return, and this will be spotless. Brush and brush and scrub and wait for the door to close. Remove the cloth, just enough to see the floor and size up the situation. Pray the door wont creak, crawling across the floor while the grains dig in and cut slices in pressured skin. Creek. Shake down the blind fold and keep with the cleaning. Kick. Endure it; dont fall over; breath. The faster its clean, the faster you can go. Rush, but dont be sloppy. Finally. Exhale a sigh because the cloth has lost potency. Stand up. Well, that was useful, wasnt it? She removed the cloth and grinned, grabbing Andrews palm and placing in it bandages. Youre not to let anyone know of this little lesson or else it may lose its influence in the community. Now, you wouldnt want that, would you? She would shake his hand, squeezing it and, he winced a small No. Now we know that lying is not a good idea? He wasnt paying much attention and replied with another, no. She pressed harder against his palm, and her spider fingers bulged with hidden force. No as in lying is a bad idea. As in no, lying isnt a good idea, as in... Her grip relented. Alright. Now, go and play.

As Andrew scrambled away, the teachers faces would be etched in a serene smile. Their heads would be tilted to the left, usually, with their arms folded across their chests. Always the same. Always. The punishment would sometimes change; some days he would wash the stoves, others he would chop wood, always alone. At the end of each punishment, the teacher, no matter who, would always give him the same smile. They all had the same hope for his improvement. As he aged, the believing teachers became less and less. His stories of mixing color with sound were more frequently refuted while the work became more tedious, but the hope stayed. By his graduation to the work force, all but one of the good teachers, the ones who didnt punish him, was gone, sent to retirement or off to another academy. The final teacher, Ms. Dickenson, would always pretend to punish him, dragging him down the tile floor and locking him in a room. Just stay here. Its not pleasant, but you wont have to work, she would say, stepping to the door. Occasionally, shed toss him a book and leave him for longer than the others. He knew to rough him self up a little, scraping his knees on the ground and pounding his knuckles into the wall. By the time he had graduated basics, his hands were permanently scarred from all of the punishments, from teachers and self inflicted for his favorite teacher, but he never got blood on any of the books. He would only hit himself after finishing the final chapters of the book he was reading; the white pages would always remain white, and the black in would remain untouched, never smeared with the gravel in the room or the liquid seeping from his hands. Hed handle the books gently, and they looked always untouched.

After his fake punishments, Dickenson would walk him down the hall like the others and promise to leave him more things to read. They were books from the old society, usually, from authors who werent bent by colors and sounds, ones who lived for themselves so to speak. He would spend nights pouring over these books, hiding in his dormitory, sitting in the shower stalls at late hours with his bandaged hands turning illicit pages. His hardest scars still ran across his left knuckles, the ones he cracked the most. Crack. Crack. Crack. He needed to focus on these designs. But then the lavender started pumping again. Andrews eyes started to droop and his head sank towards the desk. He really needed to focus in the morning.

CHAPTER 9 Once again, the curry filled his nostrils. No shower this morning, either. Andrew woke up not knowing where he was. No pillow, blanket, or anything, just cold and hard wood. After peeling his face from the surface, Andrew got ready. Typical suit mixed with a typical breakfast mixed with a typical speeding down the streets to his typically bland job. It seems as though, overnight, the day-to-day have tos became awful and monotonous. The words of his victim or teacher or whatever he was supposed to think of Oliver as, turned his eyes to examine everything. Andrews desk chair was freezing, but he wasnt feeling guilty. His office smelled like coffee, but he didnt feel like working. The glaring view of the red medicine

building across the way no longer scared him. He knew that the cold and the coffee and the red were meant to evoke his feelings, and he wouldnt allow it. Brigitte came over to his desk, staring at the paper work that lay strewn and undone. You shouldnt stop providing just because of one silly speech, her arms were crossed and her eyes disapproving like his old teachers. Andrews forehead was planted onto a useless scrap of spreadsheet, and as he lifted his head, the white sheet floated to the ground. Providing? Doing this work is providing? For what? For the community. For your job. For your integrity. I dont know, Andrew, but you need to stay productive or else theyre going to start thinking things. Like what? Like you believe him. Andrews eyebrows furred as Brigitte bent down to look him in the eyes. Well, what if I do believe him? Then fine, but if they catch you, youll be just as illegal as he is, and youll have agents like us coming after you. He looked into her green eyes, which were wrought with a concern he wouldnt have expected. She continued, look, Im not going to tell you what to think, but dont be stupid

about this. Dont be clumsy, and dont let them know what youre thinking. Act, like youre in a play, but act perfectly neutral, alright?

Brigitte nodded, finishing, and shuffled off to her next task. Andrew shrunk into his chair after watching her figure trail off into the endless lines of desks and cubicles and ordered his papers to begin the rest of the days work. Draft this; mark that; label the papers, and run the analysis against each set of blankets. Fingers marching through the stacks, his mind wandered farther than each of the tests, facts, and figures he had to check. Apparently, the blue woolen ones were more effective for helping cognitive development, as seventy three of the one hundred children tested grew up to have point six three IQ points higher than over half of the children given the red jersey wraps. This was all so entirely important for the good of the community, and the community was what mattered. As the work became more engulfing, the smells would creep back into his senses. Coffee stimulated his eyes to search faster and his wrists to flip the pages with a certain vigor that had never felt so prominent. The words seemed clearer and the associations between each person more blatant than before. Andrew rushed and rushed and rushed. The closing bell rung, and he stood up in his chair, back straight and muscles tense. Place your papers in the bin then your coat on your shoulders. Instructions echoed in Andrews head, instructions that he automatically followed. She bumped into him. Meet there at then. Her hand went to a slip of paper, and that slip went into his pocket. Without goodbye, she joined the crowed that was likewise wearing coats and heading towards the exit.

The note read simply Blue Caf, 8:30. Hell be there. You know what to wear. The caf seemed counter intuitive to Andrew, the harsh blues would clash next to the olive suit he was going to have to wear. The restaurant was smaller and towards the outside of the main city. It was never recognized for its food or its service, but it was known and recognized enough to not require address or further description. The Blue Caf was the Blue Caf was the Blue Caf, home to poets and philosophers and other almost-outlaws; they werent quite illegal, but they were frowned upon. Any pastime could be pursued as long as the pursuer kept up with his assigned office duty and didnt interfere with the impressions of the government; slander led to possession, of course. No one paid much attention to silly little thinkers, though, as the government was, of course, king, and king was, obviously, always correct. CHAPTER 10

After returning home and dressing in starched pants and a dark green polo- he looked like an asparagus- Andrew shuffled to the caf that was not fifteen minutes from his apartment. He felt more detached from the colors than he did at the office; his peppermint smelling living room didnt make him as lively as usual, and the sour toothpaste didnt cause so strong a wince as was normal. 8:15 am was fifteen minutes early, so he sat, watching the writers crowd together in their corners, noting down the same passers by. They would look up, almost as one, and their eyes would trace similar figures across the landscape of the sidewalk while their blackest black pens would scribble a line or verse on tattered white notebook paper.

Andrew thought it was all terribly awful; their procedure marked singularity in an artists community. Their dress and their ink marked singularity in sensory persuasion. A waiter passed by, asking him what he wanted. Something intelligent, or something that will calm. Right away, sir. Almost instantaneously, the young server returned with a cup of chamomile. The soft yellow coloration should calm you visually, the slight scent should calm your nerves, and the taste will relax your tongue and then your throat until it travels down your body and does the same to the rest of you. Plus, tea makes everyone feel smart. He winked and bowed, strutting to the next table. The tea was, in fact, a fantastic calming agent. Maybe it was just a placebo brought on by the lengthy explanation, or maybe this teensy company had also mastered the art of manipulation; it was, quite possibly, governmentally owned. Halfway through his sixth sip, Brigitte slid into the chair next to Andrew. Youre early, she scoffed. Ive had a strange sense of purpose today. Good. It worked. Andrew paused, mid swallow. What worked? The thing I gave you. When you were napping at your desk, and I came over? I slipped something in your drink, whatever it was. You WHAT

Ugh, the government controls you all the time, Andrew. Just because Im a little independent source doesnt mean you should suddenly get angry. SIT DOWN. In his outburst, Andrew had pushed away from the table and was now almost fuming on his toes. Bored, Brigitte continued. If you dont obey, youll get caught, like I told you. Youre quite the independent She looked him up and down whipper snapper so we cant have your silly personal biases and political opinions getting ahead of the mission. Once weve first learned everything, then you can make your decisions about what to do with the information, but right now, youre just doing something that they want. The more the government can eliminate the better. So SIT DOWN, and either get over your petty objections and work or keep getting drugged. By now, half of the restaurant was staring at Andrew. Brigitte pointed to the chair and then his tea. As he was pulling back up to the table, Oliver slid into the booth across from him. Drumming his fingers on the table, Oliver looked sternly at Andrew, tracing his descent into his chair, while he whistled to the waiter. Yes, sir? Strong black coffee. Waving his hand to the waiter to hurry, Oliver turned to Andrew and Brigitte. The former was staring at the latter, still clearly bitter. The latter was sitting, eyes wide and chin propped up on her fist, ready for todays lesson. After slurping down a quarter of his drink, Oliver sighed and turned to them. So, youve come?

They nodded, Brigittes head shaking vigorously while Andrews simply bobbed up and down, up and down. That means youve thought about everything, or, at least, youve tried to think about it but couldnt, any you may want to think about it. It doesnt really matter, though. The point is that youre here, and that shows at least some commitment. After tonight, youll have decide how much you want to commit, but I can explain that later. The first point is that we cant stay here. This publicity might be bad with the spies the government has and everything. Youll need to come with me. He stood up and grabbed the black coat slung over the chair next to him; its owner had recently stood up to look out the window. And, he turned back to them, youll need to listen to everything I say if you want to continue on with this. Understood? Meet me outside in five minutes once youve decided. And then he was gone out the door. If we go, we cant lie, Andrew. You know that when I say lie, of course, her eyes were shifting around the caf, and her voice was at a whisper, that I mean you ignore everything Ive told you about trusting the government. Youll need to tell the real truth. If I can recall correctly, Brigitte, I wasnt the one who had a problem with agreeing with him in the first place. Huffing, Andrew stomped like a teenager following the green man. Rubbing her forehead, Brigitte stared at the floor. Thoughts were racing, and facts were turning, and opinions were jousting. She must go, but she mustnt get caught. She mustnt get caught or lie or fall for anything worse.

For all her life, Brigitte had agreed with the rules. They had made sense even after her careful analysis. By treading into this with Andrew, she would be entering uncertainty. Before, things were clear, and now, not even the questions made any sort of definitive sense to her and her senses. She had never had to work to obey. In a minute she was outside but unresolved. Her jaw was clenched and her chin was shaking a little. It felt like in a few seconds, her teeth could burst into soft white powder. Andrew was standing next to her. Crack. Crack. Crack.

CHAPTER 11

You realize that one day youll knuckles will turn to hell? You realize that one day your jaw bone is just going to fall off, detached from your skull. Thats hardly a typical ailment. Brigittes mouth felt sorer with every word, but she laughed at Andrews diagnosis. She clamped while he fiddled, and neither stopped when Oliver had driven up. His car was black. The lights were small and dim, and the body hadnt seen a good washing in two weeks. It was neither too dirty nor too clean; it was perfectly average. What did they do, blindfold you to or something? Oliver rolled down the window and beckoned to the backseat.

Shaking her head and loosing her mandible, Brigitte opened the door and crawled in. No, nothing. Just a little nervous, Andrew finished, sitting next to her. Now why would this little operation scare you two? Oliver began to laugh, rolling up the windows and auto-locking the passengers doors. Were not about to do anything that awful. His laughing continued as he turned the vehicle onto drive and pressed down on the accelerator. Andrew couldve sworn they were going fifty then sixty then they topped out at a bumpy eighty. Everything twisted and turned, and his hands were held tightly in his lap, too afraid to move. The hair on Brigittes arms stood on end, and she kept clicking her jaw. Her nails dug into the black leather while her chest pressed hard against the matching seatbelt. Oliver was muttering something inaudible, occasionally turning back to give the pair time directions. Twenty minutes then fifteen and so on. Sometimes he would burst out into the strange chuckle, and Brigitte and Andrew could only stare at one another. The cars windows were tinted inside and out, and there was a screen obscuring their vision of the front seat and Oliver, so neither of them knew their whereabouts. Andrew thought they went south and then east and then south again, but Oliver was turning so rapidly that he seemed to have lost count of directions.

At one point, the tires screeched to a halt, and Oliver turned around. I just need to get some, ah, directions. His voice was quivering, not out of fear but to be fearful. He tipped his hat and left the vehicle. Andrew tried spying out the glass but could see almost nothing. Everything did seem flat, and it was still, of course, day time. On the doors came the sound of scratching and the faint noise of barks.

CHAPTER 12

He put dogs on us, Andrew? Only if we leave. Because therere plenty of places to leave to. Sarcasm. She had seen the same fields out of the blackened window. Hes coming back. Andrews face was pressed against the window; he pulled it away as Oliver cracked open the drivers door. Oliver carried a package under his right arm, and threw it into the back seat. Put these on, and he cocked the keys and floored the gas, again. In the back, Brigitte and Andrew could hardly sit still as they were grasping at the door handles. Oliver was hardly a smooth driver. They fumbled the box open, and inside were black outfits. Tight, rubber black outfits. Shooting each other a worried look, they began to unbuckle their respective belts and shimmy out of their respective pants. Brigittes face was as red as her

hair, and Andrew tried his best to shift his vision. If he had free use of his fingers, they would be cracking at 400 beats per minute. Andrew grabbed what seemed like the bigger pair of pants and shoved them on. They hugged his legs surprisingly perfectly, like they were built specifically for him. Brigittes fit similarly, and they glanced at each other, again, this time more worried. Oliver was staring through the rear view mirror. Oh, of course, he chuckled. Of course we have your measurements. Theyre government data, you know, and we, of course, have members in every department. This is a simple infiltration of the medical branch mixed with infiltration of the fashions department. Its hardly anything special. But, alright, I really dont want you two thinking were crazyIm crazy. You see, we just have connections, and we use them. We also like shocking our members a little bit. It gives them a chance to prove themselves and their dedication, and, usually, theyll get so scared that theyll tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Except I wasnt supposed to tell you that, now, was I? Oh darn. I suppose youll just have to forget that and mention nothing at the big headquarters. Thats where were going, you know. Youll get to meet my boss and all my friends, and, aw, itll be just swell. Oliver kept laughing and kept driving. Brigitte and Andrew started at each other, then at Oliver, then out the window, and back to each other. They were each fervently engaged in their respective nervous ticks, so desperately so that it felt almost routine. Brigittes jaw was tighter than ever, but the situation was still

spiraling. Andrew could feel the arthritis creeping up into the future of his joints. He didnt feel any better. Stop! Andrew screamed. Oliver slammed the car to a halt. This isnt going anywhere. Andrew knocked on the screen between him and Olivers door, which he opened. Pulling the old man by the collar, Andrew drew him up to his face. Im in this suit being spun and spun around, and nothing youre doing or saying is making any sense at all. Ive been trained and conditioned to see and hear things, but youre releasing nothing, so maybe Im a little antsy on my own. Were trying to help you, and I support this pseudo-valiant movement youve been speaking of but not on terms like these. Now, his voice, which had escalated to a grown, descended, calm but still shaking, to a whisper, tell us where in the hell were going. Oliver stumbled to the ground after Andrew let go of his shirt. His eyes were wide and hair frazzled, clumsy limbs tripping over themselves. Just get back in the car, and this will all be resolved, his voice was shaking with his shoulders. Theres an explanation and a test, or a test and an explanation. It all depends on how you do or who you are. Were not always like this, just trust me. Olivers demeanor shifted back, calmly, to fill his position as the driver. Andrew had never seen such a chameleon or whatever he was- a mood manipulator, perhaps. The mood manipulators werent anything Andrew had ever met before. Back in the back seat, Oliver once again driving like a mad man, Andrew recalled the almost insults he had

received back in school. When hed make the toddlers fight or return from his dungeon of punishment, some of the older kids would taunt him. There were the general insults, of course, ranging from freak to loser, but occasionally one of the bolder ones would call him a mood manipulator. The crowd would go silent, and Andrew would start blushing, even though he didnt know the specificity of their existence until he was well out of school, as he came upon their specific quite accidentally, leafing through documents at his office on past studies. A few years before hed been enrolled in his job, there had been a worker who was a blatant mood manipulator. Hed caused some silly havoc in the office, so he was exterminated, and tests were preformed on all aspects of his person- physical and mental. The study Andrew had found related to his temperature preference and the strange thing was that he didnt. The man had been put in fifty different environments with different conditions- ranging from desertlike to arctic snow storm-, and his mood had never changed at all. Afterwards, hed been questioned, and he just mentioned things about how it was all the same, but in the second trial, his reactions were the polar opposites. Looking further into the case, Andrew learned that his reactions to other things like colors and light conditions were completely variant. He would scream and yell at the slightest dimming of the light at one point or start crying when moved from different colored rooms. Its too much! hed call and whimper, but, sometimes, suddenly, he would just stop and start smiling, as if just to make the controllers frustrated. This pattern would continue but unpredictably until the test was over. A report was made up, though the details were vague:

Mood manipulators have the ability to control themselves in all situations, even though their control may seem like a complete loss of control. They are never consistently bothered or unbothered by any set of stimuli, and they act as different people. Usually, the moods are completely unpredictable, but some experts have been known to see patterns. Further studies required, as we are not sure whether they are just actors (see: Drama in Pre-Meme History Reference) or genuinely defective. Once their usefulness has been figured out, their termination will be decided upon; until then, all possible mood manipulators are being kept in high-security for further testing. There was nothing else about the rare breed, but Andrew felt hed be quickly learning more. Around the time of finding this publication, there had been a minor break out of a high security area of the holding cells, and the memes had been searching everyones houses. No one was told why, specifically, who or what they were looking for, but Andrew thought he knew, and he thought hed found it, too.

CHAPTER 13

Outside of the society, there were no definitive borders, and thus no security check points, but it was still difficult for citizens to leave, usually. Being forced out, so to speak, was a little different than making a free break, and, being subject to the former, Brigitte felt foreign even though she was still in the same car with the same two men she hardly knew. Though she could barely see out of the window, Brigitte knew the terrain was rugged.

The car bounced while branches sometimes scraped the windows. Leaves crackled beneath the wheels. Brigittes finger traced the windowsill. The forest was unknown, if it was, in fact a forest. She had only seen trees on screens, smelt evergreen during the winter season, and read about, how once, people used to be afraid of the woods depths. Combined with the darkness of the window shades, the forest seemed pitched black. As the car trudged deeper, Brigittes thoughts began to race. They started with her past- her father and the stories about the dark. Memories sped through her courses on the natural world- a survey of the losses previous societies had fallen to in the woods; essentially why nature shouldnt be trusted, and stopped on her decision in the coffee shop. Knowing her journey wouldve taken her to this place in this outfit with these two men, one sitting contemptuously, the other now humming some vaguely familiar tune in the front seat, she wouldve collected her keys and exited the back door. But whatever, she thought. She was here, not returning to her small cozy apartment. She was sitting in the back seat of a seedy vehicle in a cat suit, and that was all that mattered. Alright, so she pushed the past out of her mind. The future was blurry and more unknown than even the darkest of corners. That wouldnt help her, either. Now was all she had and all she would have until she returned to a familiar environment. The car stopped. Oliver turned the keys and opened his door. Brigitte, startled, took a second to realize that her door was being opened for her, and a hand was beckoning her to exit.

On the other side of the vehicle, Andrew was stepping onto a hard concrete path in the middle of no place in particular, it seemed. Looking around, Andrew saw nothing but trees and the pathway. A brightly smiling boy of about twelve had gotten him from the car and was now motioning Andrew to follow him. Brigitte was lead by a girl who looked strangely like the boy. In fact, they were almost identical save for their haircuts and apparel with sparkling blue eyes and white blonde hair. The girl grasped Brigitte and Andrews hands while the boy grabbed Andrews other hand, and they created a line. The path was just big enough to fit all four of them. Oliver treaded a few paces behind. Nothing was said, and the only noise that hung in the air was their footsteps. No birds sang, and there was no sound of rustling branches or civilization. It seemed they were all alone.

CHAPTER 14

Keeping in line, the five-some was silent. Occasionally, the brother and sister would stop, look at each other, and change direction. Oliver said nothing, and his gait was lax and his demeanor soft; it was obvious he had walked this route before. The doors they eventually entered were tall and evergreen, like the majority of the trees leaves. The ground was merely ground; there was no special tiling or carpeting, as if the building was walls and a roof plopped onto the forests floor. In fact, looking up, there seemed to be almost no ceiling at all. Barely visible beams arched across the space between the walls

and, curled on the edges of the walls, were black tarps in case of rain. Trees were painted on the wooden walls, and the place looked all together natural. This, Oliver said, once Brigitte and Andrew had been provided logs for sitting, is your destination. As you can see, he motioned to the tiny tour guides, we have recruits of all ages. These two ran away from their primary school and ran into one of our protestors. They brought them here, and theyve been learning our mission ever since. One day, one of them will have my job; theyre the future but the far future. You two on the other hand! You two are the immediate future. One of you may have my job some day soon, assuming you can pass our tests. Now, speaking of those tests, Olivers voice was moving more rapidly as he strummed his fingers against each other. You should be starting them soon, but youll never know when youll be starting. Dont be on your guard, of course, because were able to tell. This may sound difficult, but after a little while, your nerves should subside, I promise; it happens to everyone. Youre not the exceptions, I can almost- almost- guarantee you. Nothing can really be guaranteed, especially here, only that nothing can be guaranteed, if you see the paradox. Anyway, before we get to any more philosophy, lets have dinner, shall we? Lets go to the dining hall, and, Oliver began walking, waving for Andrew and Brigitte to follow him, we can start having some fun. They went through another set of doors, these being made of real wood- three trees tied together, standing up that sung inwards to the hall. Inside, long tables sat parallel to each other, also made of wood. The seats were stumps, seemingly remnants of old oaks, that sat in perfectly close to the tables. Towards the far end of the room was a buffet style serving line filled with, it

seemed, almost any food imaginable. The room looked as though it could hold hundreds but was currently empty; not even a lone eater sat munching in the corner. You may eat what youd like, but go quickly because everyone will be here soon. I figure youd be better off having a head start. Oliver led the way to the tables at the front of the room. Brigitte and Andrew followed. Sitting down, Andrew realized how much the dining hall was lacking. There was no music, no smells, save for their individual platters. Andrew began to eat unprovoked. He ate and ate and ate and ate, while Brigitte sat pecking at her meal. She found none of the normal stimuli that made her hungry. Always, she thought shed been above the influence of the noises and sensations that were present in her day to day life. Apparently she was dead wrong. The ham was less exciting than usual, but it was sweeter than anything shed ever tasted. Her potatoes were softer and the garlic stronger, but they lacked the familiarity of the dinners at home. She couldnt put her finger on the specific differences, but she didnt like them. Her senses felt number than usual, even though shed never experienced the food like this. She was focused on it, and it felt so singular that it felt wrong. Do you feel funny, Andrew? In what, he shoveled another spoonful of pie into his mouth, respect? He swallowed. I dont know, just do things feel sharper and weird and indescribable? Not really. I think you just need to relax. Youre constantly uptight. Were in a new place and living what could be the beginning of our new lives and all you can think of is how strange things are.

Of course, Brigitte mumbled, turning back to her food. She continued to pick at dinner, pushing holes through the bruleed part of her crme brulee. Standing up, Brigitte meandered over to a stained glass window on the left side of the room. There were only windows on that one side, as the other was wooden like every accessory in the room. A few children were lining up in the courtyard outside, all wearing short alls in different colors. The girls were tying their hair up into pony tails, seemingly in preparation for meal time, and the boys were slicking their sideburns back into their caps. They all rubbed their hands together and checked behind each others ears for dirt. No one turned up anything grimy as everyone looked nearly spotless; the checked seemed more ritualistic than effective. A woman in her late sixties and a pink dress walked past Brigitte, heading for the courtyard door. She opened the door, and the children filed in, in perfect single file pursuit. They walked to dinner line and carefully picked up a plate, each serving themselves to small spoonfuls. Neatly, they all moved to the table, sat, and began forking bites into their mouth, still carefully. What are you staring at? Andrew was at Brigittes side. Theyre just kids. She had stiffened with his presence but began to relax her shoulders as she answered. Not kids, almost robots. Even our children, at home I mean, are a little more vicious than that. Theyre so prim and proper, and I dont think any sort of sensory manipulation could be this effective. I wonder what theyre doing. Physical training? Genetics? Theyre just obedient, Brigitte, Andrew patted her on the shoulder and shuffled back to the table. She followed, scanning the new and incoming adults. Just like the children, they formed a line, scooped slowly, and sat down calmly.

Look at them, Andrew. Stop over analyzing, Brigitte. Shes doing a better job than you are, Andrew. Oliver looked up from his soup, smiling with a spoon half full. Your job is to notice things, or, well, its not exactly your job but just a good idea, I would think. This is a new environment, and testing will start soon. He winked and turned back to his bowl. Andrew shrugged off his words, standing up again. Im going to go for a walk. Im going to come, assuming thats-- Its alright Brigitte, Oliver said, still facing his meal. The pair walked through the double doors in the back of the room that directly mirrored the ones theyd entered. In its entirety, the building seemed endless with at least ten floors, each a quarter of a mile long, it seemed. Brigitte and Andrew explored as much as they could, eventually landing themselves on the ninth floor far from the dining hall. Each of the rooms they had seen were all composed of the same basic elements: two windows, a fireplace, and a bookshelf built into the wall. The rooms themselves were completely different, though, some having set ups with beds and cots, while others served as technical rooms filled with computers and wires hanging from the ceiling. All of the walls were brightly painted, and the colors of the rooms matched up with the types of rooms they were, leisure and sleeping rooms being blue, work rooms red, cleaning rooms green, and so on. I thought they were trying to do away with sensory control, Andrew said.

This seems far more for organizational purposes than anything else. I dont feel affected in these rooms, you know, Im not compelled to nap or research or anything. Its kind of nice, I think. Brigittes voice trailed off as her eyes focused on the floor. You know, she continued, its so clean here, and it seems like everyones actions are so calculated. She dropped to her hands and knees. Even the baseboards, she ran her finger along the corner, are spotless. Youre over analyzing all of this. Im sure they just cleaned for us. And organized their children for us? And set everything in neat lines, and, Andrew, everythings so damn perfect. Of course it is, Brigitte its all strange and spooky, and they just happen to have brilliant philosophical ideas. Think about this, really, and with that, Andrew left the room. Sighing, Brigitte returned to examining the crevices of the room, the clean, clean crevices. Andrews footsteps faded to the background, and once they turned silent, Brigitte decided to leave. Shed have to catch up with him or else fall victim to her terrible sense of direction. The hall was straight, but she couldnt see Andrew, and she couldnt recall hearing any of the doors click open and shut. Andrew! She called, and her legs gave out.

CHAPTER 15

His arms were tied behind his back, and a gloved hand was shoved over his mouth. The men surrounded him were clad in the same types of suits he was; only theirs were fortified with

Kevlar-feeling plates. He bit down on something, maybe a finger, but the cloth would not give, and his muffler merely laughed. Youll have to try a little harder than that if you wish to break these, his voice wasnt familiar in the slightest, but it was one of the deepest Andrew had ever heard. There were three of them, maybe four- Andrew couldnt really tell. The room was dark, and his eyes were taking longer than usual to adjust, and he couldnt even tell the color of the walls or, for that matter, if he was in the hall or a room or something else entirely. Where are you taking me? Andrew yelled best he could. It was worth a shot. No answer, as expected. Ill calm down if you tell me where youre taking me! Andrew was thrashing against the masked men, kicking as hard as he could against their grip, which was surprisingly sheepish. The one holding his head and mouth began yelling at the others, telling them to be more aggressive, rougher with Andrew. Their grips began to strengthen, little by little, as Andrew grew more and more tired. Minutes passed and his movements became slower, until he finally stopped. Wouldnt it just be easier if I walked? Its not like youre doing the best of jobs. The deep voice loosened grip, still laughing. Fine brother. CHAPTER 16

Brigitte woke up lying on something. She rolled over. The floor moved. The lights were black. She pressed on the floor, and the floor sank in. It moved with her, but it wasnt soft but

smooth and taut. Standing up, she bounced. A spotlight flashed on, blinding her and almost knocking her off of her feet. So youre awake, a girls voice boomed from somewhere. Brigitte could only see a few feet in front of her, and everything else appeared as total darkness. Where am I? She was ignored. This begins the physical test. Youre on a trampoline, obviously, and you cant see anything far in front of you, obviously. Youll need to use your hearing primarily to navigate this, and youll need to be clever. Thats all. The lights flicked off and Brigitte stood completely still. It seemed silent for a moment or two until her hearing became more intune. To her left a scratching noise began to grow, as if it was getting closer. She approached with caution. It moved backwards. She began to move quicker. It darted, low. She jumped. Now it was behind her, Brigitte thought. Instead of continuing to follow it, she decided to jump to as far in one direction as she could. To her right and left were walls, and the scratching noise, which more clearly sounded like some sort of animal, kept following her, but it never seemed to try to attack. She bent down. It came to her and began purring. She pet it. The lights turned on, again, just on her, and, obviously it was a kitten. Now, do you smell anything? The voice asked. Brigitte sniffed. The cats smelled distinctly like a cat. Shes always smelled like that. Did you notice? No.

I know. Now, follow it. The lights flicked off again, and the kitten scampered off. After a few seconds, the noise stopped. Brigitte followed the noise and, after a few seconds and steps, the floor became hard again. Her foot steps made no sound, so she began to smell the air. It was straight ahead and so did she. Then right then left, and then Brigitte hit a wall. Lights, again Now, well test move on to test two. There was a wall in front of her. The kitten had scampered off somewhere. The lights shut off, and Brigitte began running her fingers along the wall, putting most of her weight into her hands, pushing against the surface. Her hands slid into an opening, and she lost balance and fell on her face. She stood back up and began to feel the wall again, putting less pressure on her arms. Brigitte only fell a few more times, and, a few bruises later had moved out of the wall. Well, maybe youre not perfect, but your senses are intone, the voice was, of course, accompanied by the spot light. This signifies the end of test one. Thank you for participating. And with that, it all went black again.

CHAPTER 17

Andrews captors walked him down a few dusky hallways. No one was speaking, and all of Andrews attempts to create conversation had failed. His captors were silent, two of them treading ahead, their steps shaky. Do you even know where youre doing? Andrew called to the leading walkers.

Of course they do! The real leader, the one who hed bitten, the one who laughed, tightened his grip on Andrews arm. He was the only one still making contact with Andrew. Now stop asking questions. I was brought here because Im inquisitive, and now youre telling me to shut up. Makes so much sense. Andrew was grumbling, looking at his shoes. This was not how hed imagine things would go. The prospect of this place felt wrought with adventure, not wandering aimlessly in dark tunnels with incompetent kidnappers. If they couldnt even scare him, how were they to be trusted with any sort of insurgency? How were these soft-boned men supposed to be the community leaders? How could they rage? Do you even support the cause? Andrew stopped walking. What cause do you mean? The captor pulled on Andrew, not stopping. This freeing the mind of the senses cause! This think for yourself cause! Because wandering around in the dark was what I was doing at home; I was wandering, and I knew nothing. I came here because I thought things would change because I thought I could be the agent of that change. What the hell is going on? Your idealism is really quite catchy, he was laughing again. And your comparisons? Not cheesy in the slightest. Wandering in the dark of our minds just like were in this hallway. I bet you think youre just so damn clever. Andrews face was turning red, not that anyone could see it. He wasnt moving, even with the tugging on his arm. This is how you treat your guests? You mock them? No, sir, this is how we treat out prisoners.

CHAPTER 18

Brigitte awoke, this time in a bed. Her head was slightly sore, and her wrist was bandaged. It was sore, and upon the dressing it was written that shed fallen after finishing. The message served as a cute reminder or memory maker; Brigitte couldnt recall falling, just everything going black. She supposed that would then constitute a fall, as she had felt no one close to her who could catch her. Youre awake, I see! An overweight nurse with fake red hair bustled to her bedside. The nurses uniform was white and oversized but still too tight for her- she was very overweight. Her shoes stayed stark white, like the floor and the walls and the bed and everything. This felt just like the hospital back home. Wait, wait, who are you? Where am I? Oh dear, your must know where you are. Where else could you be? Brigitte was frozen. Was this a test, was this her imagination, was this just her silly imagination. I could be home, or, she paused, I could be at work. She began to clench her jaw. Why, dont do that, sweetie, youve still got to take your medicine. Pulling some pills out of the pocket in her bosom, the nurse held out a glass of water to Brigitte. Brigitte would not open her mouth. The nurse put the glass of water down and grabbed Brigittes nose.

This wasnt the first time anyone had tried that trick with her jaw clenching tick. Brigitte opened her lips and began breathing with her teeth still clenched. The nurse picked up the pills and tried to shove them into the pockets of Brigittes cheeks, but Brigitte was no squirrel. She wouldnt swallow them and, instead, spit them out on the face of the nurse. Tell me where I am! Brigitte yelled, thrashing against the hand and ankle cuff restraints she had just noticed. Stoically, she tried and retried to shove the pills down Brigittes throat, but Brigittes kicking got the best of her. After a particularly violent thrash, the nurse walked away. Brigitte paused and examined her chains. They were not complex, but they were tight. She began to relax her muscles, hoping the woman was going to leave her for at least six minutes. Her breathing slowed down, and she began to slowly pull her right wrist, letting it lull and sink through the restraint. As she was almost free, the door clicked open, and the nurse returned, carrying a syringe. Brigittes muscles tensed, and her heart rate elevated; all was lost. This should make you a little more agreeable, dearie, and the nurse plunged the needle into Brigittes thigh. The room did not go dark as Brigitte was expecting. Instead, she began to feel sleepy; not tired enough to collapse, but moving was too much of an expenditure. Slipping an I.V. into Brigittes wrist, the nurse pulled another syringe out, and shot a clear red liquid into the tubing. Youll be feeling normal again in no time. But I feel fi-i-i-ne. a yawn.

No you dont, sweetheart. Youll feel better later. I think I know my own n-n-normal. She promised she would not fall asleep. With all do respect, you city folk really know nothing. And with that, the nurse was gone. Brigittes thoughts came to almost a halt, but then they began to race. She thought of her family and friends and her bagels at home and the patients at work and the memes and the sky and elementary lessons and pain and love and twitching and toenails and dancing with strangers and red and smells and everythingandanythingshehadeverknown. Nothing in the room was moving, and Brigitte could tell, but the floors felt as if they shook, and her fingers began to burn up. They were too hot but her feet were too cold and her mind was both at the same time. Muscles began to twitch, some occasionally and others with a constant rhythm. Brigitte could see clearly, but she could not focus for more than a few seconds before her eyes would unwillingly dart to another subject; its like they moved independently, as her mind thought without Brigitte being given consideration as to what to think about.

CHAPTER 19 It started with her childhood. Her mother was loving and caring, and she spoke a language Brigitte could no longer understand where the words were tied together and the syllables fluid. Her father would smile only sometimes, like when he put her into her bed and tucked the corners of the blankets under her chin. She had no sisters or brothers, just a small yellow dog who becked and called and

never begged for anything unreasonable. All four of them would play together in the grass until she turned about four. Thats when her father began to take more and more trips, and her mother began telling her more and more things in secret, like where to hide if the power ever went out or if she heard screams. As a child, the revolution didnt seem anything too catastrophic. Mom and Dad stayed calm around her, and the dog would always waddle at her side, acting as toddling wall of protection. But, as all walls must do one day, he fell. A soft November evening, during dinner, the lights went out. There was a soft humming sound, and Mom told her to run and hide. The dog stayed with her parents, who Brigitte remembered frantically lifting open the box that always sat under the kitchen table and served as a simple footrest. Go to you-know-where! Mom whispered, as the air was almost completely still, except for that humming. Zmmzmmhumhumhumzmmzmmhumhum. Brigitte curled under the secret spot that, even in her memory, remained hidden. She tucked her blankets to her own chin and waited. Eventually, the humming turned to knocking and the knocking turned to banging and the banging turned to fighting. But the fighting never turned to screaming. The fighting, instead, turned into footsteps, click-clacks in the settled silence. Brigitte could hear her dogs whimper coming from the south end of the house. He dragged his paws until she could tell he was at the

base of the stairs- their house was small, and she knew it well. The footsteps hustled, planted a kick, and her dog let out a strong whimper. He was still not dead, but they ignored him. She felt the vibrations of their searching. They knocked over dressers and beds and flung open closets, but she was invisible. She shed no tears, and her fingers did not tremble. Instead, her jaw was clenched, with resolve. She did not know why this was happening or what had happened, but she would never forget it. What felt like months, but was really mere days, went by, and Brigitte did not move. Catching sleep in short burst, her eyes drooped further than any of her other six year old friends. Her mom had made her promise that she would stay quiet and stay good. Those exact words were exchanged so many times. You know that if we ever go anywhere, we want you to be good, alright? Yes mom. And youll be quiet. Youll never reveal anything you dont mean to, okay? Whatever you say, mom. And, most importantly. Youll love. What does that mean? Youll know. But to this day, she didnt. She didnt know what love was as she emerged from the rubble of her home. She couldnt feel love burying her dog. She never loved another in the school she was taken in by, and the memes did certainly not love her.

Her fathers smile and big, comforting tuck ins were replaced with massive lullabies in barrack rooms. Her mothers hugs were now the smell of jasmine, and her dogs protection felt like any sort of steel. She was told her senses would be stronger than her memories, one day. Then there was school with the other children and the other childrens memories and their thoughts. They would tell her she was silly for resisting. Her parents were infidels, of course, and even if the other childrens parents had gone against the movement, the children still would have remained loyal. Brigitte was new to the school, and she was teased for being homeschooled and homelearned. The history at the academy was much different than anything her parents had taught her. Humans had no idea what they were doing, and the memes were the saving graces. Memes were just evolved from human form. Senses had always played a prominent role in society, and all of the recent turbulence was just recent turbulence. There was no movement, only a small group of resistors complaining about the long standing government. The memes had been influencing society for a longer time than anyone could remember, of course, and any other sort of history was clearly false. Brigitte had been fed lies about the scientists manufacturing memes. The memes were not created to be used or to clean or to help. They never assumed power or overthrew the meek people. Oh no, this was all folly according to the teachers. People would never lose power if they were superior, and a lesser cannot create a greater; the strong memes could not have come from the people, according to her schools history lessons.

Humans were far too attached to their senses, and thats why the memes were better. The memes were evolutionarily stronger. They were better fit to live, and the humans had just faded. Any other thought was wrong, for how could something inferior ever create something superior? The memes said that they were just naturally more advanced, brought into existence by some electronic Darwinism or a random mutation in the computational gene pool. According to the memes, their specific creation was uncertain, except for one thing: they were not created by the humans. While the teachings of her parents would fade to dust, Brigitte stayed in question. There would be occasional submersion into the world of the memes, but she would eventually pull her head back out as her mothers words would jolt her senses and fill her with consciousness. After some time of floating, she would plunge back into propaganda and not reemerge for some time. As years passed, depths became deeper, and gasps for air were less and less frequent, though never absent. School continued, and Brigitte received high honors. She was the teachers favorite, despite her occasional disagreeable outbursts. Always the first to answer questions and always fastest to complete carefully done work. Brigitte received not a single detention, unlike that boy three years below her who was always in the room. Even her worst days were manageable, or at least she could manage them; the teachers did not know which, and they did not care as long as she was calm. Straight from school, Brigitte went to work, and straight from work she went to the special forces. She was one of the quickest ascenders, and her mission with Andrew seemed

something simple; she was to train him with this group of mental traitors. Never had she, or the memes, expected that Olivers games and his thoughts would have had such an impact on anyone, especially those hand picked agents. But that was not of any importance. CHAPTER 20

All that Andrew found important was getting away, not from the woods, but from these tests. They would not let him move without question, and he thought that, if things continued in this vein, he would have no opportunity to change anything. His captors were still moving slow, and he had been sitting in a pitched black room for the past few hours. The leader had tied him to a pole and made conversation, but they really only sat. Andrews life. Can you please sedate me? Fight me? Do something? The hours were passing with absolutely nothing, and Andrew didnt care if his hostilities would bring him down points in someones test booklet; this was awful. I thought you wanted us to be calm with you. The leader stood up, walking to him. Theres a difference between useless and calm. Andrew was never one to make a good impression. Fine, then. We can take you to the physical tests. Andrews jaw hung open. All I had to do was ask? Of course. The leader grabbed his arm and began laughing his strange and eerie laugh. This was the most pathetic test of

Andrew followed and was led down a dark hallway into a darker room. He was sat at a desk made of glass. Numbers and equations were illuminated on the desk. Solve. The leader said. But I thought these were physical tests. Your brain is a physiological development; this is a physical test. Andrew shrugged, defeated, and used a green marker he was given to solve the equations. The first equation was simple physics, something about f equaling m times a that he had learned in grade school. Once he was finished with it, another problem took the main part of the screen, and this time it was calculus- integrating. It was slightly more difficult than the previous but still very manageable. He finished it, and a new problem showed up. Then a new one and a new one and a new one, and this pattern continued. After the twentieth or so problem Andrew began to sweat, and after the first bead dropped onto the glass plate, a timer came up at the corner. He was given a minute to do this problem. A minute for the next. He dropped another bead of sweat, and the timer decreased five seconds. His hands began to shake a few minutes later. The timer was only at 45 seconds, but he believed hed finally been able to control his sweating with soft and heavy breathing. His body was cooled, but his hands were presenting another problem. Noticing his fingers, the leader threw a new distraction at him: people began speaking to him. Not just normal people, though, as there were images of his boss, mother, friends, others he recognized asking him questions he hardly knew the answers to. Why would you keep aggravating the little ones? a teacher asked.

How come you never visited me in the hospital? his long gone childhood friend demanded. Will you ever stop being late? the boss was poking a finger at Andrew. But he had to focus on the equation. He had to edit this cryptic sentence- the equation questions were throughout all subjects. The self is not an inhabitant of any realm other than the realm in which their residencies have been properly established, that is: a self must only be a self and not an other. He was supposed to find the errors, and the intrinsic meaning. In between the screaming and the yelling and the sweating and the shaking and the time committing. The demands became harsher and the words blurrier with sweat dripping down into his eyelashes. FINISH THIS! Andrew began screaming to himself. He pounded at the table, and he clenched his fists, and he cracked his knuckles. I CAN DO IT AND DO IT AND ILL FINISH IF ITS THE LIFE OF ME AND AND. Babbling, Andrew scrawled the sentence and crossed out every third letter. He thought it was a code or something, but he didnt know. Everything was blurring.

CHAPTER 21 When Brigitte awoke, she could not feel a thing. There was no light, no sound, no temperature. Everything was absolutely blank. Moving, she could barely that she was in water, and the sensation faded after a few swishes. She knew she was wearing an oxygen mask, but the fabric was so soft that it became unnoticeable just as the water. All she had was her thought.

Little did Brigitte know, Andrew floated in the tank next to her. He did not know what to think, even though thinking was all he could really do. His hands swished around, but they did not feel like they were moving. He did not know why or how he had been here, but he felt nothing from his previous test- no racing heart, no sweating brow. His body was completely calm. No, calm was too strong of a word. His body was completely neutral. The water in both of their tanks was body temperature, so they could not feel it. The current was controlled, so even if they made movements in the water, the current wouldnt reflect or be noticeable on their skin. It was completely dark in the chamber and sound proof, too. Nothing at all could be heard, felt, seen, smelled, or tasted. There was nothing to taste, except the blood of their own tongue, but neither of them had been clever enough to unlock the one technicality and bite their mouth, the one area of their body they could access. Oliver and his team watched Brigitte and Andrew from above. They checked their notebooks. Andrew had done well under the stress test, and hed lasted longer than many of the current members. Brigittes tests were a little trying for her, and she ended up going into her memories and into her thoughts; they were quite possibly harder to erase than her senses, and Oliver was secretly worried. Would erasing memories be a bad thing??? Hmmhmhmhmhm. However, her physical test had been exemplary. She was agile and nimble and incredibly clever, burning with some intangible passion and inquisition. Neither Andrew nor Brigitte could understand it fully now, but they were being reset. CHAPTER 22

Brigitte began to open her eyes, and the slight movement in the silent and still room seemed like an explosion. Oliver studied her on the screen, but she hardly movedmerely testing the waters as it were. She swished her hands and kicked her legs, but after a moment or two she stopped. Oliver turned to his assistant. Shes not doing anything, which is strange. Its like she understands. The assistant nodded, noting it on the clipboard she held. Brigitte had closed her eyes and had gone back to floating. The untrained eye wouldve assumed she was asleep, but her breathing had quickened. Then Andrews eyes popped open. He had been awake for quite sometime, but just now had shown any significant reaction. Thrashing, he splashed the water; it wouldnt do any good, anyway, as the tank was set to immediately absorb any movement. Andrew wouldnt be able to feel anything. After a few seconds, coming to this realization on his own, Andrew paused, and his movement subsided. His arms fell to his sides and he closed his eyes, resting for a moment or two. Then again, his eyes opened, and Oliver could see the grin that was forming on his lips. Andrew began to bite his lip.

The moment Andrews teeth clamped down on his tongue, the lights in his tank flashed on. The wave sensors were turned off, and he could feel the current of the water flushing against his skin. He started being lifted out of the tank, and his body met with the freezing cold outside air. Olivers voice came on his earpiece.

Your test is finished. After his test, which he still didnt understand, was finished, Andrew was whisked to a white room. He was cleaned off with a hose by a man in a white suit. Then he was able to dry himself and change into the clothes he was presently wearing. Dinner was served, as per usual, in the dining room, and Andrew was instructed to escort and feed himself. He had sat alone for most of it, but towards the end was joined by a few of the younger children and their old and bitter looking chaperone. Her features were pointy and hard, and the only hint of long ago beauty lingered in the ice blue eyes she used to size up Andrew. They exchanged no words, but she effectively made him feel like the outsider he wished he wasnt. The children asked him for stories, but he could think of nothing; the lies he told in school were lost, unable to roll off of his tongue as they once did. In fact, he couldnt remember anything about them except that they, at one point, were there. Their subject eluded him. He stammered out an idealized version of his journey to the place, but they could hardly understand it; they had, in fact, lived here their entire short lives at the commune and had hardly any notion of travel. The chaperone eyed him until he left the cafeteria to wander. He passed through the hallways and the surrounding woods, but he couldnt think of anything. After his time in the tank, Andrew couldnt think. Hed maxed out, reached his thought limit. Everything he had thought in the tank, even just the manner in which he thought, was more concentrated than any other experience he had had. In the tank he was senseless; no body, pure thought. That was not something he could handle, and the lip biting incident had taken place approximately one and a half minutes after he regained consciousness, and apparently that was also some sort of record;

the societys average was about 14 minutes even though the government workers average was 6 minutes. The society attracted a certain type of people, but it seemed Andrew hardly fit the bill. So it seemed. Instead of walking and thinking or thinking and walking, Andrew thought to walk to the observation room. He stumbled through the building, asking for directions. Few of the people in the building would speak to him, and he seemed to have newcomer written across his forehead. He assumed it was because the community was small and he was all alone, but it didnt matter. Directions were eventually given, and he found the east tower where Oliver was watching. Andrew was dried, sitting in sweatpants and drinking a cup of tea in the observation room with Oliver. Olivers assistant had long since fallen asleep, and Olivers eyes were still glued to Brigittes tank. Is it typical for someone to be this patient? Andrew came up behind Oliver, startling him a little. Well, um, not quite. Oliver was wringing his hands. This is quite interesting, and she seems to have broken all records, he laughed, nervously, of any of our members. Why dont you just pull her out? Oliver looked like he had just been struck. Pull her out? Pull her out? That would stop the resetest! Prematurely! Id never want to do that to her. Think of what mental impact it could have on her if she wasnt ready. His voice trailed on to a mumble. Not understanding any of it, Andrew went back to his seat against the wall. He had tried asking earlier to no avail. He had heard Oliver mention she

was still awake and still conscious and something about this being terribly indecisive, but Andrew knew nothing. But now, all Andrew could do was wait, and all Brigitte could do was think. CHAPTER 23 Never before had Brigitte been thoroughly nestled in her thoughts. She had tried to attain a state like this for years, hiding under the covers as a child, submerging herself in a bathtub, or sneaking into dark rooms when no one else was awake. None of these approaches had ever worked, however, as there was always something pesky blocking her from thinking to her full potential: the inevitable overheating of blankets or the silly need to breathe, as she, no matter what, could always still feel something. Never before had Brigitte been thoroughly able to think as she was thinking right now. Completely removed from the fallacies of her senses, Brigitte was complete mind, and she knew she could trust all she was processing; there was no influence from the pesky outside affecting her thoughts. She would not think faster because she was freezing and trying to warm herself up from the inside out. She would not be lulled to sleep by her own penses as her body temperature rose and she would begin to move more slowly. No. This was purity, and she never wanted to leave. Since shed woken up, though, Brigitte had realized that she couldnt spend the rest of her eternity buried in this realm of ideas. She expected that this was just further procedure, nothing tailored to her own desires, even though this was what she had desired most of all. Her eyes had focused on him and his crony with the clipboard, and for a moment, her thought was tainted.

She felt the embarrassed blood rushing to her cheeks and her typical jaw line crunching together. Immediately, though, she closed her eyes and was able to calm herself; without sense, there was no other reality, really, and she could make Oliver exist or poof into the realm of falsehoods by a mere twitch of her eyelids. Reality was only consciously real if she acknowledged its realness, and she wasnt bound to do that. Instead, she tucked the truth into the back pocket of her brain and focused on this achievement and this isolation. Brigitte thought, and she thought about all she could think. This started simple: the furs on her dogs back used to stand up when he growled, and the light would reflect off of their golden coloring to show that the coloring was not simply golden, but an array of yellow and white and orange hues, combined so cleverly by nature as to mold into one. It turned more complex: the disconnect she felt from her mother and her father would manifest itself on days she felt connected to the government and the society, but at the latest of nights, when she would sit awake under her comforter, she thought the thoughts she knew her parents would support or the thoughts her parents could console. She craved to actually understand her shallowly inexplicable, psychologically describable longing for someone to speak to outside of herself, but she did not long for the touch of another, no far from that, she craved intellectual discourse or some sort of approval, some sort of validation outside of her own mind which may very well have been twisted. She worried that in the future the things that she thought would not be relevant, and she agonized over the possibility of looking back on her present self as silly and foolish; this anxiety, she knew, lingered in

almost all of her actions, but she could not say definitively why, even while floating in the tank without her senses. Of course, a trained doctor, she knew, would find this perfectly normal, especially when a girl has lived a life where all of her beliefs have been questioned- with the power of the memes, she must be looking back on her parents with disdain, remembering their, and her own, certainty of ideas. Why, obviously, this was a manifestation of the fear that history would repeat itself; that is what the doctors would say. She felt, though, that this medical insecurity was not what she thought. No, what she thought was greater, but she could never explain it, even doused and blinded by her first few hours in the chamber. After some time, Brigitte tried to push this anxiety from her mind to focus on other things. There was the ethical debate of joining this group. She still had loyalties to the government and to her job, and this whole process had been so suddenly sudden. She had been instructed to the concert, ordered to the caf, and rushed into the car. After that, it all happened, and she had not the time to really step back and examine the situation; until this point, she had been set in motion, and this chamber was the first force interfering with her inertia. While she had had time to ponder, she had no time to edit her actions to her preferences, really, and that made her terribly embarrassed. Pleased as she was with her present condition, she wanted to scream at the Brigitte of some days ago who had floated into the mission. But this thought would bring her back to her anxiousness. Nothing made her comfortable with her former decisions, and she could not trust her current

self, as, if the pattern would continue, and it almost undoubtedly would, her future self would be displeased with the thoughts of her current self; her opinions seemed to always be changing, and although she had attributed it to simple physiological and psychological growth, the displeasure she felt was not simple guardian-like disapproval. It was pure disgust. She could hardly even trust herself, as she would change, so anything she could say to herself would be nothing more than a temporary promise that would need renewal in all future incidents. Apparently, she had not been a good dealkeeper. CHAPTER 24 Oliver was perturbed. At four in the morning, she had been floating for fourteen hours. Andrew was snoring on the lab bench, and his assistant had long since clocked out. Olivers eyes sagged into their bedded bags, but he still managed to keep them focused on the girl. She was still showing signs of definitive consciousness. There were no REM movements, and her figure had not fallen fully limp. He must observe her, for if he didnt, her resetting process would be incomplete; pulling a person out before they decide they would like to be removed would be to forfeit, and the process would have no effect. It was the inability to deal with thought that lead to the malleability of the mind, so as long as she could remain contented, she would remain untouched. Her extreme longevity worried Oliver, though. This was not something he had seen before, but there had been a muted quip or two about another who had never left the tank. Oliver

had never heard what became of him, but the storys secrecy did not point to anything pleasant. To be a good member, he thought, one must be still able to be changed. The elasticity of a subjects brain must allow itself to be twanged and tweaked by outside sources and, though the subjects were chosen for their dissent, they still possessed some degree of formability; they were still humans after all- they were just humans to whom an alternate reason appealed. Oliver wished to excel this process or at least edit it. It was Andrew he was primarily interested in. Andrew, oh he certainly possessed the right amount of malleability, possibly even a little too much, but that would not hurt the fellowship, of course. It was certainly better to have fans too loyal than those not loyal enough, even if neither were ideal. It seemed as though Brigitte would fall into the latter category, if any category at all. Oliver went through the procedures again: the sensory deprivation chambers were supposed to clear the subjects minds from the bodily influences of the memes- erase their memories and the influences of lavenders and curries and red lights-, and they were never intended to serve as a new residence or a permanent disambiguation. Brigitte was being terribly inconvenient, and not only that, she was being wholly worrisome. If it was up to him, Oliver would terminate her operation immediately; not waste any of the fellowships time or resources. But, he knew that he really must be patient.

A few days went by, and she had yet to move or sleep. Oliver knew he must force quit the operation after four days, and he was counting down to the precise 96 hour mark. After 90

hours, he was to have a meeting with the other officials to determine Brigittes fate. If she would not try to find her own sense, she could be too far gone, and her mind could be too sophisticated and strong to be trusted on the insurgency mission. While the rebels required a disconnect from the society, it was still necessary that their followers be loyal. Loyalty was, of course, everything. She could, however, be a perfect leader. It all depended on what, specifically, she was like after her reintroduction to senses. This longevity could show strength, but the insurgency may not need strength. There was only so much power, and not everyone would be satisfied with divvying it up. Hour 89 and thirty minutes. Andrew, Im going to go to a meeting. I trust that you will keep an eye on your friend. My aid will be here with you, and she has information on how to contact me. Oliver checked his watch, and smiled. This was going to be over. Uh, yeah, sure, Ill do what you need me Thats good. Thats great. Alright, bye. Oliver had cut Andrew off and had left the room before the consent had left his lips. The aid, who had just recently awoken, turned to Andrew. Look, heres a clip board. The boxes are simple. Cross them off if anything happens, if she moves. You get it. If she wakes up, call Oliver. His numbers at the top. Tell him I went looking for him in person. You got it? Um, definitely, but shouldnt you

Just like Oliver, she was gone before Andrews sentence. This place was, obviously, quite professional. Andrew hovered at the window, looking at his partner. He could only see her outline and shadow. There was a shaded screen over the glass, keeping light out and her nakedness inclothes wouldve felt like something. Oliver, before he had left, had grumbled things about the meeting to himself, and not a single word had sounded as though it was in Brigittes favor. It was in her best interest to wake up, Andrew had at least deduced, if not much else. He decided to disturb her, and a brief check of the perimeters and doors confirmed that he was alone. The stairs to the test room were just outside of the observation chambers, and he climbed down them after setting the chambers door to stay unlocked. Her tank was located in a small room, a black petal on a black glass flower in a room with white walls; apparently, there could be up to eight tests going at once. Andrew knocked on her glass. She didnt move. He tapped again. Nothing. Andrew pounded. Still, there was no response. CHAPTER 25 Brigitte never wanted to leave. By the third day, she was nearly asleep but still conscious. Her thoughts wavered in and out, just as her awareness of her senselessness. She felt as though she was half asleep, or maybe she was meditating- she had read a few books about the old, eastern myth when she was looking to independently transcend her body. Apparently, one time, a man had meditated for forty days straight; Brigitte was hoping to break this record.

At first, Andrews taps were inaudible. She was so far removed that nothing could shake her, but the taps turned to pounds and the pounds to shattering blows against her peace; they were unavoidable, it seemed. She stayed still, hoping he would go away. He didnt. She opened her eyes and saw his face, only because it was pressed so hard up against the glass. With his eye contact, she became aware of her nakedness and feebly tried to cover herself up. For the first time in days, she felt blood rushing to her cheeks as they were, undoubtedly, turning bright red. Color was back. Noise was back. Meditation was gone. Andrew was smiling and waving. Bite your lip! he mouthed, though she could hardly see through the blurring water. He chomped down dramatically on his own mouth, hoping that would direct her to. She shrugged her shoulders- the universal symbol for why. He spelled out trouble with his fingers. She shrugged her shoulders again. Just trust me, he spelled. Once she had nodded in understanding, he began to crack his knuckles. She knew he was nervous. He began to pace, stopping to bit is lip for her. Please, he spelled. Trouble. Trust me. Pace. Crack. Spell. She didnt want to leave. Even this communication was better than the real world because her senses were dulled. Her mediation was disturbed, but it was still better than any

connection she could feel while living as a real fleshy being. She didnt want to sense again or ever, if that was feasible. She would prefer death over sense. Another spelling please, and he was almost crying. She had to. Brigitte bit her lip.

CHAPTER 26 Oliver was just setting down his papers, collecting this thoughts when Andrew burst through the meeting room door. Shes done it, and shes coming out of the tank! He was nearly breathless, and his face was flushed, but he was smiling. Seated around the table were the elders, some of the insurgencys oldest members, all with white beards and green smocks, except for the two women. They had begun whispering at Andrews arrival, but froze after his announcement was complete. What precisely do you mean? One of the least old members stood up from his chair. Andrew leaned against the wooden wall, hands on his knees; he clearly wasnt one for running too often. I mean, Brigitte has bit her lip and is now being ready to be cleaned up. You can adjourn this little meeting. What time precisely did she awake? The mans voice was forcibly calm. It wavered slightly, and his body was stiff, arms crossed on his chest and lips slightly pursed. Andrew checked his watch. About twenty minutes ago.

It would have been 90 hours and forty minutes after her submerge, would it not, Oliver? The table turned to look at him, as he hadnt moved or spoken since Andrews arrival. His hands were still, precisely unmoving in the act of shuffling papers. He looked like a photograph, his mouth hung open and eyes glazed slightly over. The mention of his name shook him slightly, but his body moved mechanically. Um, oh well, yes yes. Ninety forty would be quite right I believe. Now if I can check the clock I can be quite sure. Well, yes, it would have, and oh well, if she had his voice trailed off as his motions became more fidgety. Oliver! The elders voice was harsh. Pull yourself together. Oliver was, once again, unmoving. What would you like us to do, now? This is your case but our time youre wasting. Sorry sorry sorry his hands were running over papers, and he glanced now and then at Andrew. We, well, we need to, er, welcome her back. And you, well, you all dont need to do anything. Ill just take Andrew here back to greet here, and we can talk about, um, er, ah, plans! Later. The meeting groaned, and the group left, sliding out of their chairs and out the door, whispering harshly to each other. Andrew stood by the exit, ignoring the obvious glances the leaders were throwing him. The only elder who spoke came up to Olivers side before I will want to see you tonight in my office as soon as this, he paused, looking at Andrew, mess is cleared up.

Oliver nodded and focused his attention to Andrew. Where is my aid? She was supposed to come get me. His voice was low and his words concentrated. Napping? Andrew threw off the first response he could think of. She really has been quite useless. He paused. But thats really of no importance. Brigitte is safe! And she is alive, and you dont have to do anything drastic. Isnt that fantastic? The excitement in his voice wasnt a faade. Um, well, of course it is, Olivers voice, however, reeked of bad acting. Well, if shes getting tidied up, then she should be ready to meet you for dinner. You know where the clean up station exits, dont you? I would suppose you would, as you just came out of it Just go wait for her there. When Andrew didnt immediately move, Oliver shooed him from the room. She couldnt have awoken on her own, he was convinced. The trance had been deep, and her psyche had been too unmoving, and Andrew had been too excited. He was not one for concealing his feelings. Somehow, he needed to prove this to the elders, but the means eluded him. Brigitte, and her influence over precious Andrew, could be harmful to the movement, he knew it, but he had no true justification, just the gut feelings and inexplicable nervousness he preached against. They would not believe him, or worse, until something happened or evidence was formed. But that was secondary. His meeting with the elder was the first thing on his mind. This was going to be awful, Oliver could tell. The bearded man who had stood up against him was the most irritable of the elders, though one of the newer members of the elite group. Oliver couldnt recall his position prior to the promotion, though technically it was just a relocation. All

of them at the top were the prime leaders, in theory. Oliver was the leader just like the elders, technically. There was still a certain social hierarchy, if not official business titles. Oliver trekked to the elders office, down the hallway, up the stairs, and a knock on the second door on the left. Come in, Oliver, the voice was harsh. Oliver poked his head through the door. I said come in, Oliver. Harsher. Oh, right, right of course sir. Oliver stalked through the door, accidentally slamming it as he tripped over the threshold. Ill just sit right here. Oliver picked a meek wooden chair, front and center by the elders desk. So, how is your case going? He leaned on the desk, close to Oliver. Well John, er, sir, I mean Its going alright. Oliver was terrible at formalities. Why did you call the meeting if the girl was going to awaken? I didnt think she was, of course, sir. But you can recognize the signs. She would stir, and she would move in the tank. A girl wouldnt just wake up, suddenly, after nearly four days underwater. I would typically agree with that, sir, but I suppose she must have, since apparently she is awake. Oliver nodded, tilting back in his chair. What do you think of the boy? Andrew? Oh, well, he seems like he will do very well. Hes quite eager and ready to please the organization. He is very excited to join the group, I believe, and his mind is just the

right amount of malleable, if not a little too soft. That worries me a little bit, but he should have no problem. It seems as though he has been looking for something like this his entire life. And what do you think of the girl? The elder placed his head on his fists, playing with the sleeves of his robe. She is very strong and very intelligent. If she were to wish to join us, which I am nervous of, she would be a fantastic addition. Shes quite clever, but I dont think she is wholeheartedly into this. Her job was everything to her, so it seemed, but Im not certain how much she actually enjoyed it. She has quite a great sense of duty, but her alliances are hard to craft or maintain or, well I dont quite know. The elder nodded. Who did you leave her with when you came for the meeting? The aid and Andrew. But didnt the boy say that the aid was sleeping, missing, or something? Oliver nodded. Yes, but she was fine when I was still there. The elder pulled out a pen and paper, sliding it to Oliver. Write her name and position down, will you? His voice was icy. But she didnt do anything wro--- Precisely. She didnt do anything. But! That doesnt matter so much as long as you put her name down. John took the scribbled upon paper. What do you propose we do with this Brigitte girl? Shes being cleaned and eating. Olivers answer was matter of fact, finally confident. I mean after that, Oliver.

Well, I hadnt really thought of it. I supposed we would start them on work detail, starting with basic cooking then cleaning then they can move up. We will, of course, give them tutorials and introductions before any of this, and we will introduce them to our way of life, and--- Oliver. Pause. Did you ask them if they wanted to join? Well, they came with me. Did you give them a clear option? They took the option of coming in the car Olivers voice trailed off. They havent really chosen to be there, have they, Oliver. The elder leaned toward the edge of his desk, fingers gripping the end closest to Oliver. Well, I think that. Have they? Well, probably not so much. Oliver! The elder was standing, fuming. You know as well as I do that a member cannot be brought in with out their full consent. Did you ever think that that is why the girl stayed under for so long? Did it ever possibly cross your mind that they were not fully committed to this? You did, at least do checks on them, right? Of course, John, I did a background check, and I had others meet with them. I looked their records up in the memes database. Could you trust the others who you assigned to meet with them?

I believe so, John. I wouldnt have sent out anyone that couldve been a double crosser or side for something. Oliver was worried, and his voice concealed it terribly. Right, Oliver, right. John didnt believe him, and he didnt even try to conceal it. Now that theyre here, though, you must make sure that they stay or at least dont tell anyone anything. If they prove to be disloyal, well. I assume you know what to do. Oliver swallowed the growing lump in his throat. Of course sir, I know the procedure. Sure you do, Oliver. Sarcasm. Now, just go on and fetch them, and begin with their introduction, but before you do, make sure that they want to be here. Send them to me, also. I may have better luck reaching them than you have. Yes, sir, of course sir. Oliver stood up and stalled. Carry on, the elder sighed.

CHAPTER 27 Brigitte was dry but still sitting wrapped in the white towel. She sat, unmoving staring at the white wall of the changing room. Her thick hair had finished drip drying half an hour ago, and Andrew had been at her twice that time. Hed begun coaxing her, advertising the dining hall, and asking about her underwater experience, but she was unresponsive, staring. There was a distinct absence of activity in her eyes. They were not looking at anything, but they were not closed or focused on a specific point on the wall. They seemed to be open because open was the most neutral position for them.

Cmon Brigitte, Andrew crooned. Ill get you all dry, and you can have a warm dinner. Well talk about it, he paused, thinking of something that might move her, and maybe I can get Oliver to let you in the tank again. She stirred for a moment. Yeah, Brigitte, maybe you can do experiments on the tank about ways to make it better, and youll spend time in it as often as you want. His voice babied her, and it was beginning to sound less sincere than hed meant it. These jobs really were a possibility, possibly. I didnt even get an option, Andrew, she spat. They just threw me in here, and now Ive been initiated or something. Hell, I dont even know what the point of that was, but Im sure it wasnt just for fun. You wouldnt have even gotten that opportunity if it wasnt for this place, and it looked like you enjoyed it, so, I dont know, think of the good things. We can stay here, and you can sneak in whenever you want. Brigitte looked around quickly. They were alone, but her voice was still a whisper. What about your job, Andrew. Your allegiance to the government and the memes? They made it clear that you were to have a double life, not become consumed in this insurgency. What do you think is going to happen to you if you stay here? What the hell do you think will happen to you if you leave? Her eyes focused hard on him, and her brow furred. She really didnt know, but she would find a way to manage this double life. Shed act as a go between for both the government and the insurgency. Or something. Shed figure it out, she was convinced.

How about I get Oliver, and you two could talk about this. Andrew was calm again. Brigitte nodded. Sure, Ill be here, I guess. He smiled, standing up. Ill be right back. With that, he left, pacing down the halls to find Oliver. Andrew assumed that Oliver would still be in the meeting with that elder. Now, to find the office of the elder. Down one hall, take a left, peer into each door. Nothing. Down the next hall, take a right, peer into each door. Nothing Repeat for three floors, and then sit down. Think to ask for directions. Hey, excuse me, Andrew pulled over the next important looking person he saw. She was middle aged, with graying hair on her temples, and he recognized her from the meeting. Yes? Um, Im looking for Oliver. I think he went off with the man from the meeting, you know, the one who was, ah, sort of harsh. I believe, I know, her lips were pulled back, and her words were firm. I cant tell you where his office is- that information is privy-, but go back to your little girl friend, and Ill tell Oliver to come get you when hes finished with his important business. And with that, she was off, stalking past Andrew. He stood, his eyes pressed onto her back. She was the first unpleasant thing hed encountered in a while. Not a big deal- he shrugged her off, turning to go back to Brigitte.

Five minutes after Andrew had left, Brigitte heard a knock on the door. Come in, she was bored but slightly nervous. 1

Oliver pressed the door with his back, shuffling into the room. Hello dear, youre certainly looking better. How are you feeling? She pulled the towel tighter around her. Im alright. Andrew just went out looking for you. Well, we can go find him in a little while, after I complete the evaluation about your experience. Its mandatory, really, and we have everyone complete one after their trip. Too much explanation, Brigitte thought, especially after Andrews urgency to get her to leave. Of course, I understand. Fire away. Right, so, Oliver coughed. What did you experience while you were in there? I just thought- there really wasnt much of an experience. I mean, wasnt that the point: remove experience and sense to think. Oliver scribbled. Yes, of course. Now, what did you think about? Well, thats hardly anything I could answer quickly. Just everything, I suppose. I thought about my past and the future and some silly things but also some important things. You name it, I probably considered it. Do you feel any different after these thoughts and this experience, or, ah, lack there of? Well, certainly, she paused and continued, cautiously. I feel more aware, of course, and less, what did they want to hear? Bound by my senses. Oliver smiled. Perfect, perfect. Now, why did you bite your lip?

Her mind raced, as did her tongue. I figured that I had learned everything I could and thought everything Id wanted to think about, and lies, lies, lies, the overwhelming nothing became too overwhelming. Perfect, Olivers grin widened; the elder would be pleased- at least there was some evidence to back up a natural arousal. Well, he continued when he felt everything was recorded. I can go find Andrew now, if youd like. Wait, I had him looking for you, remember? Yes, of course/. He paused. Oh, right, you must need me for something. Would you like clothing? Food? A nap? Anything you wish is available now that youve finished the preliminary tests. Well, you see, I wanted to speak to you about the tests and about future tests. Im not sure I want to be a part of them. She paused, watching Olivers sinking face. Well, no, just in that- its not like this opportunity wasnt fascinating. This company is fantastic, but Im not sure if its a perfect fit. Instead of finishing initiation and wasting anymore of your time, Id like to just confirm that this is the option I want to take. I need to make sure that I want to stay here, and I think I need to explore things a little. Like what? We can send you to other parts of the world, and other branches can show you other ways of life. I wouldnt want you to feel forced into this, he shook, slightly, as he spoke. No, not quite like that. I just, want to check out my old life again. Im not sure I was ready to leave it.

Right. Well, Ill see what I can do. Ill speak to people and get back to you as soon as we figure out a plan. Youll be involved in the process, of course, he added in response to her nervous eyes. But now, I should be going. I certainly hope to see you at dinner, and Ill find Andrew and give him directions for you two to your rooms. Alright, well, thats all. And with that, he was gone, the door swinging on its handles. Theyre really not ones for exits, she thought of his abruptness. But there was nothing she could do but wait- wait for Andrew and wait for a decision. CHAPTER 28 The door snapped open, and it was him. Oh, hi Andrew, she was bored. Hey, I couldnt find him, so I just came back, did he ever- Stopped by about 20 minutes ago. Oh. Yep. Alright, well. Ah, want to go get dinner? Sure, thats fine. She went to get dressed and returned a few minutes later. Andrew escorted her to the dining hall, and throughout the night their conversation was the same amount of vigorous dynamic. She scooped her soup methodically, eyes focusing on some spot on the wall. He shrugged his shoulders, earlier good mood ignored. So, do you want to try to meet anyone here tonight? Another feeble attempt from Andrew.

Surprisingly, Brigitte pirked up a bit, Maybe, it might make staying here seem like more of an option. But I thought you wanted to--- Oliver didnt seem like itd be an option, she said, cold. I hardly think Ill end up getting a choice in the matter, but who knows, she forged a smile, I could be wrong. In case Im not, though, lets be social or something. Right, well, I met a few of the children this morning. They were rather complimentary, but their nurse had hardly the same reaction. I think we should stick to people our own age. Good call, she said, stretching. I cant stand children, anyway. Andrew stood up, collecting and putting away their treys. He directed her to the door on the far right in the back of the hall. This is the, sort of, the recreation wing. Things arent officially organized and titled here, but it seems that most of the fun stuff is around this general area. Theyve got game rooms and swimming pools and computers and most anything youd want really. What exactly do they do around here? Arent they supposed to be stopping the evils of the government? Sarcasm. They do that sometimes, Andrew sighed. I havent totally been able to make out the system, but it seems that anyone can do whatever they want whenever they want to for the most part. Kids go to school until theyre about 15, and then can select what they want to do. They can work here with just that amount of schooling or go to school longer for a more advanced degree, sort of, and with that get a higher position. Nothings really official, you know, no

papers or diplomas or anything. The community just seems to know whos been through what training. Now, once theyve selected whatever career they want, they go to work. Some positions are more rigorous than others, like, for example, Oliver seems to be busier than that guy over there, Andrew pointed to a thirty-something brunette lounging on the poolside. Hes always here, I swear. Apparently hes an analyst or something, and they only need him when things are bad- not that he told me what that meant. How long has this all been around? Has everyone had the same education and whatnot? Brigitte was staring at the man, thinking, Because the memes only took over when we were little, so that mustve been, what? 20, 22 years ago? Andrew nodded, before that, this was sort of just a commune. People just lived together, and the children were taught differently. It was just a psychological experiment, I guess you could say. After the take over, though, they faded into obscurity a little. The memes installed a few sense machines and then forgot about the community, probably because it was so small at the time- 30 people, maybe. After a few years the people here got wind of what the memes were doing, uninstalled the machines, and theyve been in quiet rebellion ever since, slowly adding onto the fortress and increasing their following. Its only been recently that theyve starting branching out to other places and taking action in the city. But, I dont want to tell you too much, just incase you want to take us down once you get out, he smiled.

Lower your voice! You do realize that theyre not supposed to know that were on a reconnaissance mission. All Im going to tell them is that I miss home, not that Im trying to take them down or anything, I dont even know. She faded, slightly, and anyway, its not like theyre going to let me leave. Im sure that initiation was final. Theyre nicer than you would think, Brigitte, and, if that doesnt calm you down, then know at least that Olivers a lot more scatterbrained than youd imagine. She laughed, what would you expect me to do? Run when hes not looking? I could easily find my way out of these deep woods and into civilization all before they find me. Andrew, Im sure theyve got search parties and crews devoted to this sort of thing since they cant have people leaving without their permission or leaving at all, and I know that if I left in particular it would be a big problem, and Good God, calm down, Brigitte. Youre worrying about something that hasnt even come to pass. Its awful, and he snapped, irritating has hell. Her shoulder blades tightened, and she glared. He stared back and began to crack his knuckles. Stop doing that. she focused on his hands, annoyed. Doing what? Your knuckles, she pointed. He looked down, then to her. Your shoulders. Pausing, they both relaxed slowly. I though those tanks were supposed to sort of a reset. Like, everything we did before we wouldnt do again, Andrew said, mostly to himself.

They were supposed to do what? Brigitte came closer to him, whispering. He shook his head, staring at the floor. I dont know, exactly. He, Oliver, said something about it while we were waiting for you to wake up. He let the phrase slip a few timesresetting. I assumed it just had to do with senses and things we attribute to them, you know, like these ticks. I guess that wasnt the point, though. Or maybe the little resetting business failed. Brigittes reply was snide. Well, I could see why it wouldnt work for me, with the force quit and all, but you shouldve been fine. Sadly, your terribly annoying habit is back. Like I said before, your knuckles are going to be hell one day. All decrepit and gnarly! Youll be like an old man before you know it. She was smiling, walking ahead of him down the hallway. Fantastic, he rolled his eyes, following her.

The tour continued until Brigitte knew the commune for her own, though that didnt even take the entire night. As Andrew said, the commune was technically not organized, but there were similar spots: most of the fun things in one section, business and official things in another, education rooms, sleeping rooms, each lined and perfectly furnished with the best technologies available. The instruments were as developed as anything the memes had, and no machine stayed for more than a year; when the community was ruled by robots, technology was not a luxury but a staple. Brigitte had assumed that here things would be a little different- slightly more archaic, less delicate, if nothing else, different machines-, but everything was precisely the same, down to the keyboards. 1

Her eyes grazed through the windows at the empty office spaces. The lights were turned down over the sea of desks and personal computers. Our jobs, she whispered. Do you think they wouldve contacted us about them? Would they send an email or any sorts of message? They usually do, on missions, but this one is a little different. Check, if you want to, Andrew shrugged, standing behind her. The labs open, and they wont be going on rounds for a while. Just be careful, I guess. She shook the door handle. He nodded. She entered, sitting down at a table facing away from the windows. The opening screen required no login name, just like home. She assumed that her fingerprints on the key pad would take her identity, so she typed quickly with her sleeves pulled over her hands, a feeble attempt, but it would delay the sensors reception. Brigitte accessed her email, quickly, and, as expected, the Feelings Bureau had sent something from that morning. BrigitteIts certainly been a while since weve heard from you, and were growing quite concerned with your absence. Worker 606, Andrew, has not been present at work recently, either. Due to the suddenness and unnatural appearance of your leave, we have assumed that the two of you are together. Please send a reason for your absence and your planned date of return. We can assure you that this

will not be tolerated without a speedy and legitimate explanation. Also, if you see 606 tell him to also contact us with his own justification. If no response is received in a week, more extreme measures will be taken. -- Thank you; Feelings Bureau

The letter was dated three days ago. She scurried to reply. So sorry about my absence. I am on official business. Yes, I am with Andrew, and yes, I plan to return shortly. We are safe, and I will continue to update you as often as possible. --Brigitte

After sending, Brigitte checked around. Andrew was standing calmly by the door; it was still clear. She turned to the next email, this one from the memes. Brigitte We have heard that the Feeling Bureau is wondering about your whereabouts. I believed we were clear when we instructed you to maintain your job life and this mission.

An update on your progress is necessary- a clear and thorough update, please. The letter cut off there, unsigned. She began to reply. This mission was not supposed to be this careless. We were meeting the leader at a caf, and he, in essence, kidnapped us, driving us to the heart of his organization. Weve been through the rituals and tests, nearly all of them, for our induction to the society. I am trying to get away as best I can, I promise, but it is proving difficult. I may require assistance. Andrew may be getting too involved to continue this mission, and Im glad this is his first mission; he doesnt know much about the government yet, so if he divulges any information, it wont be a threat to us. I havent told him anything, and all I hope is that he wont give me, or us, up to the leaders. The leaders seem very nice, otherwise. I havent been able to learn much about their ranks, but Andrew tapped on the glass. Now! he mouthed. Her fingers raced faster. -- I can assure you that I will.

I am doing everything in my power to leave, I promise. Please keep the office quiet, if at all possible. ---Brigitte. She sent the mail and tried to clear the computer history, standing up. The door slammed open. CHAPTER 29 How are you liking the, ah, amenities? Oliver strode into the room, smiling at Brigitte. Her fingers dashed over the keys, stumbling to close each window. Yes, Im doing great, I think. She grinned. I was just playing games here, you know, silly ones. And I was feeling a little sleepy, just waiting for her, Andrew threw in, stepping from the doorway. Of course you were, Oliver turned to Andrew. Really, he was just waiting for me to finish. Brigitte walked closer to Oliver. Shed shut off the computer. Id just given her a tour of the grounds, Andrew opened the door for Oliver and Brigitte to step out. Did you now? he seemed genuinely pleased, if not still suspicious. Well how did you like it? Very interesting, more impressive than I thought I would be. Quite intriguing and similar to the city.

Thats what were aiming for, Brigitte. Wed like our people to have all of the amenities of home but without the sensory deprivations and manipulations. We want everything to be similar, just as nice as the city, only freer. We aim to provide freedom, nothing else. Would you like to see more of our facilities or anything? Well, she smiled, I wanted to speak to you, she glanced at Andrew, alone. If you wouldnt mind. Remember what we were discussing earlier? Certainly. That should be alright. Andrew, Oliver waved his hands, just scurry along now if you please. Of course, of course, Andrew stalked away. Meet me in the bunk, alright Brigitte? Id like to talk about those em Ill be there, if youd just move along. After Andrew left, Oliver and Brigitte walked into the hallway. He took her away from the general office spaces, into his private room. They hardly spoke on the short journey, though Oliver attempted meek conversation. What can I do you for, miss? He was louder when they were in his office. Dont you remember what Ive asked you about? She sat on a leather chair in front of his dark wooden desk. The arms were large, and the cushion was overstuffed, making Brigitte seem small in comparison. About going back home for a while? I definitely remember, dear, Olivers feet were on his desk. And Ive spoken to the powers that be, he laughed, about your opportunities. Now, I want you to know that we dont often allow this to happen. Some of our children well let go into the city wit the memes, if

theyre different, somehow. If they dont like the company, well send them out of it. We feel a little bit guilty, of course, taking away some of their freedoms, but we only send the ones that we feel would be able to ah, survive. What sort of people? Simpler people. Ones who wouldnt miss the freedom, and ones who cant appreciate it. There are certain people whove grown up in this environment who dont belong. Its hard to explain, but I suppose you would understand; most people who come here and like the ones we send out. They get in trouble a lot, though, unlike most of you, its not due to their creativity or imagination. How many people usually come from outside to live here? She nearly forgot her original question. A few come in a month, at least. They go through basic initiation, like you have, and then some, like you may. If there are children, theyll attend the schools, and we have learned to immerse them fast enough; the younger they are, the easier they are to mold, so to speak. Mold? Well, as in, they accept our message quicker, and so they want to work for us. Its simple, really. But how is that different from what the memes do? Brigitte was stone cold, staring at Oliver. It seems exactly the same. Well you realize that youre not getting the entire picture, dear. And, oh, maybe mold wasnt the precise verb to use. Were just trying to assimilate them and get them to understand

our position. The small ones, they have no choice, really, when they come here, so all we can do is make them comfortable, make them fit in here. Its nothing malicious. But youre convincing them of something they otherwise wouldnt have thought. No, no, no. Youre getting it all wrong, but that doesnt really matter now, does it? Thats now what youre here for, doll. You want to know about leaving, back to the memes and back to your terrible old life. Thats fine, I suppose. Fine for me to go back? She nearly jumped at the opportunity, cutting off his thought. Well have to discuss it some, the specificities at least, but its probably fine, assuming that you return every once and awhile to check in. We need to make sure youre not divulging any sorts of our little secrets to the memes. There would be quite the price to pay, he smiled. But other than that, I should be fine? You could be ready to depart tomorrow afternoon, if thats really what you want. Id like nothing else, Brigitte paused, for now.

CHAPTER 30 Andrew was nearly asleep when Brigitte found her way to their mutual room. There were two beds lined up against the wall, twin sized, with matching blue comforters. The walls were ivory, and the rug matched the comforters. Windows lined the wall parallel from the door, the view overlooking the same courtyard as the dining hall, which they were three floors above. To the right of the windows was a bathroom, there was a single one in each suite, apparently. \ Well? Howd it go with Oliver?

Brigitte startled, having been standing in the threshold staring at the room. It went fine, she stepped in, shutting the door. Andrew sat up, scooting to the end of the bed. Did he say anything about letting you leave? Tomorrow morning. Brigitte said, nonchalantly moving to the dresser. She pulled out a set of pajamas and went into the bathroom to change. So soon? Andrew was up standing at the door. Oliver wants to make sure I dont know too much. Because youll learn a whole lot in a week. Leaving sooner rather than later is fine by me, she stepped out of the bathroom, changed. But wont you be visiting every once in a while anyway? Isnt that mandated or something? Thats what they tell me. She shrugged. I must come back once a month minimum and as often as Id like. After a year I need to decide whether or not I want to be a part of the organization. If I decide to join then Ill begin the assimilation processes, and my visits will increase in regularity. If I decide not to join, Ill still need to check in every month or so, just so they can confirm Im being good and all, she laughed. Not that I would ever do anything like that. Certainly, he walked back to his bed, lying on his back. Do you find it strange at all that both of us are going completely different ways?

No, she said, going to the bathroom for a toothbrush. Weve always been different, though I didnt think youd be so immediately gung-ho about this. The memes usually pick people who will, comply, and, well, I guess they missed with you. What do you mean by that? He spoke delicately. Nothing mean or anything. I just find it strange that you havent been more loyal to the city. The memes usually select people who not only think differently but also want to serve the memes; my partners usually have a strong sense of duty or at least appreciation for the government. My parents were ex-rebels, sure, but I wouldnt leave the city and the government just for another organization without really knowing what I was getting into. Im not going to rebel just to rebel, but I suppose thats just because Im a square or something. She was finished getting ready for bed, and lie on her back on the other bed. I never knew why they chose me, hell, its not like I ever enjoyed my work or getting up when I needed to and typing in calculations about fabric density and its effect on different populations. That was intellectual murder, I swear. I didnt ask for this position, and I never swore loyalty. All I wanted, ever, was a change of pace, and, well, I guess thats what they gave me. Jumping in on this is the most exciting thing Ive done in years, his grin was wide. Im sure therell be a lot more fun once Im gone and youre a full member. Lets get to bed, so the morning will come faster. Brigitte switched off the light and went to sleep. CHAPTER 31 Her few possessions were packed and she was standing at the entrance by noon the next day. Olivers black car pulled up in front of her, and he stepped out to open the door.

Your chariot, madam. Thanks, she climbed in, putting her bag into the back seat. How long do you think itll be until were in the city? Not longer than an hour, I presume, Oliver revved the engine, pulling away from the commune. After a few moments, he spoke again. I spoke to a few others this morning, and they, essentially told me everything that I told you last night. I was guessing, really, but I suppose I was right. All youll have to do is return, monthly. It needs to be every month at the same time. We must set a day before I drop you off. Ill pick you up and drop you off, and the visits will take less than a day. It can be when youre off from work so as no to arise any suspicion. I hope that is alright? Yes, it sounds fine, Brigitte shifted in her seat, uncomfortably. Ill be back whenever you want me. Good, good. The rest of the ride passed in absolute silence. Brigitte couldnt see out the window as it was, again tinted. She had no idea where they were until the car came to a thudding halt. I believe this is where I last found you. Oliver said, opening the door. The caf loomed outside, and Oliver lifted her from the vehicle. Before I let you totally free, just tell me when you are free? I dont have work on Saturdays or Sundays- typical. Sometimes I go to sensory services Sunday mornings, but they dont take attendance.

Id rather not disrupt any rituals, just for safe measure, so well see you on the first Saturday of every month. Sound good? Its fine, Brigitte pulled her bag onto her shoulder and stepped away from the car. Alright, well, goodbye Brigitte. He nodded as she began to walk away. And remember. Yes? Well be keeping track of you.

PART TWO Life at the ministry had been progressing as usual for everyone else, but for Brigitte it was a constant question. Her story must be straight, and her motions must be defined, perfectly back in stride. She was terribly glad that shed always been strict and obedient, as her instructions could never be too tight. Immediately after she had returned, the memes called her. She was to report to central intelligence and give a report. Her words had been careful, but they didnt notice, and thought the spoke with the utmost honesty. All of a sudden we were in his car, and then we were driving and driving until we reached the forests. Im not sure where precisely we were in the woods, but it was certainly to the south of the city.

They noted all of this down, and she described the fortress. It was large and strangely symmetrical. Some of the rooms were color coordinated, but it all seemed in terrible disorder. The buildings were mostly wooden on the outside, as if to blend in with the surroundings. It had courtyards and was very in touch with nature, far too natural for my taste. And the people, they were strange. They followed single-file, and their eyes were glazed over with subordinance. It seemed like they were slower, like all of their potential hadnt been reached, and like they werent fully active. Im not certain precisely what they do day-today, but it seemed very loose and unorganized. I was surprised. She was trying her best to lie. Where did they take you, once you arrived? they had asked. Dinner. But we were only there for a little. Once again, everyone filed in single lines and spoke very softly- not very rebellious, if you dont mind my opinion. Afterwards, Andrew and I took a walk around the premises. We were examining one of the rooms, when all of a sudden, I couldnt hear him. I searched down the hallways, but then all I remember was black, and thus began the tests. The memes were as interested as robots could be, leaning in and twisting their mechanical necks. My vision and hearing and touch were tested, but, she added, they never explained why. I was then placed in a tank of water for days, and, again, no explanation. When I got out of the tank, finally, they asked me if I wanted to stay or go, and, obviously, I chose to leave.

They wanted to know what had happened to Andrew. Im not certain, she said. I saw him only briefly after being submerged, just in time for me to contact you. When I left he hadnt made his decision, but I assume that his official declaration will be made clear soon. They submitted her to more difficult questions, most of which she replied with a Im sorry, but I dont know. And hours later they sent her home. The following morning, they sent her to the printers, and she was assigned to oversee the production of warning posters. The posters cautioned of a rebel on the loose, with possible access to government facilities. He had brown hair and light eyes, a former employee of the feeling department. He hadnt been seen for weeks, and his name was Andrew.

The flyers were distributed all over the city in many different colors but especially red. Brigitte assumed that they were to initiate anger in the citizens, but she didnt dare tell anyoneno, that would mean she knew things, and knowing things would be bad. She was appointed to lead the task to retrieve Andrew since he had been her partner and required to maintain her post at the Feeling Department. Efforts to contact the insurgency were suspended until more information was learned about Andrew, and life in the city went on as usual for most of the citizens.

CHAPTER TWO

Curry splayed on the speakers, and, for the first time in years, Brigitte was late. Three and a half weeks had past since her return to the city, and each day she was getting less and less controlled. She threw her clothing on and scoffed down a bowl of cereal, dashing into her car, but forgetting her keys. Everything was up and down and terribly scattered, and she grabbed the metal key ring from the table after running back up the stairs to her apartment. Then she drove, drove, drove to the ministry and slumped into her desk after being spat at by the receptionist. She was late after all. A meme flashed on the screen, giving her the typical morning greeting. Good day, Brigitte, and I hope youre alright; its not like you to be late for work. As per usual, youll have to be submitted to some temperature conditioning but only for five minutes, as this is your first time tardy. The metal chair chilled down. Now, on to more important business. The search for Andrew is slow moving, as Im sure you know. We suggest that you visit him soon, but that will not be possible for another few weeks until we are confident in your allegiance to the city; we cannot take chances, Im sure you realize. Something close to a smile flashed upon the memes face, and he continued to speak. There will be a meeting for you this afternoon to discuss further action face to face, but until then, youll need to keep up with normal business. Today you shall be focusing on the ideal water temperature. Weve been running trials, and the supervisor is out today. Youll need to take his position, so meet on the fourth floor in fifteen minutes. For the next ten, you can examine the previously collected data to get yourself

accustomed to the rules of the experiment. Youll have five to walk, and once you reach the station, further instructions will be given. Have a nice day, Brigitte, and remember: you only know what you feel. With that, the computer switched off, and graphs flashed onto the screen, and it was all too familiar. Brigitte read over the task at hand and shivered, her punishment in full effect.

CHAPTER THREE

Once she was good and cold, Brigittes chair warmed up, and she stood, walking out of her office, down the hall, and into the elevator to the fourth floor. It was empty and remained so for the entire journey, clicking open on floor four. The walls were stark white as though they had been sent directly from the medical offices, and the entire room reeked of bleach. There were showers lined in the room, divided by white curtains just thin enough to see shadows of the showers occupant. Not moments after Brigittes arrival, two lines of young men- no more than fifteenstalked into the room. One group was wearing nothing but a towel, and the others had a lab coat and a clip board. They all took their place in front of a shower and stopped, looking to Brigitte. One of the older boys walked up to her, notes in hand. Were running the water on different temperatures to find the ideal range. The experiment will last until lunchtime, and each checker like myself and his partiner will switch three times before then, he checked the clock, so that means one switch every half an hour.

All youll be required to do is stand, watch over, and call out once half an hour has elapsed. If anything goes wrong, Im to activate the emergency code, and youre to stay here and hold down the fort, so to speak, smiling, the boy adjusted his glasses. It really isnt anything too difficult. Sounds fine, Brigitte replied. Well, get underway, then. With that, the boy nodded, and all experiments went according to plan. Brigitte sat in the supervisors seat, which was made of leather and elevated in the center of the room. She sat, and she watched, calling out changes every thirty minutes, and absolutely nothing happened. The boys were well behaved, safe, and simple. They took turns taking notes and adjusting the temperatures as they had been instructed. It was all terribly monotonous, and Brigitte drifted in and out of a daze. Never before had her job seemed so silly- it was just what she had to do. Finally, the lunch hour was called, and Brigitte was left alone in the room. She checked each stall to make sure that things were relatively clean and headed to the elevator. The doors clicked open, and it wasnt empty. Inside was a man with gray hair and a broad smile. So nice of you to join me, he said as she stepped in. Brigitte reached for the button to her floor, but the man deflected her hand. Oh, no no, today were going to the memes, and he pulled keys out of his pocket, shoving them into the socket next to the highest button, which lit up. The elevator flew to the top of the building, dinging at a stop before Brigitte could really formulate any sort of reaction. This is your stop, the man nudged, and Brigitte stepped out of the elevator, whose doors closed quickly behind her.

She was in a waiting room of sorts, with beige carpet, wooden walls, and a leather sofa. It had a coffee table with outdated magazines but no receptionist, and a white door stuck out against the woodwork. Brigitte was alone, so she sat and waited and leafed through the old news. Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes passed. Twenty minutes, and the door white door slid open. Brigitte looked up quickly, and a woman of her age stood smiling. The receptionistshe assumed. Well be ready to see you now.

CHAPTER 4

The office was like the waiting room: wooden and comfortable with lived in furniture. It was all together cozy, and, Brigitte assumed, used to make people more willing to speak. The woman stood next to a large wooden desk, her dark hair flowing and curling down her back. Seated in a foreboding chair was a meme. He was one of the newer models, but he spoke with an ancient draw. He mustve been upgraded, Brigitte assumed. You may be wondering why Ive called this meeting, each word was a distinct beep, much more automated than the newest memes and their smooth human-like voices. Im sure I can guess. Well, what would your guesses be, then? Brigitte settled herself in the chair, moving to brush a piece of hair from her eye. You want to know about Andrew, or the search for him, at least. Youd like to find him, Id assume, and youre betting I know how to do it. 1

The meme reclined. Something like that. He paused. You see, Brigitte, Im not certain that we feel your inability to contact the organization is valid. It was quite simple for us to organize a meeting with Oliver for you two, so I would assume that someone as connected as yourself would at least know someway to get back- the organization wouldnt just let someone run free; no good organizations ever do. How do you know its a good organization? Because, Brigitte, we only send our best to the good organizations. Her face flushed, partially from flattery. The memes words had made her uncomfortable. They were piercing, and they stuck down into her. She shivered. Now, the meme continued, I trust you will be able to schedule a visit with them sometime in the next two weeks, and then you will tell us all about Andrews whereabouts. Of course, sir, her voice was timid. Ill get right on that. Fantastic, the secretary was speaking now. Ill just show you the way out. Brigitte stood from her chair and was led out a different door from the one she entered. She was taken into a long, black corridor with dank lighting and clanky tile floors. Just this way, the secretary motioned to a metal door. Brigitte pressed it open, and inside was a table. The dark haired woman beckoned to the room. Wait here for a moment. Brigitte climbed onto the table and sat down, rolling her shoulder blades black and fourth. Halogen lights shone brightly, making her skin look paler than usual. She was still shaking though she was mostly warmed up. This time, the wait was only momentary, as almost

immediately after one door closed, another opened, and out stepped a man in a white coat- it matched the walls and the harsh scent bursting from the air ducts. Im going to have to ask you to swallow this, he said, holding out an electric blue pill. Whats it for? she scooted away from him, gripping the table. Just to put you to sleep. Youre scheduled to have a procedure, to have a tracking device implanted. Im sorry, but what are you talking about? Oh, its nothing scary. You wont even know its there. Please, just take the pill. But I didnt sign up for any procedure. I know. The doctor laughed. He stuck his hand out, raising his eyebrows and gazing at Brigitte. You seem to be under the impression that you have a choice. She reached out her fingers, picked up the pill, and swallowed it.

CHAPTER 5 She awoke with a headache, lying on the guest bed in her apartment. She sprung from her bed, ripping at her clothes, searching for a sore spot, a scar, anything that would give away the presence of the device that was silently beeping inside of her. Fingers traced up and down and left and right, over her head and shoulders, knees and toes, but she couldnt find a single mark. With the exception of her pounding head, everything was exactly the same. The clock lit up next to her- 3pm. Two and a half hours had passed since her arrival in the memes office. The procedure must have been quick, especially for a job so careful.

A note lay on the night stand next to her. Dont worry, youre excused from the days work. It read, and it was signed by a Doctor something; his name was too scribbled for her to make out specific letters- a clever trick on the memes part. The rest of the afternoon would be free to her. She should contact Oliver, she thought, pausing before realizing that she was scheduled to meet him in three days time- the first Saturday was fast approaching. It was impossible for the government to have known about this schedule, right? Right? She consoled herself; they would not allow Andrew to run wild if they had access to his whereabouts. Everything would be alright, of course.

That night, Brigitte was scheduled to go to a sensory experience. A newspaper lay on the table, and she leafed through it. She could go to a jazz concert, a Midevil feast, or a massage and sauna session. The second option appealed to her most; always, she loved dressing up and acting like people who never existed, just like the imaginary kings and queens of years past. The creation committee was certainly creative with their make believe. So! That was decided, and she would leave at eight. Brigitte poured herself into her bed and fell asleep quickly, her head throbbing all the way along.

CHAPTER 6 The next few days passed with nothing interesting. Brigitte went to work and came home and ate dinner and fell asleep. She supervised the shower testing once more, then was a subject in a dinner plate study to figure out the optimal material for utensils. Friday night, she found herself with another terrible headache. She stayed in bed the entire night, trying to read or write, 1

eventually making plans to play board games with a neighbor, only to be cancelled on a half hour later. So she waited to fall asleep, hoping that the morning would come soon. It didnt. Brigitte stumbled out of bed around five, wandered to the bathroom, and forced the shower on- water wasnt technically available until six. The water heated up, and she stood, trying to rid her jumbled head of whatever was trying to beat its way out. She remembered the tank, and thought that she might ask to be put back in, if only temporarily. Yes, she thought, that should completely cure up my head. She remained in the shower until it turned off, stepping out terribly white and pruney. Her head was slightly soothed, but it was certainly not perfect. Brigitte dressed, ate breakfast, and slowly walked to her car. Everything was quite leisurely as she drove to the Blue Caf. Oliver was standing outside, wearing a tan windbreaker, white pants, and obscuring black sunglasses. He had been waiting, it was obvious with his twitching toes and sagging mouth, so Brigitte pulled slowly up in front of him. Sorry, she said, rolling down her window. Thats quite alright. He replied, bending down to eye level. Youll need to park and get out of your car. I was thinking I could drive myself, she smiled, hoping to learn the route. Its not your job to think, Brigitte. You dont work for us, remember? He was harsh, nodding to a parking spot next to the familiar black car.

Brigitte sighed, pulling into the spot. She sat in the drivers seat as she turned off the engine. With the tracking device, she supposed she wouldnt need directions, but they wouldve certainly been helpful. Again, she sighed and stepped out of her car and into his. How are you feeling? Oliver peered through the rear view mirror after theyd been on the road for a few moments. Not entirely perfect, she confessed. Work is general, certainly less enjoyable since Ive been ignoring the stimuli. Well, its more like I just havent noticed them, and I havent felt anything, really. Thats good, Brigitte. Any step away from control is a step towards better places. I suppose so. They continued the car ride in silence for a few more minutes. Hey, Oliver? Yes? Are there common withdrawl symptoms, for lack of a better word? What do you mean, Brigitte? Oh, I dont know, exactly, she thought of her headache. Has anyone been known to reenter society and start to feel strange? Nauseous, maybe? Dizzy? her voice rose, accidentally. Headaches? The car slowed. What are you feeling like? The question was a demand. Just sick, mostly in my head. Its like somethings scratching at my skull, trying to get out, and its pounding, and

How long have you felt like this? The car was almost at a stop now, thought Brigitte could hear Olivers voice accelerate. A few days. She could her his unbuckling seatbelt and the click of an opening door. Hers was soon flung open. Out. He said, pointing to the ground. Brigitte slid out of the car, nervously standing next to him. His fingers began flying, all around her neck, pressing against her neck, and dancing through her hair. They paused. Bend down, he commanded. She obeyed. He went to the glove compartment, pulled out a phone and a looking glass. Hello? Yes, I think she has one. Am I sure? He looked through the glass at her scalp. Of course Im sure! Can you come out here? We need to remove it if shes going to come, and of course shes got to come. You want me to what? But thats terrible, shes only a little--- Of course I will. See you soon. Bye. Before Brigitte could demand and explanation, she felt a blunt object collide with the back of her head.

CHAPTER 7

Ohhh, wake up, wake up. Cant you wake her up? Are you sure shell be fine? Once again, shell be alright. Your little friend is tough, and shes not someone wed want to kill.

Brigittes eyes fluttered open, and consciousness fluttered into her limbs. Her head was still in pain, but this time it was splitting, not pounding. It was as if shed been smacked on the crown with a blunt object Youre alright! Andrew ran to her side, holding her hand. I was so nervous when Oliver came in. He had to do the surgery himself and remove the device, but he didnt have any medication, so he had to knock you out first himself. Im sorry. I yelled at him for it, I hope thats okay, and I hope youre alright, and Ive missed you so much. How is the city? The job? Do they miss me? I bet they don---- Andrew, calm down! Brigitte tried sitting up, only to collapse into a pile. Apparently, she was weaker than shed imagine. Doctor! Shes hurt! He ran off to get help, thinking shed passed out again. Im fine, Andrew, she called back to deaf ears, once again trying to pull herself up. A man in a white lab coat, not all dissimilar to the one shed met in the city, came in to Brigittes room. Why hello, dear. What seems to have scared your little friend? Nothing, really, Im just having a little trouble staying up, her tone wavered. But I dont feel too bad at all, really. Thats nonsense. Of course youre at least a little weak. She recognized his voice from a few minutes earlier, though this time it was softer and kind- he didnt seem to like Andrew too much. Ill just get you hooked up to a little medication to settle you and make you feel all better. He scurried out of the room, returning momentarily with a clear plastic bag filled with

clearer liquid. This ought to do the trick. He swapped it with the one that was hanging and dripping into her IV. Youll be better in no time. And with that, he was gone. Andrew practically leaped to her bedside. Im fine, really. Or at least I will be. Id like an explanation, though, Brigitte said to him, shifting in his direction. Your headache meant you had a device in you, didnt you know? His eyes were wide. Well, I was told they put something in me, but I didnt really know the whereabouts. I didnt want to have it put in, really. They just gave me no choice and drugged me and Save your story for the elders. Oliver brought you back, and theyre at least a teensy bit angry at him. They probably think you knew about it or planned it or something. Dont worry, too much, though. The doctor was nicer to you than hes been to anyone else, so maybe the elders will be nice, too. Maybe, she sighed. I think probably. Andrew smiled, patting her shoulder. They sat. She spoke. What has it been like here? Its been... different, certainly. More vigorous than my old job, thats for sure. Im out every day, working on some project. They wont give me the official-official details yet, but I think that Im doing well enough that Im standing on the threshold of information. Youre awfully excited about this, arent you?

Mmmhm. I think you should come here, really, and Im not just saying that because they want me to try to recruit you. He stopped, ahh, forget that I said that, will you? No problem. She grinned, and they sat together. He had certainly changed. More excitable- if that was even possible. He seemed like the organizations happy little puppy. Less angsty. Thats always a plus. Brigitte suppressed laughter. Whhhats so funny? he really was like a little kid. Nothing, really. Brigittes eyes were warm, warmer than hed remember them. It was like she enjoyed being there, in the hospital room. She was certainly tired, but also relieved. Happy to see him, maybe? They laughed for a little while, telling jokes that didnt have to do with anything in particular. Hed tell her about the organization later, he promised, once they werent paying so much attention, and he could be as honest as he felt like. Shed tell him about the happenings in the city after he told her what hed been up too- the city was certainly the more boring of the two places, and she really wanted to avoid talking about his criminal status for as long as she could.

CHAPTER 8 After getting all healed and stitched up- Oliver had left a slight gash on the back of her head-, Brigitte was whisked to dinner time. Apparently, shed spent quite a bit of time knocked out and was going to have to spend the night, but that was fine, she assured everyone, since she didnt have anything going on until Monday, anyway. Andrew took her through the line, watching carefully as she shoveled food onto her plate.

Im fine, really, she smiled as he hovered over her. But you just slipped! The floor was slippery, and I didnt know it was slippery, Andrew. Her laughter was a bit high pitched, not forced but a little uneasy. Im just not entirely used to being looked after. Thats something we do here. Were friendly. The pronoun rolled off his lips with no thought at all. Brigitte paused for a second, looking Andrew up and down. His grin was typical, silly and lopsided, and he stood easy, with the same air as he had back in the city. Everything was terribly nonchalant about him, so soon. Itll just take some getting used to, I suppose, she said, walking over to a mostly empty dining table. Andrew sat in front of her, chewing on an apple. Im supposed to take you to see Oliver tonight after you eat, so take as much time as youd like. He says hes being patient, so Id capitalize on that if I were you. How come? Brigitte shifted the salad around on her plate, staring at each piece of lettuce and cutting it up into tiny denominations. Olivers such a windbag! Everyone knows that- around here, at least. No one really likes talking to him, especially when he gets all high and mighty about the organization and the change. But I thought you thought the revolution and whatnot was all important and fantastic and the best thing since ever?

Well of course I still think that, Brigitte, he leaned in closer to her, of course, everyone still believes in the mission, but no one likes the rhetoric spewed at them. We all have sessions and meetings about the mission, especially when were first here, so its rare that we want to talk about it, or be taught about it, when were being leisurely. Its like the revolution is the only thing he knows about. Brigitte lost interest in her salad, staring at Andrew. What do you mean, in the sessions and meetings? Was there some initiation for you or what? Something like that. Nothing crazy or fancy or flashy. We dont have any sort of ceremonies or rituals, if thats what youre thinking. Weve got a basic introduction to talk about our other branches, our generalized missions, and things of that nature. As we move up in the ranks, we get more and more detailed information, then different sorts of jobs, and you get the idea. She nodded. Whatve you been working as, if your jobs are so dependent on the amount of time youve been here? At the moment, Im really nothing special. I teach some computer work to the smallest kids in the morning, and in the afternoons I do clean up work. They figure my technology skills are more advanced than most people because of my aptitude and intensive training from the memes or something, so Ive got a decently high position part of the time. In the afternoon, or the morning, depending on your shift, everyone has to do some sort of physical labor, just to keep us in shape and humbled. A lot of people take turns in the kitchens, cleaning the grounds, minding the farms, things like that. Ive heard about

opportunities to go on missions with the company, but all I know are strange, illusive things that sound more like a story book. They said that theyll be giving me more information soon, and maybe Ill get to move up, but who knows? Theyre sort of cryptic, especially since Im a newcomer and all. And because youre from the gov--- Brigitte muttered under her breath. They dont know about that. Andrew said, shushing her. Well, at least I dont think they know about it. I dont think they know about it. I hope they dont know. Hell, they havent said anything about it to me, and Im assuming that they would have, especially since theyre really not quiet about what they do to traitors. Brigittes throat clumped up. Traitors? If they said that theyre watching you, they really are. He said, his voice solemn. Theyre some how really attuned to everyone and everyones behaviors, and no one seems to fool them. Well, if people do fool them, then I wouldnt know, I guess because Theyd be fooling me, too. But Im talking in circles. Just be careful, okay? I dont want to have to tell you what theyve done to other people, really. Brigitte sat, not saying anything for a few moments. Andrew continued eating after waiting for her to reply. After minutes of silence broken only by crunching, Brigitte spoke up, her voice quaking. Will you take me to see Oliver now, please? Each word was chosen carefully, as if she was afraid that a wrong move would crack the walls and turn the structure of

the building tumbling down on top of her and everyone in the dining hall. The air was chilly around her, she thought, and more delicate than lemonade in the summertime. Sure, of course, Andrews manner was serious, thoughts jumping through his head cursing himself and his inability to make her feel safe or secure, or at least not like she was going to be executed swiftly or run out of town or something; the traitors punishments were always different. They walked in silence through the hallways and up the stairs, Andrew purposely taking the least direct route, hoping to clam Brigitte down. He stopped her in front of a door, hugging the wall and Brigittes shoulders. Youll be fine, really. I cant imagine them bringing you back if all they were going to do was-- Well, you know. Just be calm and confident, and dont trip over any of your words. Theyll see through you if youre fake, but Im sure the memes wouldnt have sent you if you they didnt think you could handle yourself. She nodded. I suppose so. He patted her shoulder, pointing down the hall to his left. Its the third door on your left. Flashing a half smile, his eyes still worried, Andrew brought his hands to his sides. Youll be fine, I promise. She nodded once more, stepping away from him, down the clickity-clacking brown wood flooring. The walls matched the floors, and the pattern was interrupted by brass knobs and glass door windows that no one could see through. Olivers had his name printed on black stickers with gold outlines, and Brigitte rapped to the right of the l. Come in! He changed more merrily that Brigitte wouldve ever expected, its open.

The brass was chilled but easy to open, and the door glided open with little force. Brigitte was familiar with his office, and took the same seat she had during her last visit. Hello, Oliver. Why hello my dearest! Once again, far too cheerful. How have you been? She tried meeting his pitch, though the attempts were tainted with shivers that she couldnt shake from her frame. Im alright. Just, you know, working. Doing my job. Taking tests and monitoring. Nothing too interesting, Im sure you know/ Oh? Well, you said youd be keeping track of me, is all. That was the last thing you mentioned when I left the last time. I know what youre taking about, dear. Dont think other wise, he flashed his teeth, more in a grimace than anything else. We know precisely what youve been up to. Thoughts raced through her head. She was panicked, but she couldnt show. This could be just a measly little personality test to monitor her micromovements or something. Hah, Im sorry for who evers been monitoring me, then. Why would you say that? Quick thinking, well because my life is excruciating. Generic and normal, and I cant see what would be of so much interest to anyone. Oh, dont be silly, youre much less boring than the average citizen, what with your little ticks and annoyances with the procedures. Its been quite nice watching you slip out of your

regiment and subtly reject the memes influence. Youre progressing quite nicely. His face reeked of smugness. Well, thanks, she half meant it, though the other half resented his apparent control. Though Im still quite ambiguous on my stance. His face turned to scowl for a moment, then switched back to a grin, almost instantly. Of course you are! You dont think that wed think youd transition so quickly. Trust me, it takes people a while to get fully adjusted with the idea of joining us. Or its instantaneous- but those situations are quite rare. Anyway! Well do anything youd like while youre here. You can gather almost unlimited information about our facilities and our opportunities. Well give you more detailed tours. You know, anything that your little heart desires. Well, almost, at least, he blinked, trying to be coy. Brigitte sank into her chair, coyer than Oliver had the potential. What all can I know? What would you like to hear? Plans. Outreach. Locations. Absolutely everything. Thats quite the tall order, Brigitte. Im not sure what I can Well if you dont want me to join up, then just show me your packets again, and we can call it even. His face grimaced, smiled, again, quickly. He repeated his previous question, this time slower and more precise. What would you like to hear?

CHAPTER 9 Andrew paced outside Olivers door. Brigitte had been inside exactly four minutes, and already he was feeling terribly protective. Oliver had been strange towards him about her arrival, reminding Andrew of the dates and times scheduled for her pickup. He would make Andrew anxious with his pacing and twitching which amplified whenever he spoke about her. She would want to join, of course, Oliver promised. She was missing the free society, Oliver would say. They had been monitoring her personality, and it was progressing quite nicelywhatever that meant. He didnt know what to think, but Andrew felt she was only safe with him. The society was nice for him, and he had faced no problems while there, but he knew that bad things would happen to anyone who tried to cross them. Brigitte was clever, but they had been monitoring her, apparently. Andrew stopped his pacing to glance at his wrist watch. Time His work detail began in five minutes, and it was at the other side of the building- menial labor in the plowing fields for two hours. The penalty for ditching was nothing hed normally be afraid of, as it was a mere loss of privilege, sinking down a tier on the level of freedoms, but as he was at the crux of learning more information, rising up into a new job, a slip up now would be complete folly. He pulled out paper from his pocket and scribbled a note, slipping it under Olivers door, hoping it would be unnoticed until Brigitte was leaving. Then he dashed away, down the halls and outside to cut and harvest food for the community.

Everyone was required to wear the same uniforms to work- regardless of the task. Andrew dressed in the tan jumpsuit with his name and room number scrawled on the back. It hung in the locker room outside near the exit to the outdoors and was ventilated in someway so that none of the workers would ever have problems with heat or sweating. Andrew zipped up and pounded out to the fields, shading his eyes from the sun. Most of his bunk was already plowing, and Andrew slipped in unnoticed. The field work was calming, usually, but he couldnt focus on the green bean rows while Brigitte was being interrogated or something. He pushed the plow down what felt like miles of flat terrain for what felt like years as sweat poured from his brow; the insulation suit was doing nothing for his nervousness, even though a soft breeze tossed his hair across his brow. After he plowed one field, he doubled up and ran through the next, sloppily drawing out line after line, bumping into the different rows in other fields. He hoped the supervisor wouldnt see, as he only had another fifteen minutes before the end of his shift. Thats awful, one of Andrews floormates said to him, smiling while pushing a plow up next to his. Id skedaddle if I were you, the old man grinned, his face leathered from the sun. Usually this isnt a problem, Andrew said, shaking his hand. I love the field work. Its tiring and relaxing and a great start to a nap, but this is agonizing today. The weathers so fair! He threw his hands up at the sky, allowing the rays to brush his white beard. It is, quite, he paused, but I cant stay concentrated on it. I cant get into the work.

But you must, brother! You must allow yourself to mold into the Earth and push it along. You must release yourself. Then, and only then, will you be properly able to assimilate into the community. Andrew blushed, oh, I know, Im just a little preoccupied today is all. He checked his watch, but I suppose I wont be for much longer; my shift is up. Bidding his friend adieu, Andrew began sprinting back to the changing room, unbuttoning his suit while moving. By the time he was inside, the outfit was almost entirely off, and he stumbled over himself in attempt to slip his feet off. The ventilation had not been enough to combat his anxiety, as his hair was sticking to his forehead. He brushed it with his shaky palms, retreating to a bathroom to fix himself up. Though Andrews cheeks were terribly flushed, his eyes gleamed cerulean, and he could not stop the silly grin from resting on his lips. She would be out of the meeting by now, he assumed, jogging down to his room where he had told her to meet him. After transversing the stairs, down two flights, Andrew dashed through the hallways, skidding to a halt at his bedroom door. Collecting himself, he knocked. And knocked. And knocked. And there was no answer.

Chapter 10

A piece of paper had been slipped under the door, but neither Brigitte nor Oliver had paid it much attention, assuming, correctly, that it was from Andrew, who could be heard scurrying away, late for his next activity. Brigitte had yet to answer Olivers question and was sitting, curled up in the chair, thinking. Well, she said, stirring the silence and causing Oliver to jolt up. Id like to know, first, what you know about me. You keep saying that Id be perfect for this institution, but I hardly know what youve been seeing. Her voice was stronger than she felt. Oh, my dear, Oliver said, striding over to his desk. I just happen to have your file. Pause. Meaning that Ive brought a copy of your file because I assumed that you would ask. He placed the manilla folder on the table, sliding it across so it was directly in front of Brigitte. Go ahead, if youd like. She swallowed the lump floating in her throat, reaching out a timid hand towards the wooden desk. Looking up to Oliver, who nodded, Brigitte picked it up, flipping to a random page towards the back. At the top her full name was spelt out, along with her date of birth and all of the other information in a normal meme checkpoint scan. On the other side of the letter head was a small printing which looked like this insurgencys building, apparently to distinguish the origin of the document. The rest of the page focused on her parents- Anna born thirty years before Brigitte and Tom born thirty five. When Brigitte was born, the family had a dog- a yellow lab puppy. The three of them were shown in a photograph, younger and happier than Brigitte had remembered.

Her mothers face was not yet worn with years of rebellion, and her fathers hair still held most of his color. The dog was merely a baby, rolling around at Annas feet. Their obituaries were clipped to the back. Anna and Thomas LASTNAME perished in a house fire last night, along with their faithful dog. They leave behind a daughter, Brigitte, who is presently in critical condition at the Health Ward. Because they have no other living relatives, she will be placed in foster care; donations may be sent to room 432 in the ward to ensure Brigitte a successful academic career. No memorial service will be held. What do my parents have to do with observing me? Brigitte stared at Oliver, her brows furred. I havent thought of them in, she paused, lying, in years. But they were part of our cause, though maybe not the same specific one. They fought, Brigitte. There was no house fire, as Im sure you remember. I dont really remember anything. Well then maybe this is just in your blood. Oliver scooted bad in his chair, motioning his hands towards the folder. Keep reading, and maybe youll learn some. Secretly, she fumed, but outwardly, she skimmed, glancing about newspaper clippings related to their death and the rebellions they were a part of before her. Apparently they had been quite influential, speaking at rallies and organizing troops against the memes. Years before the technological revolution, they were born to parents who were only familiar with simple computers and hover cars. During their childhoods, technology had grown with the robot

companion, which was developed to have a memory and thoughts of its own. Eventually, they became able to exist without human contact, and at that point Brigittes parents had been young adults. At that point, they had been members of an insurgency group, and they were close to the top. Brigitte had been born to them when the memes really began to rise into power, and for the last few years of their lives they, essentially, lived in hiding with their daughter. I remember that we hardly ever went out to places together, all three of us, and when we did, one of them was often dressed up. Oliver nodded, they, the memes, wanted to take your parents out together, so to speak. If it had just been one of them that had died, the death of the second wouldve been a little too mysterious. The memes would kill people? Well, it was never out in the open, but most of the leaders of any sort of rebellion ended up missing or worse, and the memes were able to slowly infiltrate the society and rise stronger and stronger into power. By the time you were, I dont know, six? They had gotten rid of most of the people who were against them and placated the people who were with them or didnt care. Brigitte closed the folder, her eyes locked on Oliver. Wouldnt people have remembered the history? They taught us that the memes had been, essentially, around since ever, but apparently they were--- Mans creation? Yes, yes, Olivers eyes were serious, staring at his hands. you know the sensory experiences you go to, correct? She nodded, he continued. Well, they instituted

those early on, opening them just for the public in the beginning to come and go as people pleased, but eventually, they started to advertise the concerts and the feasts more and more, making them mandatory. Now, they would be advertised as the experiences you have today, but instead, the memes would sedate people and brainwash them, so to speak, pumping messages into their heads about history and directed sensory reactions to things, similar to when you were in school. The entire conversion of everyone didnt take more than half a year, partially because they, ah, removed anyone who wasnt convinced by then. What do you mean, precisely, by this removal? Oliver had been being more cryptic than usual, and this vague evasion was not something Brigitte was used to. He grinned at the question, then, almost immediately, switched his face back into a frown. He didnt think Brigitte had noticed. It was gruesome, really, and dependent on the offense for which a person was being removed. For example, the high treasoners, people like your parents, were taken out directly, with a fire or some other seemingly accidental disaster. Whatever the method was, though, it was certainly painful. Can you imagine being burnt to the crisp? But I never remember my house being burnt down, Oliver. Of course you dont, Brigitte. Thats because it never happened. But I thought you said that they--- I never said they were burnt at your house. Oh, no. Usually the meme operative teams would rush wherever the treasonrs, for example, were staying. They would bag them and carry

them to some unknown location- usually in the woods on in the basement of some building. While the kidnapping was in process, the place they were staying would be completely ransacked, and other residents tortured or hurt in someway. Thats why, if you remember, your parents told you to hide, Id imagine. Brigitte sat silent. Anyway, after they were brought somewhere, they were put to death. The memes got more creative the bigger of a problem a person was. Small revolutionaries were simply shot up against a wall, while the big ones would be burned or frozen or Im sure you can imagine. And what happened with those who were left behind? Shouldnt you remember, Brigitte? She shook her head. Well, you were one of them. You were taken into custody, Im sure you remember that. You were taken to a special school, made specifically for the children of parents like yours, and the classes were specifically tailored to make you against the resistance, to make you love the memes and the society you were now in. Brigittes eyes flickered around the roomfrom the paintings on the wall to the strands in the carpet. She focused on memorizing each detail in attempt to make her building response as nonchalant as possible. Perhaps this stupid mind trick would detract from the memories that were flashing so vividly before her, less clear than when she was in the tank but stronger than any other time in her conscious recollection. A moment passed. That sounds sort of familiar, but how did they try to change us? I cant recall anything that wouldve been convincing.

It was different from student to student for the most part, though there was a significant amount of group time. Dont you remember the auditoriums? The lectures? The concerts? Your version of ah, persuasion was much similar to the adults, if only more frequent. Before bed, as you all were drifting to sleep, they would read tales of the memes successes. During class, projected on the boards were SUBLIMINAL MESSAGE SPECIFICS. Yes, Brigitte, the subliminal messages were absolutely everywhere. You, or anyone else, could not have escaped them, even if you were aware of their existence. Their effectiveness, however, is something to be questioned. The had began to set about ten minutes ago by Brigittes prediction, her eyes fastened to what lay outside the window pain. Her childhood, her school, had always been convincingnot necessarily believable, but it was convincing. Always trying to convince her of something or another. She must eat her vegetables no matter what she wanted. Her parents had not wanted her, really. The other students liked her, of course. Undoubtedly, she was the best in the class. Teachers and guardians always wanted her to improve and be better and believein herself and in the community. Have faith, and shed be alright. Just trust, and she wouldnt have to worry. It was all so terribly convincing, but she hadnt bought a sentence. Well, I think thats enough for one day, she said softly, more to herself than to Oliver. I really must be going, with Andrew and everything. Certainly, dear, Olivers tone held a pinch of smugness. Would you like me to escort you to him?

No, Im sure I can manage. She stood up, leaving but paused at the door. Thanks, Oliver. Anytime. You know where to find me.

The corridors flew by her speed walk, empty except for the sound of high voices in the not so distance, childrens. Brigitte could vaguely hear the clunk of blocks and the argument erupting over the construction of some structure. A boy wanted a tower while the girl wanted to stick to a castle. The teacher mentioned that there were enough blocks for everyone, and the girl began to cry, claiming to want to work with the boy, but everything was getting farther. Brigitte wouldnt know mini-resolution. She arrived at Andrews room to find him napping, curled into a ball and still in his work clothes. Sliding next to him, she shook his arm. He jumped, she smiled, sniffing the air. You smell terrible. Andrew rolled over, his cheeks flushed. I worked a lot, apparently--- yawning, Im tired--- another yawn. I didnt want to take another show, lest you come back, so I decided just to lie down for a little while. He sat up. How was your meeting with Oliver? Quite educational to say the least, she answered, walking to the sofa across from his bed and sitting, her chins in her hands. He had a rather extensive file on me. I was surprised. Hell, I didnt even know that much about myself or my parents or anything. What did he tell you? Has he been watching you like youre thinking? Or is it less or more than you thought or

I dont even know, Andrew. We didnt even get to talking about monitoring me. He just talked about my history and my parents and what they used to do. I dont remember most of it, so he could be lying for all Im aware. She paused, again looking out his window. The dismissive sun was nearly sunken beneath the horizon, and the moons first light could be seen peeking over the treetops as if it, too, was curious about what she had to say. Brigitte began to talk. To explain. To regurgitate most of the conversation. The more she mulled it over, the less sure but more confused she became. She had had memories in the sense tank that were similar to these. Had they been intentional? Implanted? She had certainly been knocked out for sometime before they woke her up, and she didnt have much of a semblance of the duration. It could all just be a terrible coincidence or some strange mind game or post traumatic stress something or other. She had been, what, four? When shed started at the school, presumably, right after her parents died. Theyd never explained memory in day school, though apparently they had flooded it, mixing senses with lies with lessons, all in attempt to convince her, and all her classmates, that that which they knew before was no longer there. She knew she must separate, and talking to Andrew wasnt helping. Hed fire questions about specifics: How old were they? What was the dogs name? What school was it? What did it sound like when your parents were captured? How long did you talk about joining the resistance? Thirty something. I dont remember. Pinewood, I think. It was loud, I suppose. Lots of crashes. Not for very long; he didnt seem to want to push me into things, but I think hes terribly confident about my eminent addition? He wouldnt stop smiling whenever it was

brought up, but dont get hasty, Andrew, I, contrary to popular belief, havent made up my mind. Of course you havent.

CHAPTER 11 The next morning Brigitte sat in Olivers car, which was scooting back to the city. Everyone, like Oliver and Andrew, had smiled when she mentioned not having made up her mind. Theyd giggled at her uncertainty, sometimes patting her head like a child, attempting to comfort her. Shed grin back and make fun of her own indecision because it seemed as though it was growing weakerthough not necessarily towards staying with them. Instead of thinking, she sat, silent, next to Oliver. He had tried to make conversation, get Brigitte curious about her history, but Brigitte replied that she was tired, worn out from the visit and ready to go back to work, which started in thirty minutes. I think this should be an adequate spot to drop you off, Oliver said, pulling his car next to hers in the parking lot of the Blue Caf. Shall we meet, same time, same place next month? Sure, Brigitte said as she unbuckled her seat belt and opened the car door. But if you want to come sooner, just let me know. Hang a flower bucket outside of your window, and well drop something inside. Directions or something, Oliver winked, and Brigitte nodded, waving. I better be going. Yep.

Alright, see you. Remember about the flower box. I will, Oliver, and, with that, she went to her car, got in and drove away, not pausing or glancing to notice if Oliver had left. For the moment, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

CHAPTER 12 Andrew had field duty again and spent his morning plowing in the sunlight. He had seen Brigitte briefly, had walked her to breakfast, before she had to leave, but they hadnt exchanged more than twenty words, and most were about the weather. She thought while they were together, replying to his questions in only half sentences and mumbled phrases. He had tried to hug her good-bye, but she shook his hand instead. All together, she was quite different since she had woken up, but nothing that he wasnt terribly used to. She was precisely who she had used to be. The fields, however, would not plow themselves, so he needed to stop all of this foolish thinking. He needed to clear his mind, not convolute it with all of this Brigitte analysis garbage. She would join or she wouldnt, and thinking about her too much would only stifle his chances of moving up in anyones ranking, so he plowed and plowed and was able to think of nothing at all.

At lunch time, Andrew sat around a group of men from his floor, and they discussed simple things: new activities in the game room, their next work assignments, plans for their days off. Andrew was wholly enjoying himself and his chowder while he sipped on lemonade. What do you guys do to ever get out here? He asked, adding, Its not that I dont enjoy it, but wouldnt it get a bit dull after years? The table had gone a little quiet, and everyone was either staring at their food or blatantly at Andrew. This lasted for an obscenely long minute until a man, the one with the white beard, piped up. Well, we dont really get out so to speak, Andrew. But why? How many times had you really left the city before? How often had you gotten out? Andrew thought. Well, I suppose coming here was really the first time, but, he paused, the city was certainly larger. How far did you stray from your home, work, or those sensory experiences, the man said the phrase in disgust. Plenty far, I suppose. Are you entirely sure, Andrew? You went to school which, I suppose, you lived at. Then you transferred to a job and got your own apartment. Each day youd travel back and forth, and on the weekends you would, what? Stay at home and relax or go to a concert or something? Maybe youd go out to the occasional restaurant, but how well do you know the other side of the

city? Could you drive around and not get lost? Would you know any good places to eat? Parks to sit at? Could you even name the streets? The city, truthfully, was large, and the other side seemed ages away. Andrew had crossed the distance from the touch bureau to the health and spirit offices before but only on the monorail. Once, hed driven towards the outer boundaries to find a watch repairman, but he had gotten so terribly lost that he turned back, unsuccessfully. Other types of people were said to live on the other side of townthose who worked directly with the land and the experiments. Many schools were self contained up north, and the children never left the grounds. Nothing seemed to be of interest outside his own village, but, he said, there was still the option for exploration. Why yes, just as we have the option to explore other branches of the insurgency. Theyre not immediately close, but neither is the north side, and were allowed to go from station to station, provided that we ask a day in advance. Technically, we could go out to one of those, but no one ever seems to. Right, of course, Andrew said, continuing to eat his food, his question still, primarily, unanswered. The rest of the table also resumed eating and chatting, mentioning things of Andrews newness, how he just hadnt learned the rules and customs yet. He would be better. He would understand, of course. Just give him time to get accustomed to us. After the rest of lunch, which Andrew passed silently, he put his trey on the garbage rack and began to exit. Not two steps later, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Why hello, Oliver. Hi Andrew. I suppose youre not doing anything important at the moment? No, I was just going to, well, Im not sure exactly. Mind if we have a chat? Ive just gotten back from dropping off your friend, and Ive got a few words for you. He nodded, and Oliver whisked him outside, to a small courtyard overlooked by the dining hall. The sky had grown dark, a passing cloud blocking the suns beams. They sat on a bench made of cold concrete, and Oliver squinted upwards towards the heavens before beginning. Youre restless, it was a statement, with no air of inquisition. And terribly bored, clearly. I can understand why, I suppose. Your job here isnt as adventurous as what you did back in the cityI mean, you crunched a lot of numbers, but there was the occasional out call. You changed things up, occasionally, but here, everything is later, rinse, repeat, so to speak. Its quite the cycle, and if youre not into routine, then you may not want in. Andrew snapped his head to Oliver, You dont mean to say you think I should leave or something, do you? Not at all! In fact, Id like to offer you a proposition of sorts. It may lighten your mood, get you out of the rut, cheer you up. If youre interested? Andrews head bobbed rapidly, and he began to crack his knuckles, excitedly. What all would it involve, if you dont mind me asking.

Oh, its nothing really. Just a little trip, a little transportinghardly anything special. Oliver was looking away from Andrew but then glanced back momentarily. The young man was nearly salivating. What sort of a trip? Youd only be going off base for a little while to move some things around. Itd be sort of a secret mission, if you dont mind the melodrama. We have a few plans in the works to loosen the memes hold on society. What sort of plans? That, Im afraid, Im not able to explain, at least in its entirety. You see, if anyone knew the plans in their entirety, they very well may foil us, and, Oliver cocked his eyebrow, would lead to absolute ruin. If you cant handle not knowing, you may not want to go along. We can always find someone--- No, no, I understand. Silly me with my stupid questions, Andrew said, straightening up. Good boy, Oliver stood up. Meet at the main hall tomorrow morning, precisely at sunrise. Therell be a group. Wear the suit that I gave to you in the carthe one you were tested in. Ill be there bright and early. As expected, Andrew was ecstatic, shaking Olivers hand with far too much force and vigor. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, after Oliver had left and then resumed cracking his knuckles as before, too shaky to hold one position for more than a second. Hed get to leave, and hed get to see, and he was beginning to rise up in the ranks. This was going to be a real

mission, with special forces and skirmishes, and everything would be like just out of a movie. He thought.

CHAPTER 13 He couldnt sleep. The fan buzzed; the wind gushed; faucets were leaky; neighbors were snoring; the walls and ceilings and floors were paper thing, and everything was pounding at his eardrums, and he couldnt lay still any longer. Wrapped in a bathrobe, Andrews feet slapped the corridors, up and down and over and back to his barracks. He could smell the kitchen from the west wing, see owls cooing in the meadow, snacking on vermin. In frustration, he bit his tongue, the salty metal seeping through his teeth and sliding down his throat, washing the anxiousness from his circulatory system to his digestive tract, and spreading it throughout every inch of his body. Morning was still hours away.

She kept waking up. Everything was absolutely silent, and it hurt. The sensors were turned off, smells sucked from the air to leave precisely no effect at all. Her mouth was dry, but the faucets would not operate for another thirty minutes, and all the refrigerator hadnt been filled in days. It was so precise and careful, it didnt even buzz, perfectly efficient, not wasting a single joule of energy to an audience. Nothing was hot, and nothing was cold; the temperature was positively luke warm, and Brigitte could not stand it, jumping about and twirling to circulate some slight sort of breeze. She could not go to work in the morning, as the memes monitored

brain activity, though the prospect seemed like decades. Restlessness encased her joints, and the black consumed Brigitte.

Finally, a strip of light faded shadows into the carpet in Andrews floor. Dew grew on the blades, and he was already dressed, suited before the rooster and hunting sparrows. The black cloth clung to his sides, like Andrew clung to his jittering hands as they traced the clock face waiting for 5:30, when the dining hall would open, and he could quell his raging stomach and stinging forehead. All he was was dehydrated, sleepless, just a little cranky. He had too much coffee and not enough field work, that was all. One nap in the afternoon would do it, and Andrew would be perfectly a-okay. He could complete the mission and then collapse into his downy quilt to doze for the rest of the day. But now? He would go on an adventure, as soon as the clock struck.

Sun began cascading through her blinds, and Brigitte saw it as the first thing in hours. Her apartment was a doldrum, a canvas of sorts, so that pacing around it and looking at her bookshelf or desk or ceiling was like looking at nothing. Furniture was suggestions, and appliances ideas, completely useless without something to use them for. Walls hanged with wallpaper, floors strewn with carpet, counters stacked with linoleum. It was all perfectly plain. At precisely 6 am, Brigitte heard a buzz, and then an envelope wished through the delivery chute, settling next to her bed. She took out the tiny package. It was a letter, as expected. Brigitte-

It is noted that you have not reached REM sleep tonight, and, therefore, you are unfit to work today. Your apartment will be locked until noon, by which time we expect that you will have slept. At 2, your presence is required in the Heath Officethe basement. Enclosed is a packet of tea. Make it and drink it. It will put you into sleep and leave you refreshed for your meeting. Thank you, and remember: you are what you feel.

This was the first time shed ever gotten a proper, personalized letter. Shed heard about them and had heard of people whod gotten such tea packets, but they were usually reserved for high ranking officials. Somewhat proud, she strode over to the counter and put a pot of water on. After it hissed, she poured a cup, let the tea settle, drank it, and passed out the moment she reached her bed.

Stop yawning, its not naptime, you know. Someone hissed to Andrew. This is important, and if youre not going to take it seriously, I suggest you--- I wouldnt be here if I didnt take it seriously, Andrew growled back. Ill try to keep my extraneous breathing to a minimum. The men were lined by order of experience, Andrew falling in the back. The sun was just visible, and it cast orange shadows onto Oliver, who stood in front of the men. Three rows of five, all under thirty, and brimming with energy; this was the infantry of sorts, it seemed.

The majority of you should know what were about to do. For those who dont, he glanced in the direction of Andrew and a slim blonde haired boy next to him, youll soon learn, and I hope you wont soon forget. Briefly, were going in to the city to make a small dent in the memes control. Were not targeting anything particularly large, just one neighborhood west of the Health offices. There is a small school there and a few residential housing units. You will be working with those in your column, in groups of three. One expert member, one with experience, and, as always, one rookie. Obviously, the expert, the one lined closest to the front, will be in charge for the majority of the time. I will be taking the place of private Sanders, he nodded to the man in the front of Andrews row, and he will be taking my place. We need to have people trained in all positions just in case anything happens. If you have any questions, please direct them towards your unit leader during transport; we are taking the tunnels and should be in our desired location by eight am. Do not begin before 8:15, under any circumstances. We expect to be completely finished by noon, at which point, you are to travel back in the tunnels and meet here by two. If you take less time, and are thorough with your section of the mission, feel free to come back sooner. Regardless, we will reconvene at this spot at precisely two pm. Suit up, men, and good luck. Oliver threw a salute to the mass, which promptly returned it. The column farthest from Andrew began running, the next one following suit, until the entire group was jogging, in unison, in a straight line into the woods. Andrew brought up the rear and was soon joined by Oliver. Are you ready, boy?

Uh, I suppose so. Youll need more energy than that. I said, are you ready? Er, YES? Well, thats at least better. Turn right, dont lose the group. Andrew did so, though his jogging got temporarily off pace. The front of the line began to descend, twenty yards ahead, down a hill in the trees. Down this hill was a hole, hidden by tree branches and leaves. Sanders stood holding the leaves out of the way, saluting the men as they went through. Oliver paused to shake his hand, before closing the entrance behind him. The door to the outside was shut, and underground was dank. It smelled of roots and soil, but the ceiling was high and the ground hard. Andrew looked around, adjusting his vision to the tunnel. To his right, two sets of metal tracks lay, like a train. On his side City- West was scribbled, and on the other side Base Two was scrawled, but there was no sign of train cars. Each group began lining up in experience order. The first stood one hundred feet away from Andrew, close to the door labeled exit. Once everyone was paused and settled, the first private stamped on the ground, thrice, and the floor started to rumble. Lights began to shake, and a car appeared, buzzing its way over to the first group. They piled inside and it zipped away. The second group did the same, as did the third and the fourth. Oliver, standing at the front of the line, stomped, and a tiny car, blue and white scooted up in front of him. He turned around, lets go, boys. Andrew and the more experienced private- who had earlier chastised his yawningstepped in, locking the door behind them. The car rolled away into the unlit tunnel.

Inside the car, there was precisely three seats, and the men sat comfortably, touching shoulders but not knees. A light bulb held on the ceiling cast a yellow light on the men. Andrew looked at Oliver, who was sitting and staring at him. Any questions, Andrew? He asked, reading the young mans mind. What are we doing? jumped from his lips before thinking. The private next to him suppressed a groan, poorly. Oh, be quite Daniel; you were far worse than this on your first mission. Oliver said, snapping at the brunette. Sorry, sir, he stared out the window. Andrew, well, its a bit complicated, so I cant tell you exactly everything, as we dont quite have that much time. The implications of this mission are on a grand scale, though the actions in it are fairly simple. Is that alright, Andrew? I guess. He paused, as long as Ill get to know eventually. Your performance is what defines what you get to know. The better your job, and the more loyal you are, the higher in the rankings youll rise, and the more information youll be allowed to have. This is entirely contingent on you. But, specifically, today, you just have to watch out. Watch for other people, watch for danger, and watch our backs. Daniel and I will be doing the most of the work, and youre security. I hope youre feeling alert today. Well be counting on you. Both Andrew and Daniel stifled a groan, and the trio continued bumping around in darkness.

CHAPTER 14 At 8 am, precisely, the car came to a halt in a room 1/10th the size of the loading dock. It had the same layout, just shrunken down, with 54th and Bone written above the direction. A ladder climbed on the wall to the left of the sign, and a metal cap was visible some 50 feet up. Weve arrived gentlemen! Oliver announced, throwing open the door of the trolley. They all stepped out to stand around the ladder. Youre first, Andrew. Go up, and look through the holes to make sure the coast is clear. Open the hatch when it is, and guard us while were coming out. After that, just follow Daniel and me, and keep us safe. Andrew nodded and began his ascent before pausing to ask, what am I to defend you with? Daniel huffed. Oliver smacked him, answering him. With the gun in your holster, of course. Andrew looked confused. On your left hip. He felt around his waist, and sure enough, a handgun hung from his side. How did I not notice Dont worry about it, just go, Daniel commanded. Andrew began climbing again before pausing, again. Ive never used a gun before. Im not sure I know how to. Oliver sighed. Youll learn.

Wha Just trust me on this one. Andrew furrowed his brows, shaking as he went up the rungs. By the time he reached the top, his arms were sore, and his legs practically vibrated. Oliver and Daniel were each ten rungs behind him, seemingly completely calm. Through the slits of the metal hatch- which strongly resembled a pot hole- Andrew saw a quiet neighborhood street. He heard voices calling, but saw no one, in either direction. Pushing up on the center of the hatch, Andrew looked around through the 360 degree crack. The streets were cobble stoned, and the houses made of stone. This was the older part of the city, a part that Andrew had never seen before. A bird hopped a few feet away, but besides that, the street was empty. Andrew looked down towards Oliver and nodded, pushing up on the cover and pulling himself onto the street. He stood for a moment, crouching and surveying the area. His hand was on his gun, fingering the holster and unlocking the button that held it together. Everything was still empty, the voices from a few moments ago no longer there. He stuck his hand down the hole, waving for Oliver and Daniel. In naught thirty seconds, they were standing next to him, and the hatch was closed. Oliver nodded to his companions. Lets go. He jogged down the streets, ducking below windows and flower boxes. Daniel followed with a locator, telling Oliver when to turn. Andrew looked and listening, now clasping the gun. The run lasted no longer than two minutes, and then they were inside a school. The door had been locked, so Daniel had to pick it, which he did in less than fifteen seconds. Apparently

security was soft. After they entered, Daniel put the tracker away, exchanging it for a similar looking black apparatus which he plugged into the wall. Oliver stood up, looking around for something, and Andrew stayed midway between a crouch and full stances, eyes darting all around. They were in the entrance, and the school looked quite a bit like an old house. The floor was wooden, and a giant staircase extended for at least three floors on the right. A chandelier hung above the entire foyer, across from the only visible window. To the left of the stars was a sitting room, with plastic chairs in front of a small secretarys desk. Between the stairs and the room, a hallway with a low ceiling opened, rooms on each side. At the end of the hall way sat another door. Ive got it, Daniel announced after a minute. Cameras are disabled. Feel free to move as you like. The office is In the basement, yes, I know, Daniel, Oliver finished, already halfway down the hallway. He pressed on the wooden door which was plain, a stark contrast to the intricately carved ones lining the hallway. After fifteen seconds, once Andrew and Daniel had caught up, Oliver motioned for Daniel to unlock this, too, which he did in a matter of seconds. Andrew continued to look around, but felt terribly silly doing so. It seemed obvious to him that this place was completely empty, though the other two were moving with care. Once the door was opened, Oliver turned, put your goggles on, on low setting. What? Theyre on your belt, Andrew. To the right.

Oh, okay, Andrew reached down and they, too, were apparent. He holstered his gun for a moment and slipped the black goggles on. They were already set to low. By now, Oliver was halfway down the stairs, and Daniel had started his descent, too. Andrew loosely gripped his gun, following them while looking around the room. Strange, he thought, that they would put the office in thisits nothing but a boiler room. The metal vats groaned and huffed, and the pipes that connected them leaked occasionally. Breathe through your mouths. Oliver whispered. Why? Andrew asked. Because this is where they manufacture the scents for the entire school, and if youre not careful, the strong urge to study and get to class will come over you. But I thought we were supposed to not be effected by--- This dosage is a little higher than anything we could erase, Oliver snapped. Just maker sure no ones coming, alright? Sure, Andrew said, rolling his eyes. He looked around. They were still alone. Oliver lead Andrew and Daniel through the caverns of the basement, expertly through the rows and tubes, knowing precisely when to step to not trip. Daniel stumbled once, but Andrew nearly fell on his face every four seconds, each stumble gaining hardening looks from his companions. Watch! They growled, almost in unison, time after time. They trekked to a door, hidden behind the boilers. It, like the entrance to the basement, was plain and uncarved with no marking.

This is the office, Andrew wondered out loud. Like the principals office? I thought they were supposed to be, you know, easy to find. This is a stupid place for--- No, Andrew, not like the principals office, Daniel shot, and keep your voice down. This is the control office, where the vats and boilers and, effectively, the schools senses, are controlled. What are we going to do with them? At his question, Andrew heard a clang from behind them. His words echoed in his throat, and he bit down on his tongue. Oliver ducked, and Daniel scurried to the door, beginning to break the lock, which was more complex than the other two. Shut up, and move slowly, Oliver whispered to Andrew. Crouch down, and as soon as Daniel gets the door open, you wait for us to get in, then go in yourself and shut the door. Keep watch and keep your gun on hand. They heard another clang. Daniels hands moved over the wood, searching for something. There should be a button, right, right, he paused, here. And the door opened, squeaking. Daniel grabbed it to quiet it, and slid in, followed by Oliver. Before Andrew was inside, he heard a clash, this time a bit closer. Do this quickly, Oliver commanded. Daniel was already sitting at the desk, punching away at his handheld computer and the old one sitting on the desk. The room was windowless, with a metal wall on the back. On the wall, hundreds of buttons lit up, beeped, and twirled, and Oliver inspected them, appearing to be searching for something.

Stand guard, Andrew. Do not put your back to that door. Oliver spat over his shoulder. Urgency hung in the air, though Andrew could not feel it. All he wanted to do was work and, maybe, write. He felt oddly productive, no thanks to this gun. He wanted a pencil, to do math work, perhaps. Something of consequence. This mission seemed absolute folly. Oliver, whats the point of this, nothings going to happen! Why do I have to carry the gun? His voice was higher than usual, whiney. Just do it, Andrew. This mission is bigger than you. Daniel clicked on the keys, muttering to himself. Just, this password is more difficult to crack than I expectedyou said this would be an easy job, Oliver. This was supposed to be simple, thats why we took the Just keep working, Daniel, Oliver was the most calm, crouching on his knees, examining the buttons in the lower right hand corner. Youre a strong worker, one of our strongest, and I know you can do it. The paltry encouragement sped up Daniels fingers, making them rush faster than before. Oliver and Daniel worked, and Andrew stood, hand on his hip and foot tapping. He lazed until he heard a crashright behind the door. For God sakes, Andrew, Oliver yelled, go look out. Youre supposed to be security! Its nothing, Im sure of it. What could be, bang, here, anyway? This school has a security system, just like we do, Oliver was in Andrews face now, heaving his anger onto the boy. Or just like were supposed to, better yet. Go out there and look around, thats an order.

Andrew sighed and Oliver went back to examining the buttons, haphazardly half pressing a few on the bottom. Daniel was shaking, remote in his hand, muttering about almost having it. Andrew seemed to be the only one unphased. Now, Andrew, Oliver screamed, almost shrilly. Fine, fine, the boy grumbled as he pulled the door into him. The boiler room was smokier than he could remember, and he inhaled the air like candy. Scents tickled his nostrils for a moment before he realized that he must use his mouth. He must be dutiful. He must obey. What was he to do? Oh yes, find what was making that banging noise. Searching through his belt, Andrew found a flashlight and began shining it on the walls, floor. He stepped over some cords and wires, further examining the room. The smoke in the air was white and thick, though the boilers hadnt clamored in a while. Andrew paid this no mind; this whole security check was stupid, anyway. The only thing that mattered was duty, senseless as it was. Check the wires and check the surrounding area and make sure not to breathe in too much. Check this and that, and everything will be okay. Wonder what Oliver is doing. Why Daniel is having so much trouble, Andrew thought, flashing through the rows of metal vats. There was no noise. He began trekking back through to the room with Oliver, turning his back on the bins. They began pumping again, sending more opaque smoke into the air. Must be cyclic, Andrew thought, sighing and inhaling. His eye lids began to droop, as though his sleeplessness was catching up with him. They wouldnt notice if he sat down for a moment. The urge to nap was stronger than his urge to duty, to Oliver. So, he sat, and it was silent.

CHAPTER 15 Brigitte sat straight up, gasping for breath and grasping for ground. It felt like the Earth had fallen away, and she was plummeting. But no, the bed was right there, and the time was time to go. One fifteen; precisely fifteen minutes to get dressed and thirty to get to the Health Offices. Shed have to be speedy, jumping into her clothes, running a comb through her hair, and scooping cereal into her mouth. On the run to her car, she tripped over her untied shoelace, skidding on the dark pavement. She cursed and picked herself up, her right palm scraped and bloodied with gravel. It wasnt important. After missing three days of work, Brigitte must be there on time in twenty seven minutes.

Andrews eyes opened, but it made no difference, as all he saw was pitch black. His arms were bound, and so were his legs, tied tightly together. He sat on a chair, cold and made of metal, and it scraped against a concrete floor. The sounds rebounded off the walls, which felt close in. Andrew had no idea how long hed been out for, but he felt something warm trickle down his forehead. It was sticky and smelled of iron rust, dripping from his eyes to his chin and finally falling on his chest. Slipping his head to the side, Andrew felt dizzy, as waves of pain washed over his temples, drowning any thoughts he may have been having. A minute later, he shifted again, gently lulling his head to lie against the back of the chair. The next few hours he barely moved, slipping in and out of consciousness.

It rained and poured and sweeped and stormed, and Brigitte drove and drove with three minutes left. The Health Office was surprisingly empty, open spots scattered conveniently throughout the isles. She parked and sprinted in with a minute to spare, huffing to a halt at the front desk. I have a meeting, my name is Brigitte, I know, dear, the receptionist, an old and nearly retired meme, beeped, handing her a clipboard. Just fill these out, and give them back, and then you can proceed from there. The meme squeaked the forms into Brigittes hand then turned back to clicking away at her computer. Brigitte sat near the window, tucking hair behind her ear and scribbling down answers. What was your reason for restlessness? General worry? Did you abnormally react to the lavender lullaby? No, I just woke up a few hours later. How long did you sleep for after being given medication? About seven hours. Could we do anything to improve the procedure in the future? No. A few more questions, detailing her reactions were on the page, and she answered with vague answers; she figured whatever was to come would give her more of an opportunity to elaborate. After five minutes, Brigitte had completed the form and turned it to the meme, who thanked her and told her to take a seat.

She waited. And waited. And waited. And at three oclock, a familiar memethe one from her mission orientationrolled out to greet her. Im so sorry weve delayed you, but weve been having some difficulties in the basement, and I was required to come help clean them up. Now, if you dont mind, wed like to ask you a few questions and have you help us out with one of our more difficult cases. It shouldnt take too long. He led her down a long corridor which sloped to the ground. The floor was ivory and bubbled to give the rolling memes better traction. Nothing except a hand railing hung on the walls, and Brigitte rolled her fingers over its cool metal surface to keep herself upright. After ten minutes of silent transit, the floors and walls were pure concrete, solid and silver. Its cold, Brigitte mentioned. As I said, it is quite dangerous down here. We try to take every precaution with such specimens. Accidents are absolutely unacceptable. The memes voice was steely and firm. He didnt stop or turn to speak to her but continued to roll, smoothly into the darkened tunnel. A light was stationed every twenty yards or so, leaving pitch black spots directly in between. The pair walked, fading in and out of darkness.

A light flashed on, white through Andrews blindfold, and he felt a shrill buzz in his ears. Wake up, wake up, wake up! On your toes, on your feet. He tried to jump, but the chair made him stumble forward, and he face planted on the cold concrete as blood pooled under his nose. Andrew coughed and spluttered and tried to call for help, softly flailing against his binds. Andrew, Andrew, Andrew, a door squeaked open somewhere behind him, and wheels squeaked to his head. Ive got a visitor for you, but first, long, cold arms reached out and yanked up his chair. Well need to get you awake. His head rocketed back, sending pain through his spine. Screaming, Andrew felt his toes curl and fingers scratch into his wrists. Now that youre ready, the meme said, his monotone voice seemed mocking. We have a few questions to ask you. I have nothing to tell, he grunted, spitting blood. I will remain silent and not give away any--- He pounded on the floor. Oh, what a pity, youve fallen asleep again, the meme said, his hands thrown up in the air. Andrew lie on the floor, the chair tipped over. Now, if youd like you cooperate, I think we may arrange a nice trip to the doctors to take care of you. He lifted Andrews chair up an inch or so. So, please, its in your best interest to talk. Andrew was silent, fighting the urge to cough or sputter. The meme placed his chair on all fours, allowing Andrew to sit still. Ive got a visitor for you, the meme repeated, leaving the room.

CHAPTER 16

Where are you taking me? Brigitte asked, thirty minutes into the trek. Here, the meme beeped, almost. Were only a few yards away. Why are you taking me? Brigittes voice was dull, expecting no explanation. We need your services, your friendly demeanor, to help us with one of our cases. Perhaps youve heard, weve been having a little trouble on our hands with, he paused, turning and stopping for the first time all journey, loyalty within our ranks. Brigittes mouth was dry. I recall something or other like that. The meme had continued on. Well, youll get to see it first hand, then. They kept walking, past precisely five more lights, until the meme pressed a switch. The floor had turned back into the bubbles, and the walls were painted white. A table and chair sat across from a glass window, which overlooked a dark room. On the wall was an intercom system and a series of buttons. The meme pressed a black one, and the overlooked room was illuminated. It was made of concrete. Id like you to take a look at our newest specimen. Hes recently been caught on a mission against us, and, well, we cant have that, can we? The meme paused, rolling over to the window. Brigitte stayed standing by the hall, afraid. Perhaps youll be able to speak to him and convince him to confess; if he gives us more information about his mission, he just may be able to go free. Perhaps. What would you like me to do, exactly? 1

Just talk, thats all. Ill go in and warm him up, the meme had already began moving, opening a sliding door and disappearing into an elevator chute. In a few moments, Brigitte heard a scream, and then the room went black again. The meme returned. Give it a minute or so, and then Ill let you in to talk. I imagine you two will have a lot to talk about, but, really, just keep it about the missionwell be recording this, of course, and we wouldnt want the automators to have to sift through static and small talk. Yes, certainly, Brigitte said, stepping over to sit at the chair facing away from the window. Ill go in whenever youd like me to. The meme checked the window. Now will do, and he flipped a switch, turning the black into light, then another, opening the door. Go on.

Brigitte pulled herself up, pacing slowly to the door and taking each step delicately. There were exactly thirty one, steel and holey, and they made a clank when she stepped from one level to another. Her heart pounded harder and harder, faster and faster, and she had to grab the railing to keep up. The iridescent light shining in the cell made Brigitte squint as she stepped passed the threshold. A pool of blood soaked behind the prisoner she saw who was dressed entirely in black. His hands were bound, and he was breathing heavy. I have to ask you a few q-q-questions, she stuttered. What do you want? Andrew moaned. CHAPTER 17

His voice, miles weaker than the boisterousness she was used to, shocked her, and she cringed, rolling her shoulders backwards then forwards. Its alright, she whispered, more for her own benefit than for his, youll be fine. Andrew spat blood out of his mouth and turned his bruised face to see her. He was hardly recognizable, with red splatters against his swollen blue jaw. Brigitte wondered how it was possible for him to see out his eyes, beaten as they were. Howre you? Andrew asked, trying feebly to muster up the slightest bit of cheer. Fine, fine, yourself? She gulped, You look good. You know like youve been busy and stuff. He feigned a grin at her awful joke. I guess you could say that. I havent really been that busy. Just this once--- He cut his words, remembering his situation. No, really, whats happened, she got onto her knees in order to look at him face to face. He sat four inches taller than her, just as if they were standing. Was it the revolutionaries? The memes? Yourself? What, Andrew? How the hell did this happen to you? He shrugged and spat out a red clump. There goes my second tooth, his tongue searched his palate. At least it was just in the back, he grinned, and she could see another missing on the bottom. Are you alright? Never been better, his tone switched quickly, bitterly. I mean, after you heal up will you be fine, or do you think theres anything permanent?

Hell if I know, Brigitte! I just woke up like this. One minute I was taking a nap and then BAM, here I am, my face pulverized and body broken. I dont remember getting here, and I dont even know exactly where here is. Youre some ways under the Health Office, about a mile by tunnel. One of the memes took me here to see you, but I didnt know I was seeing you, per say. They just said they wanted me. Youre still working for them? He hissed, keeping his voice intentionally low. I never chose anything, if you remember. Im not committed to anyone, but Im continuing my job while I make the choice, she replied, barely inaudible above Andrews labored breathing. But lets not talk about me, her voice gained volume, youre the one whos been beaten up. What the hell were you doing? Clenching his jaw together, Andrew sat back in his seat, silent. Dont be childish, Andrew. Tell me what happened. No response. Please? He shook his head. Not while youre working for, he shot his eyes around the room, them. I dont even know if these are the memes, Brigitte. You could be lying, and that robot piece of shit couldve just been old technology that Oliver had stolen. This could be a test, an exam to gain my trust. Or worse that could be a meme, this could be what it looks like, and Ive already screwed up enough that talking would kill any chances I, or anyone else, has ever had at doing something. All I did was go to sleep, and now Im here, and now Im black and

blue, and now youre here, the one person who knows anything, and I dont know what to do his voice mumbled on, getting softer and more incoherent. Brigitte tried to discern what he was saying, but the words made no sense--- assembled conspiracy theories and inter connected tunnels and something about big metal vats. She placed her head in her hands and rocked on the floor, trying to understand. She clenched and unclenched her fists. She rocked back and forth, and Andrew kept babbling. Stop it! Youre incomprehensible. Speaking gibberish! Youre a nut case, Andrew, she said, furious. I dont understand what theyve done to you out there, but it certainly worked. His eyes, wide like a child, searched to met hers which searched the room for an exit. Im not crazy, Brigitte, just listen! She began walking away, into the corner from whence she came. Brigitte, come back! Really, Ill tell you. We were on a mission, with Oliver. Oliver was there, and Daniel, too, but I dont think you know him, and oh, Brigitte, dont leave me here again. Brigitte stopped walking, a small smile curling against her lips, in spite of herself and Andrews pathetic condition. She fought to repress it before turning around to Andrew. Ill stay, but only with an explanation. Yeah, yeah, yeah, Ill tell you, just dont leave me alone. Please, he had begun to cry, just dont leave me alone again. I dont want to hurt again. I just want it to be okay.

Brigitte walked slowly back to Andrew, placing her hands on his shoulders from behind. She massaged his knotted neck, softly at first, then with gaining intensity. Ill stay right here; just tell me what youve been doing with Oliver. Tell me what hes told you and where hes sent you. She looked up towards the observation tower, swallowed, and continued, her voice hypnotic. Everything will be okay if you just tell me the story. Start from the beginning, when you first met him. Andrew choked down a sob and began from the very beginning.

CHAPTER 18 That night, Brigitte sat in the shower for three hours, using, presumably, all of her water credits for the month. She rang her hands together and twisted her hair into balls and scratched at herself and punched at the tile. Andrew had given a full blown confession, omitting only the parts that had involved her, unasked. She had massaged him and hugged him and whispered that everything would be alright, and he had trusted her. She had promised safety, and he had trusted her. After an hour of his confession, his sobs turned into slumber, and she left him deep in sleep on the chair he was tied to, stepping up each of the thirty one steps to see the meme. Did you get what you needed? she had asked, her voice cold. If possible, she hinted delight in his beeping, why yes! That was rather suburb, in fact. The bits about the tunnels will be extremely useful in figuring out our next move. May I go home now, she pleaded.

Yes, of course, if thats what you would like. Ill have an escort arrive in a minute or two, he said, while rolling to the computer and punching a few keys. Please, sit down if necessary. She sat, and the next six and a half minutes passed in near silence, only broken by the memes buzzing and button pressing. A trolley arrived to take her to the Health Office, and Brigitte boarded, obviously warn out. Moments before the trolley was out of sight, the meme turned to her, youre certainly a great interrogator. That was fantastic for your first time. She nodded, looking back at him, her eyes brimming with tears. Thank you.

But now she was in her bed, and that had been hours ago. She had no idea what would happen to Andrew, as he had no idea what would happen to himself. He had told her, and he had told her everything. The memes now knew about Oliver and Andrews help in the matter, and it was all because of her. She was, apparently, a wonderful interrogator. She lay awake, rolling from her left to her right, her back to her stomach. She had been requested early for the next morning, for another unknown task. Perhaps she would have to speak to Oliver or maybe Olivers boss. Why, its possible the memes would overthrow the entire insurgency overnight, or perhaps the memes really were the insurgency, and they were all just being tested, or maybe her parents had just left her alone, and this was only a dream, or maybe--- She was being utterly ridiculous.

As was typical, the late night lavender sensors blared, showing Brigitte with intense floral aroma. It felt purple, like her comforter and soft pillow, which Brigitte slightly snuggled into more so than usual, instinctively. Her problems would go away if she were to just sleep, right? Everything would be plenty perfect in the morning, and no harm would come to Andrew; the memes were not malicious creatures. Brigittes thoughts began to feel wholly fluffy, and she drifted into a fashioned dream. Sun streamed in through the window, and the air sounded like sweet chirping birds. Brigittes eyes fluttered open, and she yawned, stretching her body, long and lean. The air was lighter than it had been the night before and, perhaps, for the weeks before that. Springing from her bed, Brigitte was thin as a feather and ready to work in any way possible. Her grief from the night before was almost entirely gone, and it only remained perched in the back of her thoughts, whimpering quietly against the dawns perfection. Wind breezed through the mechanically-opened window, slighting Brigittes figure as she bent her morning exercises. Breathe in, and hold the position; breathe out, and relax. Slide into the shower, and feel the smooth drops trickle through your scalp and down your back. Enjoy a cup of coffee in a cuddly white bath robe, and read the newspaper comics at your leisure. Get dressed in your favorite outfit, and take the elevator, which will open precisely when you want to. Drive and drive, and skip all of the red lights. Love your job, and love the memes. Brigitte was comforted, sitting at her desk, unpleasant memories erased. Each blissful movement under the solar rays flowed effortlessly in the manufactured morning.

CHAPTER 19 It was becoming commonplace for Andrews head to throb. He couldnt remember how long hed been in the cold room or how long ago Brigitte had left. The lights had remained shut off, and he had been left alone, nodding to sleep and occasionally being awoken by unpleasant banging from somewhere above. What was going on didnt particularly interest him, and he let his head hang and his body go limp. There was absolutely nothing to be done in his current position. He had told, and that was the end. No take backs or reverses could be made. If they wanted him, he was a dead man. The lights flipped on, but Andrew did not move. His head was hung, his eyes shut, and his mouth open, rasping in and out. He was not nervous, but expectant. The memes would come, and they would want to do away with him. There was no way to get around that, he thought. They could let him go, but they wouldnt. They would eradicate him, of course. Why wouldnt they? He was nothing to them but a traitor. Nothing but a useless boy. Hello, Andrew, an older meme beeped. It carried a trey of food and stopped to put it on the floor. Scooting over behind Andrew, it untied his bonds. Dont think to punch me or try to fight. Im made of titanium, and youre already injured enough as it is. Im fine, Andrew spat, rubbing his wrists. Dont think lying will be effective. We made you like this, remember. We know precisely how youre feeling. The meme wheeled in front of him, bending to collect the food. I can get it myself, thanks, Andrew began leaning over but then reeled in pain.

The small of your back is awful, right? the memes voice was bland, and Andrew nodded. We did this to you, remember. Andrew gripped the plate, shaking, as the meme handed it to him. Ill feed you, dont worry, the meme said taking a spoon form the plate and loading up a scoop of potatoes. Now dont lock your jaw like that, Andrew. This is perfectly fine, and even if it werent, youre at our disposal, anyway. Andrew growled at the thought, but the meme continued. Im just telling you honestly; we know you are aware of your predicament. Just open your mouth, will you?" Resigned, Andrew complied, opening and chewing and swallowing. He kept his eyes shut for a moment, waiting for poison, something, from the bite. "No need to grimace, Andrew. If I tell you you'll be fine, you should trust me." no reason to trust you." "But do you have any reason to distrust us? Sure we've beaten and lied to you," the meme almost laughed, "but that was to get you here, to show your true colors." He paused, "but now that we know about you, what good would tricking you do?" "This-this- this could all be a test," Andrew sputtered, though the possibility had been lurking in his head for hours. "You could be working for Oliver or... someone. Testing me because I fell asleep. The mission could've been a test, God, I don't know." Perhaps it was, perhaps it was not. Theres no use analyzing the situation, really, the meme spooned another bite into Andrews mouth, and theres no use scheming a way out. Therere miles of tunnels down here, and the chances of you finding a way out are fairly slim. "I have

Weve got these holds all throughout city, linking together every major building. Itd take a genius and quite a bit of luck to get out, especially with out Minotaur. Your what? Oh, no, not like the mythological beast; we just call our guarding system the minotaur. It covers each and every inch of these tunnels, watching. Weve never had an escapee whos been successful. He fed Andrew another bite, pausing, not that you would try that, of course. Where the hell would I have to go, Andrew muttered while devouring the spoonful of food. His hunger had come back suddenly, inching down his throat with the first bite, then sinking into his stomach which ached like an abyss. He ignored the words of the meme, thinking only of his bite and the next and the next after that. He wouldve agreed to anything in his present state, and he nodded along, accepting each threat and warning the meme threw. ---and you wont mind answering a few more questions, would you? The meme held the spoon mid-air, forcing Andrew to stop. Uh, no, he said, shaking his head, feeding the meme whatever answer would get him fed. That wouldnt be a problem at all, though, he stared at the potatoes, then shook his head again, Im not certain what else youd need to know. I think I dished myself out. The meme finished the spoons path, placing a bite in Andrews mouth. Well thats refreshing. Normally people hold out for a bit longer than you. With a few more tests, we could see if youd be any use at all to us, if you understand my meaning. Im not going to join back up with your useless teams and unbearable day jobs. I ran away for a reason, Andrews voice was cold and firm.

You do realize that youre not the first to say that. Your reactions have been fairly predictable, the meme sounded smug, strangely similar to Olivers. All of us are predictable when you control us. A sad resentment flowed against his bitter tongue, and Andrew stared at the floor. Even if you arent in control, Ive grown to think that you are, and now Im not sure how much I am compared to how much you are inside my head. I just want you to GET OUT! His sudden scream resonated against the concrete, bouncing off the memes shiny exterior. Andrew shook hard, trembling next to his metallic counterpart. Out of my head and my mind and my ears and nose and mouth and off my skin and outoutout. Not that youd care or, hell, even listen. Youre plastic and metal; you dont give a damn. Who am I kidding? The meme held its hand to Andrews mouth, waving the food around his nose. Youre just feeling down. You know youre fully comfortable with this society; youve been fine with it for years, in fact. Youve recently heard some jargon and some biased arguments. Those shouldnt be reason to uproot your life and join some group of outsiders after years of being complacent in your place. Youve been successful at your job, Andrew, and youve been rewarded. You can continue to be rewarded, and, if you can join us again, you can change things for yourself. We can get you a new job, if thatd make you more comfortablesomeplace where you could use your spunk, perhaps. Andrew shook his head, refusing the meme,

though his stomach blatantly growled. Im not hungry. The meme nearly sighed, pulling back the utensil and collecting the trey. Ill just have you know, the weaker you are, the more appealing we are.

Andrew shifted his head up to meet its blinking eyes. Why would you ever tell me these things? These stupid, obvious secrets of yours? Because youve figured them out for yourself already. I wouldnt tell you anything that you didnt know. The meme then stood up and rolled out of the room, shutting the lights off and leaving Andrew in darkness blacker than before.

CHAPTER 20 That day, Brigitte felt like she was floating, levitating from task to task. Her head, and the thoughts within, seemed as though they were disconnected from the rest of her, like they sat in a jar far away, and she neednt touch them. She danced as if on autopilot, signing papers and analyzing requests for tests and swirling around in official business. The memories of the previous afternoon were placed in the corner of her mind, readily forgettable, and she was able to function without a second thought about Andrew and his concrete prison. As the sun set, and the workers retreated to their small apartment, Brigitte was left sore, as though shed been running all day. While everyone was leaving, Brigitte sat, curled up in her desk chair, breathing softly but quickly. She broke out in sweat thinking of his bruised face and the pathetic whimpers he emitted with every motion and after every long confession. His words had been beaten out of him, and she had picked up the pieces, stripping her friend, if he could even be considered as such, of his dignity and his future. What would happen to him? What could happen to him after such a story? Even yet, what would happen to her, Brigitte the

interrogator? She had hoped she was finished with this, with getting rid of people, with aiding in this extraction; she wasnt supposed to be working like this anymore. CHAPTER 21 Down the straight and narrow, or so they had told her. Making an honest days living and a real difference in the community, at that. Theyd promised her solace from their reconnaissance and the missions and the leaving the comforts of her town. She was supposed to settle down and get her feet on the ground; here, she had been just about to find footing when they had sent her. Chosen for her pedigree, or for her anti-pedigree, more specifically, Brigitte had been recruited by the memes when she was barely out of primary school. Knowing about your parents, we wanted to make something clear: actions like theirs will get you no where in this community. We take defense very seriously, and you wouldnt want to jeopardize the safety of our citizens, would you? A meme had stared down at her, as she shifted in her prepubescent frame. No. Definitely not. No, her voice was as wavering as her commitment to the country, though she dare not say anything else. That is good news, and we hope we can count on you. How abouts we suit you up with a way to get rid of any sort of frustrations you may have? We can give you an out lit for adventure, which we know youre craving. Weve seen you go through the motions for quite some time. Weve seen how antsy youve become and how many other things you crave. Would you say that youve wanted to leave, anytime?

Brigitte nodded, her head facing the floor. School was hardly captivating, a regurgitation of the same lessons while attempting to get on the adults good sides. Theyll make exceptions if they like you. Theyll think it was only temporary misguidance if you step out of line. Oh, no, not if you were the perfect student; perfects never got into trouble, they just made mistakes. Her head was misguided, racing with these thoughts. Well, then some work for you will be arraigned, the memes voice had almost been warm as it patted her boney shoulder. You wont begin with anything complex, but youll need to be a little more social. Would that be possible? She had looked at the floor and bobbed her head up and down and had thus been thrown, cascading into a luge of a life. Your first mission will be observational, really, the meme told her once shed been through weeks of training in the dead of night. She was taught what to look for, how to tell if someone was being disobedient to sensory inputs, which the memes referred to as, simply, cues. You are to record his behavior for a week, follow him where he goes, but make sure you stay out of sight; he cant realize what youre doing, or else hell act unnaturally. She had nodded, going off to watch one of her teachers, Mr. Jacobson, perform his everyday actions. He would eat lunch in the teachers lounge, a turkey sandwich on rye every day. He would stay at school late, hovering over his computer and notebooks, scribbling down plans. He would go home and sleep, restlessly. Brigitte would watch all of this, safely, from a distance. The first few days of her observation had gone without a hitchno interruptions to any

of her plans. However, on the night of the third, she fell asleep, her small body crumpling into the fetal position outside his bedroom window, napping among the flower beds. Well what are you doing here? He asked, crouching beside her as the sun rose. She had scrambled to sit up and brush the dirt from her face. I-I, she grasped at her notebook, which lay behind her, unseen to her teacher, came by here to ask you a question earlier, and I was going to wait, but Her voice trailed off against his impassive features. I, uh, see, he said, grave with disbelief. He paused for a moment before continuing, well, what would you like to know? And how would you like to discuss it over breakfast? Brigitte nodded, her stomach grumbling and thoughts racing for a more solid excuse. He had motioned her into the house, setting a place for her next to his own. The kitchen had had wood paneled floors and a glass table, with aluminum chairs. Mr. Jacobson bustled about the kitchen, fixing eggs and toast, as Brigitte sat, waiting. The room was rather peculiar, in both decoration and ambiance, with its natural sunlight streaming through the windows in the ceiling; it felt real. Now, he began, after presenting Brigitte with a plate, what were you really doing out there this morning? I know you, and you wouldnt have had trouble with any of the assignments from last night or the night before; the materials been terribly easy. She studied him between bites before replying. It was just a question. Well, a question of what? A question of what youve been doing at school so late.

Her honesty had taken him aback, and Jacobsons brown eyes widened. He brushed away his graying hair, tucking a longer, rebellious strand behind his ear. Well, you see, Ive had work to do. What sort of work? She dug into her breakfast, half pretending to fiend non-chalance. Just planning and things, like for the new curriculum and for the students. His words were picked very carefully, but they seemed to have been rehearsed. Jacobson had given this answer before. Brigitte looked up at him, gazing into his eyes. Her voice was subtly stern. What sort of things? Things for new classes, classes that you could take next year. Youll see it all in the course packet, and, he glanced at the clock, flustered, shouldnt you be worried about getting to class and getting clean? But Im only halfway done the food, Brigittes hand moved down to the notebook she had brought in, grasping it under the table. But I really think its best that you leave, now. Her professor had stood up and opened the back door, which stood only a few feet from Brigitte. As she reluctantly got up, he whispered, Im not the only one, dear. Dont think you havent given yourself away. She stopped, turning to him, dont think you havent, either. That small hint had her running, convinced as to why shed been observing Jacobson. He spent time planning, planning courses against the memes, perhaps. Planning an insurrection. Planning something. She went to school, and that night, she sifted through his files and his

course plans after he had gone home. She sifted through his rambling presumptions about the memes and their influence. She thought his ideas were devoid of logic, but she saved them anyway, scribbling down summaries of his notes and sending them to the robots. In a matter of days, he was gone. Brigitte was given more tasks, more people to monitor, only a few of whom disappeared like Jacobson. She would follow and write and only intervene when it was unavoidable. Youve been doing well, Brigitte, the meme rattled, a year and a half of successful search. Perhaps youd like to do something a bit more involved? She had nodded and smiled at the prospect, desiring adventure or anything, really. We can teach you how to fight and how to learn more things about a person than you ever thought possible. Are you sure youd be able to make this commitment? Its words were vague, but she didnt care; she was fifteen and consumed in the terrible ennui of adolescence. Any opportunity at all would be better than the ones she was given. Any deviation would be better than stagnation. It would all be better than this, she thought. She took long weekends, darting into the city and into their underground training rooms. They made her run and lift metal weights, and she would sweat and pour, dripping salty effort onto bleak concrete floors. All of the training rooms were exactly the same, though she grew in dozenswindowless, with red and blue padded walls and matching bags for punching and kicking. The first weekend of the month, she would learn to shoot in the dark, aiming a revolver at the silhouette of a mannequin, she believed. Her body grew strong, and she learned to take down a man twice her size. She learned how to pressure questions out of him, cracking his

fingers and ripping out tufts of hair, still connected to the scalp. They told her to ignore the screams, the whimpers. Anyone she would be sent to treat would deserve every last bruise. These people were traitors, enemies of the government and of the people, and Brigitte wanted to keep her community safe, didnt she? The training lasted for months, finishing around the time of her 16th birthday. Her trainers, primarily strong memes from a few years back, threw her a party, handing her a small badge and tattooing a small drawing onto her wrist, a red tabby cat swift and merciless to its prey, while still beautiful and gentle, similar to Brigittes style of fighting. She was tall and graceful, able to move from fighting to silent tracking in a matter of steps. Brigitte was certainly one of the memes best. From her 16th year through her 22nd, Brigitte danced from a typical day worker to a nightly assailant. In school, her marks stayed top, and, once she was sent to work in the Feeling Department, her products were always tightly wrapped and her department kept together. Her hair grew longer, and she kept the crimson strands wrapped in a bun at the base of her skull, out of the way of her productivity. Nightly, she stalked the streets, sent on missions to capture enemies of the state. Somedays, she would force them to answer questions, and she would play with them. Her victims would surrender information quickly, folding against her wide grin, full lips pulled over sharp, white teeth, but she wouldnt let them go. Shed dangle their lives in a balance, somewhere between consciousness and darkness, and shed let them hang until they not just admitted, but also apologized; they needed to apologize to society.

With the exception of rogue insomnia, Brigitte suffered no ill effects from her second job. The people she worked on were necessary to eliminate, she thought, and she was jut playing her, albeit rough, part in keeping her community safe. Every month she would go to conferences to hear the memes and prevalent scientists speak on the nature of the city and the histories of man. Each seminar confirmed her basic belief: the memes must be protected at all cost, to ensure the success of the humans. Before the memes, man was prone to blowing himself up, to starting wars over petty issues. The robotic influence pacified the men and made them act civilized and logical. Memes removed emotions, which could only hold back society. Decisions could only be properly made cold and calculated, and man was incapable of acting as such. Any human that thought otherwise was to be removed, and one sacrifice for the greater whole was fair and necessary. Why, the memes were only saving man from himself. Brigitte had been pounded with rhetoric until her 23rd birthday, when she was declared unfit for service and sent to her present job, permanently. Typically, her line of work was a temporary position, and members were only kept fighting until something wenttheir knees, their backs, or, in Brigittes case, their vision. Her eyes dropped below twenty-twenty vision, and, once she was not in perfect physical condition, she was no longer wanted for precise field work. Occasionally, she was called on quests to stop new workers, like to quell the insurgency with Andrew, but they were few and far between, and she began to take comfort in a day job. Her nights were spent alone for the most part, reading and learning more about the government and research in general. She was focused and bored of stagnation, and she never did

learn to sleep. Brigitte began having dreams, when she would sleep, of her former patients. At first, they would just appear as faceless characters, playing simple parts in her dreams, but they turned to nightmarish figures, clad in blood and bruises, screaming her name and pulling her into black pits or wrestling with her in flaming buildings. Once, Mr. Jacobson was with her, hiding in her house while her parents were being taken away. He whispered words into her ear and tried to lead her through a secret passage, where her mothers whimpers could be heard, louder and louder until they were reverberating screeches, and she awoke clutching her heart in a cold sweat. Brigitte began to take pills to balance her brain and quell the terrors and knock her out completely. The medication became so strong that shed often fall asleep in the bathroom or kitchen, wherever she would down the blue circles. Still, every morning she would awake, eyes encased in black circles and knees shaking, though every day at work, she would act perky and smiley, light as a feather while in her office building, floating through the day, only to collapse in black and blue thoughts as soon as she finished her shift. Her body was mechanical, programmed for cheer from 9-5 and obligated to fail at 5:01 pm, just like today. CHAPTER 22 Brigitte shrugged off herself as best she could, lifting up her legs, step by step to stumble her way to her car. Then she braked and sputtered to her apartment, finally sinking down onto her bed and closing her eyes, begging for sleep to come. It didnt, and she lay, thinking but unable to move as weariness crept over every surface, from her eyelids to her heels. Andrews whimpering echoed in her brain, though she pushed to expel it, quell it, do anything possible.

Please, she begged, curling into the fetal position, her knees tucked to her chest. Im sorry, she thought, and in her memory, his eyes widened with tears brimming and his head shaking, reassuring her that it was solely his fault. Ill help you, she murmured, snapping her green eyes open.

PART THREE CHAPTER 1 He couldnt remember the last time hed seen daylight or, for that matter, any light at all, and Andrew hung his head. It lulled back and forth against his sternum, chin knocking against the carved bones in his sternum. Each rib was hollowed out perfectly against his yellowed skin. His body reeked of sweat and blood, but he hadnt since his nose had neutralized weeks ago. Plates of food scattered the floor around him, as he hadnt touched one in what felt like weeks. Kicked, yes, but not touched; not a single morsel had touched his lips since the last time he saw the light, though he had taken sips of waterhe didnt quite want to die, yet. The interrogations had stopped with the light, and memes had stopped bringing in food since hed kicked over trey number seven. They had told him hed have to ask politely for more, thought they hadnt been around in a while. Hed spent a lot of time sleeping, sometimes pacing, and almost all of his time pacing. After theyd delivered the last plate of food, Andrew was untied, and he hadnt stopped moving since, even in his sleep. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Thoughts humbled through his skull.

Two, two, three, four, five, six, seven. He counted every step. Three, two, three, four, five, six, seven. He counted every time he breathed. Four, two, three, four, five, six, seven. He counted each noise hed hear. Five, two, three, four, five, six, seven. He counted each time his arm brushed the wall. Six, two, three, four, five, six, seven. He counted each time he licked his parched lips. Seven, two, three, four, five, six, seven. He counted because there was nothing else to do. In and out he breathed the future and the past and even the present, and he could taste nothing. Each day was a void, as black as his present cell. He had to get out. The walls, hed assessed were solid concrete. The only soft spots, he thought, lie at the door, which was made of some heavy metal, and at a small drain in the back corner, opposite from the door. Since it was twenty feet high, to allow for the observation room, the ceiling was not an option, so the only way out was under. For some reason, the rooms camera never seemed to shift and sat pointing at the metal chair in the middle of the room. Andrew calculated, roughly, that it couldnt pick up audio feed in the corner near the drain, so he could sit there and carve, dig, something, without being seen.

One night, or so he assumed, Andrew awoke and couldnt get back to sleep. After hours of turning, he scooted over to the treys of food, to one that didnt smell rank, and he grabbed a spoon and a platter. For the first time in days, he spooned some food into his mouth, picking the dish up and walking around the room. He did a few laps, stopping occasionally to sit down. On the fifth lap, halfway through his dinnersomething casserole--, he sat down in the corner with the drain. He cleaned his spoon off and hit it against the drain, tapping around randomly, looking for a weakness in the foundation. The drain was about a foot in diameter, a half circle directly against the wall. He sat only for a few minutes, as not to be suspicious, and made nothing more than a dent into the wall surrounding the drain. Then, he stood up and walked around the perimeter, eating more of his dinner, as not to arise suspicion. For the rest of the night, Andrew repeated this, spending a few minutes in each corner and silently banging out a hole to the left of the drain. He figured that, if he was careful, hed be able to carve out the drain, lift it out, and crawl through. It would be a delicate operation, certainly, but the carving job didnt seem to visible from across the room, and, hell, even if he was caught, what was going to matter? He felt like a dead man anyway, grasping at the straws of life. But that was melodramatic, and melodrama didnt make good way for planning. Andrew slept during the day, moaning something about being uncomfortable the hours before, just incase he was being monitored. For the first day, his room was unvisited, at least while he was awake. Despite eating the food, no new meals were delivered, and the door remained locked and, to his knowledge, completely shut all day. For the first time since being free, Andrew did basic exercises, stretching his legs, doing sit ups, and jogging labs around the

twenty by twenty foot room. He ran for what felt like hours, swinging high knees and kicking forward and back, changing direction every ten laps. After that he did push ups until his arms burned, pressing up and down until he fell into a tangle on the floor; he could do seventy, thirty less than his average endurance before. If he ever had a shot of getting free, he had to be in the best physical shape possible. When what expected was nighttime came, Andrew picked himself up, as he had been doing basic yoga on the floor. Like the previous day, he grabbed a plate of food and a spoon and began eating it while pacing circles on the floor. He stopped in each corner, first the one next to the door, then the one opposite it, the one next to that, and finally the corner with the drain. It seemed dirtier than the night before, like the gravel around the drain had been dug into deeper than he remembered. I mustve just underestimated, he assumed, as the room had been so clearly untouched. Ill just be extra careful to remember tonight, he vowed without rigor. If he had been found out, what was it to him? This escape was just to pass the time and nothing else. During the first few rotations, the concrete floor gave away surprisingly softly. There was a breech in the foundation, the fruits of cheap labor. Apparently, the floor was only an inch or so think made of concrete, and underneath was just earththe fruits of very cheap and very quick government labor. If I just get through this layer of floor, Ill be fine to dig out the ground, he thought, more excitedly, though by the time he felt asleep, morning, presumably, he had made

it through only half of the circumference of the drain. Piling some debris in the crack, Andrew tried to remember its specific pattern and depth. Patting the rocks into place, his dug out was hardly noticeable from a few feet away, and he hoped that the camera wouldnt see. Finishing, he brushed off his pants and put the half-eaten dinner back onto the platter. Smiling, Andrew fell asleep leaning on his metal chair.

CHAPTER 2 For the past week, Brigitte had been thinking. Shed go to work and come back, mindlessly completing forms and signing slips and overseeing experiments. The Feeling Bureau was always in working order, and her mental absence went unnoticed. Nothing had been sent from the Health Office or any other sort of government agency, and definitely nothing from Oliver, and she checked her mail and email and voicemails constantly just to keep this confirmed. She didnt expect anything for a few weeks or days at least, as worker competency claims took startling amounts of time to be handled, supposing that someone would even notice. A few bosses had patted Brigitte on the back, complimenting her regularity, as, since the interrogation, shed been extremely punctual, if not early, to every meeting and workday. Brigitte, one of her managers called from a, slightly larger, cubicle across the room, would you mind going down to the biology floor and running these tests for me? Ive got swabs from different school children who seem to have come down with a virus. Its potentially related to the placemats we sent out a few weeks ago, but we cant be certain. This shouldnt

take you too long, as theres only fifty six to analyze, and you wont have to analyze them until the bacteria grow, which should be--- In the next three days? Brigittes eyes were soft. Oh, yes, of course, who am I giving directions? You know precisely what youre doing, dont you? Her supervisor blushed, handing over the bag of swab sticks. Ill get right on these, sir, Brigitte nodded and took the plastic sac. The trek to the bio labs wasnt too far, down three flights of stairs and straight down the main hallway. It sat on the left about a five minute walk away, with frosted windows lit up with misty green lights. Lab technicians bounced from table to table in their white lab coats and darkened glasses. They buzzed from station to station with different equipment, pausing only to examine a microscope or take a delicate mass. Each had a different project, and though the air of the lab was scattered, it all felt interconnected; they all felt as if they had some similar bond beyond their clothed appearance. Brigitte came in, tying up her hair and setting the plastic bag down. She selected a lab coat from the racks, the whitest one with a meme stenciled onto the pocket, and the smallest glasses from the cleaned table. Picking up the bag again, she walked to an empty lab bench in the back with the most rudimentary equipment, which was all she needed for this specific task. The bench was made of grey tinted glass, and she placed fifty six Petri dishes side by side on the table. For the first, she pulled out a swab and twirled it around the dish, which she marked as student #1. She placed the lid onto the dish and placed it in the corner of the lab bench. Doing the same for the second, third, fourth, thirtieth, five thousandth swab, she stacked all of

them in eleven neat rows of five.

The final swab was stuck to the bottom of the bag, and she

pulled it out gingerly. Inspecting it for damage, she noticed that it was a slightly different color, tinted red unlike the other clear samples. Confused, she marked student #56, inspect onto the dish and rolled the swab around before throwing into the biohazard bag. Certainly nothing to worry about, she assumed, just some cranberry juice, assuming these are from the students cheeks. She placed the dishes into the incubator, washed her hands, removed her coat and glasses, and left the bio lab. Her tests, she presumed, by the nature of the cells, would be ready by the next day, and she could stain and analyze them in under four hours. Not too difficult at all. While she was swabbing, she thought. Andrews cell must be approximately two miles away from the Health Office, possibly towards the center of town. The meme had walked her there but had driven her back, and the paths she had taken were the same: down one dark, seemingly straight hallway. If she found the hallway and its vague direction, she could locate Andrew fairly precisely. The wing of the Health Office she had visited was for not-so-pertinent emergencies, small injuries and disorders. To get inside, shed have to be hurt, but not harmed enough to impede her ability to run or fight. Useless body parts, useless body parts, she thought, half seriously. Id need my legs and my arms, probably my torso. My hands, perhaps could be harmed? No, Id have to fight. Hm. This is ridiculous. My face? Nose? Ears? No, theyre useful. God, this is really ridiculous. What about my

cheeks? What do they do besides blush? Theyd be better than a wound to the back of the head or neck; I couldnt look around swiftly, and a good head wound would leave me with bad headaches. Pain killers could take care of those, though, right? Id assume so, but still, cheeks arent that important, right? Taking the stairs back to her desk, she began to look around, I could fall asleep on something, burn them, perhaps? How could I fake napping on a burner? I could slip and hit myself on something, but, no, something bad could happen, and I could damage my eyes. Maybe I could run into something while running or A tree branch scrape? Not serious enough. Id need to get one solidly burnt or solidly frozen. Perhaps I could just get it stuck to something in the freezer. I could wash my face and get them wet then forget and go for ice-cream during my lunch break. I think Im crazy.

Lunch had been open for thirty minutes, and Brigitte had hardly eaten anything. Shed made some small conversation but mostly kept to herself, claiming to feel a little woozy. Excusing herself to go to the bathroom, Brigitte stood up, clacked down the hallway and scanned into the womens room. In the mirror, she looked like death. Her cheeks were sallow and eyes sunk back into her head. Her red hair was lackluster, tied into a messy bun with wisps half pulled out and scattered against her forehead.

At least I look... off, she thought, half joking. She turned the faucet on lukewarm, easing it into cold. Scooping up a handful of water, she splashed her face, spreading icy chill over her pallid complexion. Goosebumps emerged from her fingers to the nape of her neck, and she, somehow, looked more a fright than a moment before. Drying off her hands and dotting spray from her forehead, she left the bathroom and proceeded to return to the lunchroom. Sweetheart, are you alright? A motherly cook scurried over to her, grasping her hand. Youre absolutely frozen. Im fine, I think. Just hungry, I suppose. Let me fix you some hot cocoa! I could get you a nice piece of apple pie, too. Youre far too skinny, darling. Brigitte blushed, bringing slight color to her face. That sounds delicious. Ill go get some, ah, ice cream? To make it a la mode. Sounds perfect! The woman bustled to behind the food counter, hastily preparing Brigittes dessert. The freezer was, strangely, unconnected to the kitchen, an architectural choice which no one pretended to understand. It opened through a big steel door and was accessible to all workers in the office; occasionally people would store special food inside. Brigitte pulled open the door and propped it behind her. The room was four feet wide, with shelves that jutted out a foot on each side, but it was twenty feet long and fully stocked, so there were provisions for months. Lights flickered, casting a steely yellow glow onto the cardboard boxes and Brigittes quivering fingers. Desserts laid in the very back, as the chefs saved the best for last, and the

ice cream was usually on the top shelf, too high for even Brigitte to reach on her own. Her cheeks felt cold, and the water began to crystallize, so she jaunted to the very back and hoisted herself, feet placed on the bottom shelf. Now Ill just need to make it look like I was reaching all the way back for the strawberry, and Ill stretch my arm out and get my face real close to the frozen boxes and The diners heard a surprised scream followed by a resounding smash. Ears perked, the chef who had been cooking for Brigitte abandoned her heating milk and made a beeline for the freezer. By the time she had arrived, stout girth gasping, a crowd had formed around the door, too nervous to go inside. Make way, make way, she may be hurt! The woman tooted, pushing the observers aside. Dear, dear, are you alright? She cried. Brigitte turned to her, giggling. I just went to get the ice cream, and it was so silly of me, but I just slipped, and Ive banged Up your cheek horribly! Oh my goodness, sweetheart! Its fine, really, I think, she touched the right side of her face, flinching. Just a bruise, Id imagine. The chefs eyes were wide, darting from a cardboard box on the floor to Brigitte. Well, not quite, but, ah, well, maybe you should just take one of those little ice cream containers and put it around the area. Well, no, maybe not. Ill um, she turned back to the door, trying to stay calm, Call the health office! Get the elevator clear for a direct route.

Brigitte stifled a smile against the freezing pain. She was secretly jumping, yelling, dancing, even, despite the throbbing circle on her cheek and the bruise that was sure to arise on her lower back. Um, Im fine, really, she brushed herself off and faked a stumble towards the chef. No no, well Id prefer to check you out, especially since I dont know how youll be feeling in a few minutes or so. Ill take you to the Health Office myself, and, oh, will someone grab that apple pie out of the oven and wrap it before it catches fire? Just, well, get ready to go, and youll be fixed in no time. Theres no use worrying, really, youll be fine. Here, let me just hold you up, you mayve hurt your foot or ankle or something, and you just havent noticed yet. Step gingerly, here, you, she pointed to a young janitor, help the girl, will you? Just out to the elevator, yes, and Ill meet you two there in a few minutes. Bring a chair for her if you can, alright! Really, its okay, Brigitte mumbled while being passed over to the workers strong hands. I think Im she trailed her voice off as the lunching members began to retreat out the doors or back to their meals. Up you go miss, I may as well carry you, the cleaner said, his grey eyes sparkling. Dont worry, Ive got you, youre a tiny thing. Whats your name, by the way? Im Alex. Oh, uh, well nice to meet you. Im Brigitte, and I work Up a few floors in Fabrics and Homes, but you move around a lot, dontcha? Well, yes, ah.

Dont be worried, I just see you around a lot. I know most peoples schedules, just because well, I dont really have to think doing my job, so I just people watch. I dont know yours, though, but youre always sort of scattered, running errands and running around and whatnot. I guess Im a free agent of sorts. Just do what they need me and organize people, usually. Youre one of their best, Ive heard whispers. A lot of the bosses upstairs are always talking about that little redhead girl. Well sometimes, not always, you know. But Im guessing you understand what Im saying. Brigitte giggled, yeah, no I know. What do they say, exactly? Nothing too scandalous. Youve been mentioned with some Andrew kid a few time, something about questioning? Hes in some prison or something now, maximum security, somewhere in the tunnels. I dont know, they said you got a lot out of him, that little red head girl really has talent, they say. Shes a real charmer, able to get it out of him without any work at all. Dont really know what they meant, but you probably do. Ive got a vague idea, she spoke softly, letting her head droop onto his shoulder. Ah, I wouldnt touch that to anything if I were you. Thats a nasty freeze, ripped some of the skin off. Hope it doesnt scar. Scar?

Oh, ah, forget it. The memesll fix you right up. You just nicked the side, and it looks pretty tended. I wouldnt worry about it too much, but ah, here we are. You think you can stand, or do you want me to hold you till the elevator comes? I should be fine, she staggered to her feet, leaning up against the wall. Staring at her feet for a moment, she looked up, catching Alexs gaze. You wouldnt happen to know which tunnels they meant, do you? I didnt know they had prisons underground nowadays. Oh yeah, totally, they built em out of the old transportation tunnels where the old trains used to be. Some people say they go outside the city, but who really knows? Ah, but the prisons are somewhere under Seafoam Square, I think, but I dont have anything but hearsay to back that up, but ah, heres the chef. Shell take care of you from here. Ill see you around, alright? Alex patted her shoulder and left walking quickly in the opposite direction of the chef. He did carry you, didnt he? Brigitte nodded. Well, I just mean that chivalry is not what it used to be, and, oh well, here, take this pie, and sit on this chair, and it look like the elevators coming. The whirlwind of a woman pushed Brigitte on the chair into the elevator while simultaneously cooling the hot chocolate and cleaning off the fork for Brigitte to eat with. Well, yes, youll want to chew slowly as not to damage your, ah, mouth, or anything. I sure hope youre feeling alright. Are you feeling alright? Yes, I promise, she said, gritting back the soreness. Dont worry about me this much, but thank you so much.

Of course, of course, now let me just press this button, and we shall be, she tapped the marking for the Health Office, and they were, off!

CHAPTER 3 After four nights, Andrew had scooped out around the entire base of the drain, enough so that it could be teetered slightly from the right to the left. Where the drain attached to the wall, however, seemed as though it would prove more of a problem. Unlike the floor, the wall was thick, though it, too was made of concrete. What felt like hours of poking had led him nowhere, except to the mystical land of broken spoon and bloodied fingerall together a terribly ugly land. Hed tried to dig out the dirt around the base, but he imagined he couldnt get deep enough to fit his arm, let alone his whole body, through. Over the past few days, since hed been eating, exercising, and working, Andrew had begun to care, slightly. He became more nervous about getting caught and made more of an effort to not get caught. At each sound, scrape, or noise, he flinched, and every few minutes he glanced around the room, searching, just in case. Still, no meals had been delivered, and no attempts had been made to contact him, so he assumed that he was being ignored, forgotten, or overlooked; what else could he think? No right man, or meme, he thought, would allow him such an attempt at escape. Perhaps this was intentional. He could not, however, figure out why the memes would want to swing him around and dangle him, allow him to imagine escape just to tear his hope and efforts down. Holding a

prisoner cost resources and time and cell space. They wouldnt dangle him; they were efficient, and efficiency was based on conservation. What could he do but dig? That night Andrew paced around the room cracking his knucklesthe good ones, at least. He spent less time digging that night and more time pacing, push up-ing, and stretching. Right before his morning came, Andrew thought of an idea. He only had the chair, a few utensils, and some treys, but the chairs legs were made of strong steel. Examining the chair while falling to sleep, the legs were screwed on simply, and they needed only a few hard twists to come undone, he suspected. Grabbing a knife, he stuck the sharpest tip into the screw and began to turn. It broke in half, and he moaned, nursing the finger it had cut. Iron blood ran down his arm, spotting the floor, and he shoved it into his mouth, sucking on the wound. Hed work on this tomorrow, figure out a way to get the leg off. Now, he just wanted to sleep.

CHAPTER 4 The chef, who Brigitte discovered to be named Molly, prattled for the entire elevator ride to the Health Office, asking about Brigittes face and mother and father and sleeping habits and dietary preferences. Brigitte nodded along, answering with the simplest yeses and noes, claiming that any other movement would hurt the blister on her cheek. Molly obliged, instead telling Brigitte about her lifes story, though she, admittedly didnt remember much before she was thirteen, around the times that the memes became popularized. She had been a normal child, apparently, but was whisked to some strange, droning boarding school with other seemingly normal children, and they were all told that they were special, that they would get to know things

that other children didnt, so they should thank the memes for giving them this opportunity. At this school, Molly learned to be a chef and trained in the Trade Department to be ready to work by the time she was seventeen. Being a cook, according to Molly, was terribly important work, work that not just anyone could do. To cook was to provide the breath and blood to society, and it was certainly crucial. Brigitte bobbed her head up and down, left and right at the appropriate times. She hardly paid attention, thinking only of what to do once inside the Health Clinic. Once the elevator came to a stop, Molly insisted on wheeling Brigitte into the Emergency Room. I have a hurt girl! Injury coming through! She yelled, crossing lines and lines of darting doctors. Pushing her way to the front desk, she halted the wheeled Brigitte and demanded to the secretary, give her service at once! This girl has had a terrible accident and must see a doctor immediately. Mam, the secretary said, staring over her cat eye frames, this is the Emergency Wing, and its--- For emergencies! This is an emergency! ---for life threatening emergencies, and, she glared at Brigitte, this does not seem life threatening. Brigittes face turned beet red, and she turned to stare at her shoelaces.

Are you kidding? Molly insisted, stepping closer and closer to the desk, this injury could damage this girls beauty, and for a twenty-something, beauty is life. I think she ought to see a doctor. Molly, please, Brigitte hissed, finally, Ill be alright. Just leave me to myself. I dont think you can stay to fill out my paper or, she shot a pleading glace to the secretary, accompany me to see the doctor, since were not related or anything. The miss is right, the secretary said, sternly, I can promise her swift treatment if you allow her to be alone. Oh, well, alright, Molly was flustered and breathing heavily. I suppose I can just leave you here. Youll be okay? Yes, really. Shell take care of me. Brigitte nodded towards the desk. I appreciate this a lot, and Ill come visit you for more stories. Her voice was sweeter than a gum drop, and Molly couldnt help but agree. You safe, sugar. I expect a visit as soon as you get back. Molly curtsied and cautiously walked away, leaving Brigitte. Im sorry about that. Shes a little Overwhelming? Precisely. Now, I just need to get to the normal treatment room, so could you point me in--- Down the hall, first door on the left. Awesome.

Next. Brushed off, Brigitte scooted, on her chair, down the hall into the first door on the left, and it was the exact room she remembered. Surprisingly, the waiting room was less empty than the emergency room, and she was seen immediately. Problem? Um, cheek wound? Fill out these forms. Brigitte checked yeses and noes, citing her medical history, age, height, weight, and general memory of the event of the injury. She returned them to the desk, sat, and waited for her name to be called. Instinctively, she rolled her shoulders back and fourth, ignoring the pain that shot through her right arm. The white and red floors still made her slightly nervous, an impulse which she figured too small to be bothered by. After a minute or two, she began to drum on her collar bone, something shed never done before. She tap-tap-taped out a rhythm, gaining and losing speed as she thought about what could become of the hours ahead. It was possible that the next twenty four hours would decide Andrews, and her own, fate, or she could easier be led into the wrong hall way, as, she noticed, behind the secretarys desk, there were three possible paths for patients exam rooms. She had been down the center path, she thought. None of the halls were labeled, and each looked precisely the same. It seemed, however, obvious to her that only one hall would lead to the prisons. Two, the outer two, she assumed, would be just for examinations and tests of the non-serious ailments. They would be

stark white hallways that never darkened, never turned down, and were never travelled on the legs of a dead man. Brigitte stared at the bright tile floor. Like her fingers, she made a soft rhythm with her feet, moving them between the white tiles and skipping over the fire engine red squares. Her eyes traced the shoes of each other waiting room occupant. In dark brown loafers, old man sat a few seats down with a staple through his finger. He sighed occasionally, blowing his grey beard away from his nose, apparently unconcerned with the rusty inch long metal sticking through his right index. In matching white Mary Janes and with matching white blonde hair, a blue eyed mother and her green eyed young daughter sat across from Brigitte, the latter fidgeting and banging her head against her tiny, bruised fist. The mother looked mildly frustrated, like her daughters behavior was regular. So rarely were children seen, as they usually spent most time at school, being brainwashed or whatever, Brigitte thought, unable to remember the last time shed seen a gaggle of children outside Olivers fortress. Miss Azure? A middle aged, boring-looking doctor called from the front of the room. The woman perked up, picking up her five year old. Lexis been giving me even more trouble, Brigitte caught her whisper. We thought pulling her out of school for a while would help her, but its only seemed to have gotten worse. The doctor turned, mussing with his short salt-and-pepper hair to lead her to an examination room down the right hallway, appearing to be barely listening. Shes gone, Brigitte thought without thinking. Startled with herself, she sat straight up and opened her eyes wide. The girl was just a child, not a threat or a possible bad influence,

nothing. She was a baby, not old enough to even read and write properly, but already, somewhere, Brigitte had her future imagined. The girls eyes would burn like those of her former inquisitees, and, eventually, they would be cloudy in some mass grave, just like Andrews. NO, she screamed. He will be fine and safe, and you will save him. But, you know, he isnt. Hell be toast. Why would they ever let anyone, especially someone with a tract record and intentions like his, go free? Youve always been the point of no return, Brigitte. If you were called in, he was a goner. Not if I save him. Save him? How would you find his cell? How would you get inside? How could you get him out? Those tunnels are like catacombs; theyre where the dead reside. Even if you manage to, somehow, spring him from his cell, where will you take him? Oliver would have him. Oliver? Oliver is the one who delivered him, I assume. Oliver either just left Andrew or had him carted away. Andrew was on a mission with the rebels when he was captured, you know. Well, yes, I know, but Oliver couldve just been unable to save him. Andrew couldve wandered off somewhere or given up on the task; you know how moody he can be. Hes easily uncommitted.

Then why would the government want him? Uncommitted traitors are not attractive, Brigitte. He was an effective worker. He was never the best or the most dedicated, but he did work, and he tried, and he wouldnt want to Die? I was going to--- well, die, too. He doesnt deserve to die. Why not? Because Because you know him? NO! Because hes effective? Brigitte, everyone is effective, somehow. Each person is a cog, and his cog is unpolished and screwy, easily replaced by a newer, better one. Andrews more than that. Hes smart and interesting, and he thinks. God, he thinks so much more than most people Ive met. He thought when he flitted away to join the revolution? You yourself said it was impulsive. It was passionate. Oh, you know it was impulsive. I wish I couldve done it. It took courage.

It took stupidity. You know, clearly you know, that if you, too, had left, you wouldve regretted it. You wouldve felt wrong going against such a strong government with such an insecure group of rebels. They wont accomplish anything, and theyve done nothing. Despite their cleansing you still responded to the calmings after your interrogation. You fall asleep to doses of lavender. Heightened doses, yes, but doses none the less. Brigitte, cant you see, theyve fooled him. Dont let yourself become a fool, too. Hes not a fool. Yes he is. Hes an impulsive baby, and if you met him under any different circumstances, youd question him and think nothing special of it. If you never knew him-I did know him. But that doesnt change him. Maybe it doesnt, but it changes me. Youre awfully compassionate. Turning into him. Maybe I am, but theres nothing I can do about it, is there? Nothing you can do about it, either. Brigitte? The doctor called before she could respond to herself. Brigitte shook her head, and her brain rattled around, thoughts jumbling and tumbling, colliding into each other.

How are you feeling? A little dizzy is all. The pain has mostly subsided, I think, but I think itll start to burn in a little while. Frost burn? Mmmhm, stupid, really. I was just, you see, reaching for some ice cream when I slipped. I had just washed my face, so it was wet, and it was such a stupid coincidence. Im sure it was. The doctor examined her file, which had been pulled out to go with her recent medical entry. Now, if youll just follow me, Ill take you to your exam room. He quickened his pace, leading her down the same hall where Andrews prison lay.

CHAPTER 5 Crack and crack and crack and crack went his knuckles, bloodied to a near pulp. He drummed them against his forehead, each tap sending a tedious wave of sore through his fingers, up his forearms, and down to his chest, which rocked and wheezed, but Andrew paid no attention. His eyes were fixed on the ground, as they had been for the last few minutes. As his chest rose up and down, his eyes grew continually wider staring at the patch of pure earth as wide as his shoulders. Somehow, in the past days, hed cleared enough of the concrete away to expose this dirty knoll, this unadulterated ground, which sat a few feet atop the sewers tunnel system. His hands and arms felt the toils of his labor, and they were scratched and torn, but adrenaline, serotonin, and stupidity coursed through Andrew, numbing the feelings of anything

but the terra firma. Escape would be worth the scars, even if he had to hid in recluse, forced to run to the traced ends of the globe, far away from the memes society as possible. Once he got out, Andrew could never turn back, and, he assumed, he would have to live on his own, without human or robotic contact. That would be alright, though. He would survive. He would heal. He would live. This night, he could do no more. Despite his determination, his arms would not shovel another a handful, and his fingers would not dig. Theyd temporarily lost their ability to pry out anything, and they had nearly collapsed on their final shovel of concrete. It was if his indexes and thumbs were tied to his consciousness, and pain had held out until this leg of his task had been finished. His body had been relentless, just like his mind, but all this had to end sometime. Andrew felt out of adrenaline, like no shock could shock him awake. His glands and his brain had to gasp and breathe, resting, as theyd been in hyperdrive for the past few weeks. Similarly, Andrew sat, gasping, eye lids closing, with his back to the door. Each breath was raspier than the last, wheezing in and out of his chest. Skin lay across his strange chest, which rippled both muscles and bones. He was both gaunt and strong, though his cheeks were hollowed out by his effort, and his skin was blackened by the dust from his digging. He would need a few days to recuperate, to vegetate before moving forward, lest he was unable to run or fight once he had escaped. No one had come down to monitor or check up on him since his meeting with Brigitte, and Andrew had tried conjuring attention. One night, he had pounded the walls, begging for help, after temporarily giving up on his project. He had screamed another, the first night his hands had hurt. They had swollen up, and his fingers had turned blue, while a few

nails had cracked off, those on both of his pinky fingers. No matter the ruckus, Andrew was left alone in his concrete cell, with nothing but himself and his scheming. The night, he felt, was cool, and Andrew imagined soft breezes licking his face. He imagined his face to be pale, as he couldnt remember the last time hed seen a ray of the sun. It mustve been a month since his raid of the elementary school, must. Time was dragging, slower and slower as it pulled its feet against his beaten body. Time would not do well for him, and hed be no fat executive as hed once planned. This revolt would go no farther than his own life, as it was contingent on his ability to stay secluded and alone; the insurgency or Oliver would want nothing to do with him, not that Andrew would want to return to his betrayers, anyway. Because, he gasped, that is what they were. They had left him, snoring on the floor of a seemingly-forgotten basement. He had worked for them, and, though he was careless, he had still worked. To their cause he had been loyal, and he would stay loyal to their ideas and their principles. The revolution was solid. It was thoughtful. It was against these bindings and laws that kept him locked and stuck in this cold, hard cell. If anything, the revolution would seem sweeter, more justified. The men, they were cowards and frauds, liars, but the ideas and the philosophies were perfect. Rebellion would be sweeter now that it could be based on something legitimate. Before, Andrew knew nothing. Control had been a hint, suggestion from the speakers and the messages, but he had hardly been directly affected. Now, this cell was his cause, and prisoners, in thought, could be his motivation. The rights of accused and rebels, laws against interrogation, imprisonment, unexplained control, those are things he could stick up for. He would know, inside and out, the processes, the lack of

a judicial system, the lack of anything but might and power and ignorance. If he could act, get into society and past these bindings; if he could resist going into hiding and could instead emerge once again into the public sphere, Andrew would fight. He would heave and ho, pounding the courts with logic and rhetoric. They could send him away, perhaps, but it would be nothing like this. He could be exterminated, but that would be quick, painless, and his fingers would never have to swell and bleed. Something could be changed, he thought, and this whole escape would not be in vain. The fruits of his labor would not be bruised, like his face and his body. No, instead, the would be plentiful and ripe and all together beautiful. Something would come out of him. Something must. CHAPTER SIX Now, first of all, the doctor said, opening a door into a room down the hallway, youll need to take a seat, so I can measure your vitals. The room was small and windowless, a fifteen by fifteen foot room with walls that were once white, and neutral blue tiles on the floor. On the right wall, there was a counter, a matching blue, with cabinets that had stark silver handles. The only furniture was a bed, propped up on a steel frame with an inch of cushion, covered in papery white fabric. A florescent light flickered overhead, casting unflattering shadows over the doctors harsh-looking, pointed face. Brigitte held her hand to her cheek as she climbed, gingerly onto the bed, trying to move her head as little as possible. If youll give me your left arm, Ill take your blood pressure, the doctor held the plastic wrap in his arm, motioning for Brigittes cooperation. She stuck out the arm, and he tightened

the material, pumping air into the sleeve. 140 over 115, he sad, recording the numbers, with a pulse of 100 beats per minute. Thats awfully high for you, Brigitte. Are you Nervous? Brigitte said, slamming her elbow into his nose. Just a little bit. She jumped off of the bench, throwing the blood pressure sleeve onto the floor. The doctor was scrambling up, reaching for the phone on the wall when Brigitte dashed over, pulling the device out of its socket. In this time, hed made it to his feet, though his body, visibly weak and scrawny, was hunched over, one hand nursing his bloody nose. Give me your keys, Brigitte hissed, standing with her back to the door. No, the doctor howled, charging at her. She darted to the side, easily stepping away from his ill-aimed charge. He landed, almost head-first, knocking into the wall. Almost too easy, she sighed, bending down next to the fallen mans figure. Please hand me the keys, sir, she said, her voice calm and unwavering. His hand meandered to his pocket, bringing out a ring of fifteen, shining and silver. You didnt put up much of a fight, you know, Brigitte taunted, prematurely, holding out her hand. Seeming to struggle, he replied, Im a doctor, not a the man swiped the keys at Brigittes face, scratching her right on her frost-bitten cheek. She wailed, toppling over, off of her heels. The doctor jumped to his feet, stomping on Brigittes stomach, which was momentarily splayed out. Rolling to one side, his foot only hit her side, thunking against Brigittes ribs. She swung her legs across the floor, clipping the doctor at his ankles. While he tumbled to the floor, Brigitte kicked up, jumping from her back to her feet and twirling around to

meet the doctor in fighting stance. He was on his knees by now, scrambling towards the door. Seeing his direction, Brigitte leapt the few steps to the door, reaching it before the doctors crawls. A moment later, the doctor reached the door, attempting to claw at Brigitte. She brought her knee up, swiftly, against his chin, causing him to bite his tongue, falling back in agony. The keys? She asked, crouching down. The doctor was, effectively, seated on the floor, hands cupped around his bloody mouth. He spat red, contrasting against the white tile, and shook his head, trying to scoot back to the other corner of the room. Brigitte came down strong near his leg, close to crushing his ankle, but merely to hold down his pant leg. She grabbed the examiners chair and slid it to her, tipping the heavy metal apparatus over to pin down the doctor. He gasped, the air rushing out of him as the chair hit his chest. Coughing, he yelled to stop her, "You'll never manage to find anything!" Fumbling the keys into the keyhole, Brigitte did not turn around to respond. "That's a chance I'm willing to take." The doctor was making progress lifting the chair. It was heavier than either Brigitte or he had expected, and he continued to claw at the air in attempt to fill his lungs. "We'll come to get you--"cough"-- before you get very far." "Alright," she muttered, finally unlocking the door. "You do that," and she pulled it opened, slid out, and turned the key on the other side. Running down the hall way, she heard the doctor's pounding fists against the dense metal.

CHAPTER SEVEN

He had rested for long enough, and now it was time to move. Though his body was sore and bruised, and his joints ached with what felt like age, Andrew lifted himself up and crawled to his tunnel, removing the sewer lid and beginning his slow ascent.

CHAPTER EIGHT A fire roasted inside, roasting her lungs and brandishing sweat to the surface of every inch of Brigittes body. It had been maybe ten minutes since she began running harder than shed ever had, begging to be amply far away from the office by the time the doctors cries aroused a suspicion that would swiftly turn into a hunt. Andrew, she screamed again, voice cracking on the W. Nothing. Not a knock, not a bolt, not a echoed response, not even from a meme. Her legs kept working, carrying her down the hallway, straight down to where she thought they were holding him. The route had not changed, and the lights flickered as she ran in between the lights and the darkness. He must be in the same space, she thought, he absolutely must. The pounding of her feet must match the pounding of his head. Her heart felt like his body, beating and rushed and on the verge of failure. As she ran further and further, she felt a growing empathy; they would escape together, despite their inevitable shared weakness. She hoped he wouldve spent his time resting, sleeping and dreaming of some sort of escape, lazily dozing like he would in the office, when she used to supervise him. Think positive. Keep running.

ANDREW, she called, her voice banging off the walls. The wall ahead banged back.

CHAPTER NINE Summary: Andrew and Brigitte meet, both physically defeated. Try to run, climb into tunnel, narrowly missing the memes. Go through tunnel, seemingly safe, talk about things they will do. Exit tunnel, into a meme prison. Oliver enters, showing that the revolution was a trap. DEATH AND DESTRUCTION.