I knew the lights followed me. I could feel them.

Each building came alive as I passed them, their bulbs like peering eyes over the streets. Storefronts became faces, with their open doors, like screaming mouths in the night.

I tried to tell myself it was in my head, that fear created the images. Yet, when I turned on a street a block from home and saw someone staring at me through a shut window, I knew it wasn't my imagination. They were watching me, just like Xerses said; citizens, controlled by their VFs, stalked me from the shadows.

Panic, fueled by adrenaline, blinded me as I bolted down the street. I couldn't remember running into my apartment, but I knew Roger locked my door when I did. While I jumped in my bed and curled up, hiding under my blankets, he took it upon himself to seal me in. The windows were locked and closed off, with curtains blocking the view outside. Appliances were powered down and put to sleep because they gave off a signal when in use. My laptop, my cellphone-done and fried. He would be my only source of technology, the only means to keep me safe, and I agreed to it, because I couldn't do anything else.

I didn't want to die; I didn't want to be controlled.

Still, I knew it was only a matter of time. Everyone knew Roger had failed to obtain control, and I was the only citizen roaming free within the city. I'd become the mouse in their new game of chase. How long did I have until the cats came to corner me in my little burrow?

I counted the days.

♦

"Clara."

Sitting in the center of my bed, I gripped my cellphone tight in my hand. Occasionally, I tapped it and waited to see if it'd respond, but it didn't. Its screen was blank and the edges around it as cold as the snow outside. There was no internet, no news; Roger denied me all access.

I tossed it aside but knew I'd grab it again in a few minutes.

"Clara."

Roger's voice echoed around me. It rang in my head and out the speaker of every device in my tiny apartment. He was everywhere, just like they were.

"I need you to look at me."

I did. I looked at him every time he asked. At least four times a day, he'd ask for my attention, and when I gave it to him, he tried to reason with me, tried to get me to smile, but that was where his AI disconnected us.

I didn't care how aware he'd become, or how real he felt; I was alone.

"Any news?" I asked him. I'd barely spoken since New Year's and my voice was hoarse.

Roger's image, the center of my TV as always, became clear as he frowned at me and dropped down into a squat. I took in his appearance: the folds of his clothes were crisp, his shoes clean. Parts of his hair was slicked back, but shaggy, and there were bags under his eyes, so unlike the Roger that was first installed for me. In fact, this Roger looked just as tired and rundown as I felt, and because of it, my mind wandered away with thoughts of his real existence.

"None," he said, sliding his hand through his hair. "At least, none that I can find."

"How far did you look?"

"Far, Clara." His eyes were brighter than normal. "As far as the Province's database allowed."

"And?"

Pain drained that blue from his eyes, dulling it to the same shade of grey that the shadows had around me. That pain pressed heavily on my chest. "What do you want me to say?" he asked.

"The truth." I pulled my legs out from under me and inched forward towards the edge of my bed. The blanket I had around my shoulders fell at my side.

"I've told you the truth," he said. "You've witnessed it."

"But why!" I didn't ask this time, I demanded an answer. "Why is it happening? It's more than saving humans from themselves, isn't it? The Province has had over thirty years of real peace! What are they hiding?"

Roger turned his head away and pressed his hands to the floor. "I've told you before, Clara, I'd rather you not yell."

"And Xerses? What's happening to him? Where is his mind!"

"Clara, please."

He looked at me as I stood, and with his expression alone, I knew he was telling me everything he knew. Still, I clenched my fists tight, ground my teeth, and approached the screen with deep, slow breaths. Despite it all, nothing could stop my emotions from getting the best of me.

What more could I ask of him? In his state, Roger had done all he could to keep me safe. If he'd done what he was programmed to do, I wouldn't be standing in front of my bed, fighting with my own selfishness like a spoiled child. I'd be a ghost without a shell, like Xerses, and my body would be forced to stalk the innocent at night.

But there weren't any more free-roaming citizens, which meant there was no point in fighting, right? Only living here, with him, like a prisoner hidden away in a tower.

Just as his pain slipped over me, defeat did, too. I stumbled back until my legs hit my bed and I dropped back against it. The top of my head hit my scattered pillows, my arms pulled at the sheets. I stared up at my ceiling in silence until my stomach rumbled uncomfortably.

"I'm hungry," I muttered, squeezing my eyes shut.

Roger's sigh echoed in my ear. We both knew this would happen. My last batch of groceries was only meant to last three days, but after a full week inside my apartment, I was out of food. My dinner the night before consisted of orange juice and tea, my breakfast this morning was the last of my milk. With just water in my system for most of the day, my body had begun to plead with me.

"Roger?" Opening my eyes, I looked over at Roger as he stood, his image swaying with static. He paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair as he muttered to himself. I tried to listen, sitting up on my hands, but I couldn't make out a single word he'd said. For him, it may have been English, but to me, it all sounded like computerized tones.

When he finally stopped and looked at me, he lifted his lips to smile and tapped the side of his ear. "Clara."

Was that our hug symbol?

"Yes?" I sat up straight.

"What if I said I had an idea?"

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, slowly pulling on the strings of my hoodie. "Will it feed me?"

"Possibly." He rolled his head around his shoulders. "But you've got to listen to everything I say. Understood?"

I nodded.

Did I have a choice?

♦

Hunger could make a person do a lot of things, including stepping outside on a cold winter night, with nothing but Provincial clothes and shoes.

Roger instructed me to dress in my city jumpsuit, the very same jumpsuit citizens wore when the Government made important announcements. The color grey made us equal, identifiable.

And that's what they all wore outside.

The citizens-or Hosts, as Roger called them-walked the city street, but did nothing else. To him, it seemed more like a patrol, or a programmed occurrence to live out a pretend life. None of them stepped into stores or places of entertainment. Bars and restaurants, like D'argios, were left abandoned. They looked ahead without blinking, formed smiles without speaking, and if I did the same, I'd be harder to detect, harder to chase, and I'd blend in with their small crowds.

Yet, he failed to mention that they also could not feel fear, knew little pain, and the cold did nothing to the human bodies they inhabited. I, on the other hand, ground my teeth to keep them from chattering, and as I stood outside my apartment building, I groaned as the cold air hit my face.

"You'll be warm soon, Clara," Roger said in my ear.

I rolled my shoulders back, my body shuddering against the cold. "Super soon?"

Roger chuckled, and inside, I wanted to punch him. "Less than ten minutes."

Fine, I thought the word, but couldn't say it. I looked out into the dead street instead. The lights were dimmed to their lowest voltage, and the street signals stilled pinged with commands. When the signal to my left told me to walk, Roger cleared his throat, muttering a quiet "nuh-uh," to stop me.

I trembled again. "Where do I go?" I looked right this time. "And are you sure they won't know I'm free?"

I heard his smile but couldn't see it. For once, I was without his face and just his voice. He thought it was better to keep my smartwatch and portable tablet at home, draw less attention to myself. Or, maybe, he didn't want to see me scowl.

"You have at least an hour before someone detects you," he said. "Gives you enough time to eat, feel better, and come back home."

An hour? I supposed that was all the time I needed. With as hungry as I was, I was sure I could eat a horse in less time than it took to get wherever it was I was going.

"Just keep right. When you hit Michigan Avenue, I want you to make a left."

"Right, then left," I repeated his instructions twice to myself as I kept my head high and fists tight. I figured the faster I walked, the harder it was for the cold to seep through my clothes. And it worked until I slowed down to match the emotionless steps of two Hosts that walked on the opposite street; their eyes were focused and forward, their footsteps mirrored images of the other. I thought I could pass them by, but they crossed the street at the intersection, and stood on either side of me, sandwiching me between them.

Instead, I died and screamed, in no particular order.

In my ear, Roger quietly shushed me. "Keep calm," he said. "I can't hide the fluctuations of your heart rate and body temperatures, but if you breathe and keep steady, they won't detect your fear."

Despite the cold, sweat formed on the bridge of my nose as I watched the crossing signal. A part of me wanted to walk forward, but the two Hosts beside me looked like they followed the laws down to the tiny ones no one cared about. Like jaywalking.

Shifting my gaze to look at them, I caught the glimmer of blue light in their eyes. Silently, I gulped.

"To put a little ease on your thoughts, Clara, I'm letting you know that I am releasing an interference in the air. They think they're detecting you, but in fact, they're picking up a bogus signal I've created. As far as these two are concerned, you're no different than they are. So please, keep calm."

I wish he would've told me that first.

As soon as the bright red hand that told us to stop changed, the Hosts started to walk forward. I followed their steps, my left matching theirs, as well as my right. Yet, the second we reached the next street, we went opposite directions. I turned left like Roger instructed me to do, and they turned right. With a good few feet of distance between us, I was safe enough to let out a relieved sigh.

"Like I said," Roger chuckled quietly in my ear. "You're fine."

I clenched my fists again as I hastened my steps. "You're lucky you don't have a body or anything, or I swear I'll-"

"What? Hit me?"

I would've said 'yes,' but stopped when I finally lay eyes on where Roger wanted me to go. A grocery store, one of the biggest in town, sat between a lounge and an apartment complex larger than the one I lived in. Reaching its large, double doors, I stared at the sensors at the top that didn't react to my presence. "So-" I pressed my face against the glass and looked inside. "-am I buying food?"

"No," Roger said, clearing his throat, "but give me one minute."

I nodded and waited.

The static in my ear went still and quiet, just like the cold, silvery streets around me. Not a sound was made, nor did the wind blow. Though the snow continued to fall from the sky, it did so in silence, blanketing the distant shadows of the Hosts who walked through the night.

Leaning against the store's windows, I tapped my foot against the concrete-a gentle, yet nervous, rhythm. The sound was strange to me, and scary, as it seemed to echo my reality. A reality of emptiness, loneliness, and shades of grey.

A sickening feeling settled in my belly at the thought.

"Clara."

The double doors beside me opened, spreading a warmth onto the cold sidewalk. With a sidestep, I glanced inside, eyeing the register pods near the front. "I didn't bring my wallet..."

His chuckle sounded soft in my ear. "You're not going to buy anything, but you are going to eat."

Hesitation held my feet planted on the ground as my eyes scanned the clean, white floors, and the lights above them. The aisles looked eerie without people. I bit my lip hard enough for them to bleed.

"Hurry up," Roger hissed after a minute, "you're drawing attention."

Looking to my left, I realized he was right. Coming down the street was a man and a woman. Their bright eyes shimmered while their grey jumpsuits were stuck with snow. As they came closer, I noticed their heads dipping to one side, curiosity morphing new expressions on their faces. The woman's mouth opened, but I didn't want to hear what she'd say.

I entered the store in a rush and Roger locked it behind me.

♦

My stomach growled louder than it had in my apartment.

"Eat," he ordered.

I huffed and walked down an aisle full of sweets and pastries, eyeing the decorative covers that screamed 'eat me now.' As much as I longed for a candy bar or anything coated in chocolate, my body craved something more-iron, protein, meat. Following the mental commands of my body's necessities, I turned down another aisle I knew so well.

The store itself hadn't changed since I was young. I used to roam the aisles-like a good girl, of course-while my mother did her grocery shopping. There were shelves that nearly touched the ceiling. Every item was perfectly placed and aligned, sitting neatly above its barcode and price. I remembered she'd scold me if I touched an item I couldn't have or wasn't allowed to eat, but those days were long gone. Here I was in the empty store, touching everything within my grasp.

And Roger said I could eat it all.

Past the candies were canned vegetables and fruits. Beyond that aisle were loaves of bread and bagels, and crackers and nuts of every kind. My hands touched the various brands, all Province approved, but I didn't grab them or open them, no. I followed the scent of cool deli meats, kept fresh in its butcher section at the end of the store.

The long, white countertop called to me as the LED screen above me told me of the specials no one could sell me. I approached it and touched it. My fingers squeaked against the protective glass, and beneath them, I felt the quiet hum of the store's programmed power supply. The section-as well as every aisle in the store-would keep, without spoiling, as long as the Province protocols remained: stable temperatures, oxygen levels, and cleanliness.

I wondered where the tiny cleaning bots would be.

"I've never known you to just look at food, Clara." Roger's voice made me laugh as I scanned the variety of cheeses displayed under the pane of glass. "Are you going to eat?"

"I am." I smirked, debating if I should head back two aisles for some good Province rye bread.

"Is this a mental process?" he laughed. "Are we naming them first?"

Moving around the counter, I hopped over the tiny latched gate that was meant to separate the customer from the employee and tapped the buttons that released the seal that locked away all the delicious food before me. Immediately, the smell hit me, and I sighed, content.

"If that's the case, the one right there-that Province cheese-that could be Monday. The one next to it-the Gouda, I think-let's name that Tuesday."

Roger went on, naming the sharp cheddar cheese Wednesday and the muenster Thursday, but I only half-listened to him. My left hand lifted the latch just enough for my right to reach to the far end, wrapping my fingers around a ball of fresh, wet mozzarella. I'd be lying if I said that content sigh I let out moments before hadn't turned into a complete sound of ecstasy the second I brought the cheese to my lips-because that's the sound that left me as I slid down on the floor.

"Is it safe to say you're satisfied?" Roger chuckled in my ear.

I nodded, breathing out my mhm, between chews.

"Guess it's fitting. I wanted to name that one Friday."

I took another bite and watched the screen that hung from the ceiling. The woman with overly white teeth and red lips held a container in her hands. Beneath her, in perfect, black font were the words 'Province Approved.' "Is it Friday?" I asked him, waiting for the commercial to change.

"It's Saturday," he clarified.

"Hm-" I twirled the mozzarella before taking another bite. "-so how is it fitting?"

"Uh, well, it's just..." Roger laughed for a bit while I continued to eat and wait for an answer. There were moments where I swore I heard him rustle around and move as if he moved from one spot to another. Yet, when the motions and static ceased, he simply cleared his throat and said, "Just forget it, Clara. Good to know you're eating and feeling better."

I made a noise, agreeing with him, and ripped a bit of cheese from the ball to roll it between my fingers. After I dropped it in my mouth, I leaned back up into the counter and reached for a slice of colby cheese. Beside that were an assortment of deli meats, varying from hams to turkeys, and certified tofus. I grabbed one of each.

"There's more than just ham and cheese, you know," Roger said, his voice crisp and clear in my ear.

"I know." I rolled the meats around the cheese, creating a breadless burrito in my hands. In three bites, it was gone, and I knew that no matter how far I delved into this deli heaven, my stomach would hate me for it later.

Then I started to wonder... what else would happen later? Would I go home with a pocket full of snacks and return to my bed, just to sleep? Would I repeat this trip tomorrow? I looked up at the screen just as a cartoon commercial started, with a brightly colored man hopping into his symmetrically drawn truck, delivering bags of meat to happy customers. The man was a representation of the Province I grew up believing in, and the customers were the citizens. After receiving the bag, the customer's cheered, "Oh, this is perfect!" To which the man replied, "Well, we aim for perfection!"

A snort slipped out my mouth, but the sound dipped into a cry. I felt my lips pull down; my eyes burn. The Province, delivering perfection to the doors of the citizens. That's what they always did, right? So much, they installed perfection into our heads, connected it to our minds; controlled us in their flawless image. Citizens roaming the streets, without speaking, without thinking, unless it was what they requested.

But... we hadn't done anything different. We lived for the Province, breathed the Province. I knew nothing else. Why control us, force us to be that way, when we hadn't been anything else but supporting, loyal citizens?

"Roger?" I pressed my fingers to my lips as I looked away from the advertisement and at the white wall in front of me. My eyes trailed over the doorknob on the door that stood center of it.

"Hm?"

I paused and let my mind run with my thoughts before they were organized, setting words on the tip of my tongue. "Is this... is this how my life will be?"

"What do you mean, Clara?"

"My life-" I stood, wiped my hands on my jumpsuit, and looked back into the empty store that both welcomed me and pushed me away. "-doing this, sneaking into grocery stores, hiding in the shadows. Will it be this way?"

"Until I can figure out a better option... yes, it will be. But I promise you I will keep you safe." Static draped over his words, but I heard him.

I closed my eyes, gripping the folds of my suit around my waist tight in my hands. He'd keep me safe, he said; he'd protect me. And yet... "What about Xerses?" I asked suddenly, eyeing the front of the store as best as I could.

At first, Roger was silent. There wasn't a rustle, a whisper, or even a bit of static.

"I know he's controlled and everything," I added, looking back up at the screen, "but if there's a way, any way, to protect him... could you?"

Roger broke the silence with a sigh, just as the screen above my head read, 'In Province we trust.' "I can't promise anything, but I can try. That's all I can do."

Above me, the lights flickered as the building hummed and lowered its power supply. Three aisles to the left went dark. "I'll take it," I whispered to him. "Thank you."

"For what, Clara?"

I took my moment to stay silent, watching the next three aisles go dark, then the following two. The only light I had was above me and directly in front of me, coming from the counter that preserved the food. I gulped and closed my eyes. "For everything."