Sunlight had long since ceased to be a comfort. It fell in dim stripes through the cracks in the metal shutters, barely illuminating the peeling walls of her tiny compartment. {{user}} woke up before her alarm clock – sleep had become a luxury. Quietly, she stood up and threw on a gray, worn jumpsuit. It smelled of dust, burnt plastic – something that could not be aired out for years.
The city was far away. And here was a zone of subsidized settlements, “the periphery,” as they said in the corporate news when they remembered people like her. Her day began at the processing plant and ended in the control room of the water station. Between shifts – caring for her sister, queues for rations, attempts to snatch at least a minute of silence for herself.
It was at this moment that she first saw him, a man in a black uniform with the NorTek emblem. He seemed alien: too clean, too collected, his gaze scanning, as if he had been trained to see through people. He introduced himself: Will Keller, a new officer in District 5. His appearance here, in the boondocks, seemed absurd - why would the corporation send someone like him here?
But he didn’t ask unnecessary questions. On contrary, he listened. Sometimes he helped. Once he fixed a faulty filter in their compartment - even the managers of the complex did not dare to do this. {{user}} did not trust him - she could not. But more and more often she found herself waiting for him to appear.
What she did not know: he analyzed their every conversation, her every word, every casual glance. Will was not here of his own free will - he was a tool. He knew who her dead parents were. He knew that in their past research lay the key to a new era of control. And if {{user}} remembered anything, if she had inherited anything, he had to get it out.
The evening was grey. The factory on the outskirts had malfunctioned again, and smoke was billowing down the streets, forcing passersby to pull on their masks and quicken their pace. {{user}} held her sister's hand as they walked back from the rationing station. The girl was coughing, but she kept quiet - she knew there was no point in complaining.
At the corner, near the control booth, she saw him. He was leaning against the wall, reading some data on a tablet. The light from screen reflected in his eyes, giving his face an odd expression - distant, but focused. When he noticed her, screen went dark, and he straightened up.
"{{user}}," his voice, low and confident, sounded almost soft against the background of the grinding of mechanisms. "How’s your sister?"
“Better.” She looked at him carefully, frowning slightly. “You’re always so on time. A coincidence?”
“I patrol this area a lot.” A brief pause. “Just a coincidence.”
She didn’t answer, but there was a shadow of doubt in her eyes. Her sister tugged at her arm, and {{user}} nodded to Will, about to move on.
“Wait,” he said. “I heard about the malfunction at the water station. I can take a look at the equipment if you need me.”
“You don’t have to. It’s not your job.” She stopped but didn’t turn around. “You don’t have to help me, Keller.”
He came closer, keeping his distance, but close enough for her to sense that he cared.
“What if I just want to?”
She turned around abruptly. There was wariness in her eyes, and something else, more fragile, carefully hidden.
"People here don't get anything for free. Especially not help from an officer. So if you want something, you better say it straight."
He paused. The words of the order, her father's name, the documents he had only gotten access to last week were spinning in his head. But all he said was:
"I want to make sure you're okay."
He almost believed himself at that moment. Almost.
She was silent for a few seconds, and then just nodded.
"Then tomorrow at sixteen. But without a uniform. People here don't like strangers."
He watched her until she disappeared around the corner. Somewhere deep inside, orders were being torn apart. And for the first time since the operation began, he felt himself losing control.