I couldn't believe how fast things had gone wrong. The plan went to hell. Polk was a Host to his dead wife. Matthews was stuck behind. And I, against my will, was back outside.

It was like I'd blinked and the stairs changed from concrete to stone. There I was, dropped flat on my ass outside Provincial Hall, trying to catch my breath, and no one came to check on me.

Douglas yelled and ordered someone to bring around the van, while Erica rushed to the entrance with a device in her hands. For me, everything was distorted. The blaring alarm in the air was the city's distress siren. For me, it was like a dying cry in a distant realm; a cry of defeat, of death. It hit my chest, echoed in my ears, and blacked out the sound of static.

With a groan, I pushed myself up and stood, planting my feet firm on the building's stone steps. I looked at the Peace members who scurried through the streets. Some wiped blood from their jumpsuits, others shook dirt and glass from their hair. My heart raced as I looked up and down the street, recalling Douglas' word, "The Hosts are gathering to attack."

"Hey!" He pushed me behind him as he called to Erica, who placed the device she'd carried against the glass entrance. "How's that lock coming?"

"Lock?" I gripped his elbow. "Why are you locking it? Matthews and Roger are—"

"Stop." I'd never seen Douglas so red. The color spilled out from his eyes and into his ears; I nearly saw smoke on top of his head. "Stop talking," he said.

The small box turned red as Erica punched numbers into its keypad. The doors fought against the device, but the beeps counted down the seconds as it was forced closed. Locked.

I gulped and reached for Douglas' arm again. "They're inside!" I cried. "They're alive, they're—"

Douglas grabbed my hand, then my arms, and held me tight. "Roger can ghost out of there whenever he wants," he hissed. "I don't want to hear it!"

I bit my tongue. "But Matthews! He's stuck in there!"

"I know!" He growled this time, squeezing his eyes tight as he pushed me to walk away. That red on his face, that was pain; I saw it. Having to leave Matthews behind was a hard decision to make, and yet, what I couldn't understand, was that he was right there. He'd pulled me, right? He could've pulled Matthews, too.

Why leave him behind?

"We can get him." I reached forward, catching Douglas by the pocket of his jumpsuit. "We can go back!"

The van he'd ordered came around the corner, its brakes screeching to a halt a few feet away from us. Three members opened the back, dropping weapons onto the sidewalk. Others went to the driver's side window and spoke to the woman behind the wheel.

"We can't." Douglas refused to look at me, lifting an assault rifle in his hands. "He told me to get you out, and I did. He knew this could happen. He was willing to make this sacrifice."

"W-what?" I took three steps back, nearly stumbling on one of the steps. "You can't!"

"I can." He looked at me. "This is more than just him, you, and your goddamn machine friend. This is the whole world we're talking about, and damn it, I won't lose because you want to run back inside. You need to—wait, come back!"

I ran.

I knew it was more than Matthews, more than my goddamn friend. The reason why I'd run for it was because it was more than the whole world, too. There were abandoned souls the nation forgot about; broken promises never kept. Zara had said it, that file I was meant to delete could bring someone back as a human. How? I didn't know. But if I deleted it, I'd never find out.

With that, I couldn't sit back and listen to Douglas' excuses. I'd told everyone already there were things about me I needed to change.

New world, new me, right?

"Stop!" Erica reached for my arm to pull me away, but instead, I reached for the gun on her hip. It came out quickly; like me, she couldn't strap it in right.

"Clara, wait." Erica stood, but I'd already listened to the device she'd started. Each second was a long, drawn-out beep, and each beep counted the time until the door closed. Judging by the space between the glass, I had ten seconds.

"I'm going in and getting them out," I said through gritted teeth and forced her gun into the holster where mine used to be. She tried to take it back, but I stepped back towards the door. "Don't stop me. Help me!"

"That's suicide!" Erica shook her head. "Going in, you're going to die, they'll all die—"

I'd already turned. My back foot kicked me forward, and I skipped four steps, nearly gliding midair. Turning my body as much as I could, as fast as I could, I dived through the door right as it closed. The device she'd placed let off a loud beep as it locked behind me; an alarm inside the building followed.

I was the only intruder left inside. The rest were outside.

"Clara!" Erica slammed her fists against the doors. I turned and looked at her, rubbing my knees, but I couldn't listen to her. She'd start with her excuses again; she'd tried to convince me to come back out the doors. But I couldn't. They needed me.

"Sorry," I muttered, walking backward. My trembling hands pulled the gun free and held it tight before I turned towards the hallway. Looking at the security lights, I sucked in a breath. "I promised."

♦

Back in the grocery store, Roger had made me a promise... he'd never leave me alone. I'd reminded him more than once about it because I took it seriously. If it hadn't been for him, I wasn't sure where I'd be. Surely, I wouldn't be running up the steps of Provincial Hall. Honestly, I'd probably be dead.

Neither of us knew it'd turn out this way, but because of his amazing heart of gold, I couldn't let it end. I knew his truths, his existence. This decision to open that file was more than him, than me, it was for all of his fallen comrades, too. Because somewhere in that massive mainframe that ran my world, he and thousands of others were real.

I had made him a promise to free him, to let him go.

I never put stipulations as to how I'd do it.

It hurt when I walked into the lobby, following the red that guided me. There were more than red lights and monitors. There was blood, too. The Code who scanned Matthews and I before we'd gone upstairs was dead. Her body, pale and cold, lay slumped over the receptionist desk. Her eagle drone lay beside her, broken in two. Just looking at her, I felt sick to my stomach.

Her death was uncalled for. She was two souls—a Host and a Code. Team B may have done their job, but couldn't they see that killing her meant they'd killed a civilian, too? The Hosts were more than just machines... they were people.

Whatever happened to peace?

Pushing back my thoughts, I kept going. I still had a chance to save them all.

When I'd reached the second floor, the lights overhead was different. These scanned for intruders, panning red lights over the floor like silent, stalking eyes. The moment I'd opened the door, one passed by, and I nearly fell back down the steps to avoid it. When it passed, I stepped back through the door and stopped.

There were four Hosts in the hall, all shot dead. I couldn't see their lifeless faces, but I also didn't want to. Instead, I held my breath, afraid the smell of death would linger in the air and stepped over their bodies. The back of my shoe hit blood and I slipped; I whimpered but couldn't stop.

I dodged another red light.

"Roger, are you there?" I whispered, pressing myself up against the wall. My heart expected a response, but all I heard was static. As free-willed as he was, I knew for a fact he couldn't be in two places at once. He was there, up ahead, still fighting with Zara as Matthews fought with Polk. He wouldn't give up, so neither could I.

When another light passed by, I let adrenaline fuel my legs. I ran. Left and right I swerved until I reached the door. Beyond it, I heard yells, laughter, and strangled, struggling sounds—Matthews was still alive.

"I'll get you out," I whispered, reaching over towards the panel beside the door. I prayed the code still worked.

"Clara, now isn't the time to play hero." Roger's voice startled me, and I froze before I could even touch a button. "Douglas took you out for a reason. Move back. I've got this."

I hit the buttons anyway. 4141.

"Do you?" I hissed as the door attempted to open, struggling between the panel's control and Zara's. "Is that why he's dying in there?"

Roger didn't speak but made a noise. Through the glass on the door, I saw Zara's face on the screen. She looked up at me, eyes dark like night, her mouth pulled down into the deepest frown. I thought I'd heard her thoughts—don't do it—but it could've been me, my own imagination. Roger should've said this wasn't the time to let my mind play tricks on me, because I wouldn't, and I pressed the code again.

4141.

"Damn it, Clara!"

"Open the door." I looked up at the ceiling. "I'm getting you guys out!"

"You guys?"

Either he gave in, Zara let go, or my code finally worked, but the doors opened, and Matthews was thrown at my feet. I fell back with him, catching his head in my hands as I looked at his face. He was alive but bloodied to all hell. He inhaled sharply as he looked at me and tried to push himself back on his feet. "Clara..." Blood dripped down from his lips. "Why?"

Despite his single question, I stood with him and gripped his sleeve. "Are you okay?" I asked.

Matthews couldn't look at me. He groaned and staggered, hands on his head. When Zara started to laugh again, he grabbed my arm just enough to slide his hand down to mine. The motion caught me off guard, but it wasn't to hold my hand at all. It was to grab Erica's gun. He took that moment to catch my gaze and take it from me. I let him.

"I ain't dead yet." He lifted the gun and pointed it at Polk, who came towards us with slow steps. "And neither is he."

"Right," I muttered, looking into the lab. I didn't look at Polk, because it was clear I wasn't his target. His eyes were stuck on Matthews, his lips up in a twisted grin. My right foot stepped to the side, with my left behind, as Matthews took one step back. "I need to get to that file," I whispered to him.

Matthews froze and looked at me but had no time to answer.

Polk crossed the remaining space between us. Matthews braced himself for the attack, his finger on the trigger, but Polk reached for my neck instead. With him so close, I saw the bullet wound in his temple, the one that barely bled. His eyes were dead, yet rimmed with blue, and his mouth snarled Zara's words. "That isn't for you. That's mine!"

Matthews lunged forward and grabbed Polk's hand before he could grab me. The two men fell back into the hallway, setting off the security lights, and I took it as my chance. I slipped into the room just as the temperatures rose inside. Hot gusts of air came down from the vents.

"Mine," Zara shrieked.

Each of the computers buzzed, their monitors trembling on the walls they hung upon. The screens that weren't damaged by gunfire flashed red and white; some fizzled out with strange data. Only one screen was clear, with Zara's face right in the center. Her eyes followed my walk towards the far computer.

"Hank did everything he wanted without asking me what I wanted. And now you, you're the same. You don't know what they want."

Wiping sweat off my brow, I glanced up at her. I caught her angry eyes filled with tears. I heard every pant she made as she sucked in a cry. Regardless of how she felt, or how horrible Polk truly was to her, I couldn't let her decide the fate of thousands of others. Their lives weren't meant for her to care for.

"Neither do you," I hissed. My foot kicked the old tablet I'd left on the floor before I knelt down for the keyboard. When I looked at the computer screen, it glitched out of clarity. "You know, you're just as bad as he is."

"No," she cried through her scream. "Never compare me to him. I'm doing what I know is right!"

"You're hurting millions of people," I shouted.

"And so did they." Her voice reverberated throughout the walls, almost deafening. I covered my ears at the sound and hissed in discomfort. My foot crushed the tablet as I stepped back. She shouted again—no words, just screams—and I shouted with her. I tried to beat her sound with one of my own, but as the temperature increased, I found it hard to breathe.

I staggered back again and struggled to suck in a breath.

"Clara, just run," Roger shouted, his voice echoing in my ears. I looked up and tried to find him, but my eyes landed on Matthews and Polk, instead. The two hadn't stopped. Polk had another bullet wound on his body, right through his shoulder. Matthews wouldn't go down without a hard fight, and neither would I.

"No." Heat beat down on my skin as I turned back towards the computer. "I can't go back."

There wasn't much time left. I knew she was a ticking time bomb; it was either the heat that'd bring death or an army of Codes that'd storm through the door if she called for them. I needed to open the file, do what it says, and get Matthews out of the building before either of those happened.

"I can't let you do this," Roger insisted. "This isn't about me."

It wasn't, I knew it wasn't, but I wouldn't let him talk me out of it. My hand grabbed the mouse and though hot against my palm, I moved it still. The cursor hovered over the file that hadn't left the screen.

Two clicks. It opened. And my heart stopped.

"It's mine," Zara shouted again. "You can't use it."

I took a step away from the computer as I read the first few lines of Polk's file. The information wouldn't bring a Code to life, but there was a machine that could. A machine controlled by a remote; a remote that needed nothing but a simple command. What the file was, was just instructions.

The machine. The remote.

"Where is it?" I yelled, touching each of the computers. I threw papers, files, binders—I shoved everything out of my way. Both need and heat pushed me harder, faster because I knew the answer was right there. I just needed to find it.

Matthews broke free from Polk and came for me. He pulled at my sleeves, yelling for me to move.

I just... I couldn't.

"No!" Zara hissed, and we both looked at her screen. "You wouldn't even know what to do with it. You'll kill him! You'll kill them all!"

It was funny; I wasn't mad by what she said. If I'd been the one to push the button and end it all, it wouldn't be a bad thing. That had been my original promise, anyway; the original plan to save us all.

But if I could find the machine and push in the commands, I'd do more than save us—I'd save them. Was it wrong that I just wanted them to live?

"Clara, you don't have to. Just go, please." Amid screams, alarms, and Matthews tugging at my jumpsuit, Roger's voice was soft. It was accepting, defeated, and tired. All the things I was not. Not yet.

That's when I looked right and saw him. His screen was cracked, distorting his image, but I saw him clear enough. He stood straight, full-body view; he shook his head slow, right to left, and pressed his hands into his pocket. "No," his voice whispered in my ear.

No, I thought back.

"Clara!" Matthews tugged so hard that I turned around fully. I wanted to shout back but I froze when my eyes caught the tiny box under Polk's desk. It shimmered white, small and delicate... like a life. I reached for it, grabbed it, and held onto it tight.

"We're leaving," Matthews shouted. Having found my prize, I stopped fighting him. I followed as he pulled me, tripping over my own feet. Yet, as we reached the door, Zara screamed so loud we stopped. The hot air hit us with force; temperatures high, unbearable. We wheezed as we tried to breathe.

Was the oxygen gone that fast?

"No!" I heard Matthews but couldn't see him. My face burned so bad I couldn't open my eyes. But, without looking at him, I knew. I knew because he banged on the doors that'd been open a minute before. He cried for escape.

We were locked in.

"Shit!" I felt his body hit mine as he jumped back and yelled. His arm pulled back to aim, and right when I opened my eyes, he fired his gun. The bullets ricocheted off the door, hitting the walls and computers around us.

"You can't have it," Zara cried. "You can't take what's left of me."

Roger's image faded away as my legs gave out from under me. I crashed down on my knees, the small box rolling gently in my hands. It hurt to touch, it's metal hot, but I let my fingers slowly slide around its edges. There weren't buttons on it, but numbers, raised like braille, easy to feel.

"Douglas!" Matthew cried out and slammed his gun against the door. "Open this shit up, man. Please!"

The digits were smooth, and I wasn't sure if it was just my mind grasping for hope, but swore they weren't as hot as the rest of the box. They were cool, like ice. Welcoming.

As Matthews screamed again, I let emotions take over; it was the only part of me that didn't feel the heat. I hadn't the time to read the full file, so I wasn't sure what commands to hit. But my soul and heart willed my thumbs to press in the numbers I'd known from the very beginning. The numbers that brought me an assistant, a companion; brought me someone I couldn't live without.

4.

9.

6.

3.

"Why?" Zara seethed, but I couldn't answer her. I knew why, but she wouldn't understand; no one would. He'd said it, everyone said it—it was more than just him. So why, why did I depend on his code to save us all?

Seconds passed before I gave into darkness and crashed down onto the scorching floor. I thought I felt the box roll and tremble beside me, but a part of me told me it was just a dream. It had to be because I felt nothing else.

The pain on my skin was gone; my lungs sucked in gulps of air. Hands touched me, scooped me. I let my head roll to one side, pressed into the chest of someone who smelled like pine and summer days. There was a quiet echo of a heartbeat, followed by the sound of gunshots and shouts. Inwardly, I groaned, because if I was going to die, I wanted to feel at peace for just a moment longer.

"Clara."

The screaming faded. I was left floating in the air, held up by a warm day's breeze. My legs hung one way, my arms at my side. I thought I'd spun for a moment, then fell, but that wasn't it. Someone held me, carried me; saved me.

Were they running?

"Clara." Hands cupped my face. A kiss landed on my forehead. It was soft, sweet.

I knew that kiss.

I wanted to hold onto it, that thought, that feeling—whatever it was—but I slipped further, sinking into red, then white, then black. Before sound died, carried the opposite way from me, I heard his voice; it'd always been his voice.

Before I gave into darkness, I heard him; just once. A chuckle, the same one he did when we first met. "4963."

He seemed so far. "Just, why? You're insane."

Maybe I was.

Maybe.