The west end of Provincial Hall went up in flames. If Xerses had been around, he would've described the beauty of it. The perfect mix of bright and dark hues, the heat that warms even the coldest moments, the ability to destroy and create anew; fire.

Me? I saw no beauty. As the sides of the building crumbled within its old structure, I saw hurt; pain. My pain.

Matthews dragged me through the mess, outside, and sat me down across the street. He tried to talk to me, touch my face and search my eyes, but I couldn't hear him. The sound of the world around me was lost in the loud screeching that filled my ears; a disconnect. Like a program had lost connection to its host.

Roger, losing his connection to me.

Or, was it the other way around?

Eventually, Matthews gave up and moved to help, but I couldn't. I simply sat, dazed; I watched everyone. I know in the beginning, I'd been so hands-on, so willing to help with every detail, every plan; this, I couldn't help with this.

The freed minds of the citizens may have signified our victory, the building's fire etched it in stone, but we hadn't won yet; it wasn't over. No one cheered, no one smiled. Instead, they moved; frantic and urgent.

Peace members pulled bodies out from the flames and checked them. Medics announced that the Codes within them were gone. Their eyes were normal, their bodies free.

Other members shouted for trucks, ambulances; anything with working supplies. The fire needed to be put out, the victims needed proper care. Even me; medics came to my side and checked me. They asked what I needed, if I felt any pain, but I wasn't sure how to answer them. So, I didn't. I simply looked past them, at the fires, and listened to the dead noise that backgrounded the team; I listened out for him.

They said I was in shock, that I needed time, but that wasn't true. And Matthews knew it. That's why when the sun lifted its head over the city and basked us in its bright light, he came back to me. His bandaged hands cupped his knees as he dropped down in front of me. His worried eyes searched mine. But he didn't speak; he waited. His stare said, 'say something,' but I couldn't—what could I say? There were no words.

"Clara." He touched my hand.

I looked behind him as Peace members talked amongst each other.

"Clara, you all right?"

Matthews inched closer, his face near mine. I looked at the blood on his lip, the dirt on his cheek; there was a gash that started near his ear and dipped down his neck. He wasn't in pain, but he was beat. The way he looked physically was how I felt inside.

I closed my eyes. "The Hosts are gone?"

"Yes."

I rubbed my face. "And the Codes?"

"Yes, and no," Matthews said. I finally opened my eyes as he closed his and took in a breath. "They're not in control, yeah, but they're still alive. We got to get back to the Dome; that's their chance. And Roger, maybe Roger would..." He stood and turned back towards the building, hands on his head.

Roger... "Is everything backed up?" I asked as the building's doors opened once last time. "Every file? He'd said there was a backup somewhere, right?"

Matthews didn't answer me. His eyes followed the four Peace members who pulled out the two men who guarded Polk's lab—and Bessel. They were covered in soot, unconscious just like everyone else. One by one, they were placed in line with the others.

"Gon' be hard to forgive him, ya know? How can we go back to that?" Matthews covered his head. "What he's done... to everyone... just..."

I tugged at his elbow because he hadn't answered my question. He also refused to look at me. "Matthews—" my fingers dug into the folds of his sleeve, "—is everything backed up?"

"Hm?" Oh no—he heard me. I saw it in his eyes. Bessel wasn't the one he talked about forgiving, no. He talked about someone else... someone who'd done things to us, to everyone; changed us for the good.

How can we go back to that? To what? Normal?

I felt sick. "I don't know..."

♦

We, as humans, did what we knew best—pick up, move on, rebuild. We'd gathered together, discussed plans; a project. We called it the 'Project Restore,' and divided it into two parts.

The first revolved around us—Peace and all its members. We did what we could at the start, with various members restarting the systems with city hospitals and clinics. We guaranteed a bed to every citizen; medication available at every dose.

I did my part and tried my hardest to help. I ran the halls of the Northern Hospital, supplying the rooms with the proper meds and liquids. I helped place the IVs, the machines. With a single tablet, I had every file of the citizens in my care.

At first, Matthews was against it. No matter how much Erica taught me, and I'd managed to learn, he knew I wasn't in my right mind. But I explained to him, more than once, I did it because I wanted to. I wanted to help.

And I did it to keep my mind busy, occupied, and away from it all.

It took a week for the citizens to wake up from their comas—some took a little more. We'd managed to locate the city officials, and when they awoke, Peace gave them a full report on what happened. I half expected there to be an uproar of anger and retaliation, but that wasn't the case.

The Province was good at keeping things intact.

After two months, communications for both ends of the government were finally restored. The Eastern end recouped as much damage but were doing fine. New Chicago was nearly normal, as well as other neighboring cities.

After three months, jobs were restored, and businesses started up again. I could walk down the city street to find the vendors with their holograms asking me how I wanted my lunch, or if I cared for a drink. Everyone returned to their technology as if it'd never taken them over; as if they weren't stuck in a computer for months.

They had a right to. It was the life we lived. I just...

I couldn't hop back into it so easily.

At first, I was angry. We'd gone through the backup files, but no one could confirm him. It was like he'd done what he wanted to do all along; be free and die the way he wished. I knew I'd told him he'd just leave us all alone after it was done, for us to pick up the pieces, but I hadn't thought he'd really do it.

Then, that anger turned into pain. It was normal to try and take loss, twist it around to soothe your own wounds. But he hadn't left because he wanted to; he left because there was no other way.

And that's what hurt the most. After a while, I saw him everywhere. I'd turn to a monitor and see his face for a second, or I'd check the time on my watch and see him there, too. The pull of his memory was so strong, it was like turning a corner in a hall or walking into a room, feeling like I'd just missed him, and his footsteps echoed as he walked away. He was there, with me—always with me. Just like he'd said.

♦

The second part of the project took over six months to start and required a lot more government assistance; more than I originally expected. I admit I was a bit naive to think Erica and I could do it all on our own; we were only two people, after all. How could she alone build a machine that restored millions of lives and placed them into metal bodies?

For just the two of us, it was impossible.

But, with the proper funding and negotiations, it started without a single flaw; it happened. By New Year's 2103, the program had been perfected, still based off Polk's original design. Erica was lead creator and programmer on the Project Restore, and I was given the task of ensuring the Codes had lives.

Codes—it was sort of strange to continue to call them that, but even they were content with the name.

They.

By early February, one hundred Codes had been restored into a body similar to the one they had in their previous life. With only one lab working with the proper machines, I ensured they went back to the town they grew up, or at least the second version of it that survived after the war.

Those who were restored and weren't from our end of the Province were given safe passage to the Eastern side. They'd atoned for their mistakes and wished nothing more than to have perfect, normal lives.

The Province was very forgiving.

I think that's what surprised me the most, even though it shouldn't have. Every Code awoke with the memories from the war, of having taken over a body; of having attacked one of us at one point in time. Each were apologetic—even if some of the citizens weren't as accepting—and hoped all was forgiven.

For the most part, it was. Even I found it in my heart to forgive. I had to in order to numb the pain. There were many nights I lay awake, red faced and crying. Many nights I flipped through the apps on my television and laptop and just hoped; hoped I'd see him, hear him. But that hope was pushed back into my pocket when the morning came, and I put on my work clothes to start my day.

March 1st, 2103 was a Friday, one of the days I was meant to walk into the lab and prepare the documents for a newly created Code. It was odd, because no one gave me any direction. Normally before a Code was created, I was given a name, a background, and a breakdown of their previous life. I walked through the doors at 9:00 A.M and received nothing more than a head nod and a good morning.

Walking up into the second level of the facility, Matthews and Xerses met me at the door that led into the lab. I smiled at them both, hugged them both, just as I normally did. However, Xerses hugged me longer than usual.

"My girl, good morning," he said with a weak smile.

I touched his face, confused. "Hey."

When he truly awoke after the Host connection was destroyed, he apologized more than he should have. He blamed himself for a lot of things, but I didn't blame him. I blamed Verba, who we came to learn was really named Gloria, and she'd been an enemy soldier at the time of war.

We forgave her as we forgave the rest.

Yet, as he tugged at his lab coat and finally let go, he looked into the lab I reported to. His lips pressed into a thin line before he looked past me and at Matthews, who put his hand on my shoulder.

"Okay—" I looked between the two of them, "—what's going on?"

Each wore the same weak smile, not saying a word. It wasn't until I faced Matthews completely that he handed me the tablet that held the files I needed. I glanced down at it but didn't read it. "Why wasn't I given this downstairs?" I asked, shaking my head at them. "This is cutting into proper execution time. I mean, really, you guys went to school for this and I—"

"You gon' read it or not?" Matthews eyed me as I blinked.

I humored him and looked down at the tablet, opening the file again. Behind me, Xerses spoke to Erica inside the lab. "She's coming in!" he shouted. "Give her just a sec!"

A sec...

My heart stopped as I looked at the top of the screen, rereading the letters more than once. In neat font, larger than the rest, was a name; his name: Damian Wallace.

"I think Erica's almost done with his body. She started this morning. A few hiccups but—"

I didn't wait for him to finish. I pushed past both of them and dropped my tablet at their feet. The glass cracked as the doors swung back into it, sending it down the hall. Inside, there were four large machines, each with lights that flashed bright blue. They circled around an operating table; where the Codes were born. I'd never walked in on the process, but I expected him to be there.

He should have been under a blanket, a gown—anything—and yet, the table was empty. Not even a towel...

Across the room, seated at the computer that powered it all, was Erica. She looked at me, not expecting me to run in. The shock on my face didn't make it better.

"Where is he?" I huffed, trembling where I stood.

Erica smiled and leaned back, wiping the sweat of her hands on her lab coat. I almost asked the question again, but she pointed at me. No—she pointed behind me. "Damian Wallace is ready to be properly coded," she said it so easily, but her grin knew the excitement in my heart. "He's been waiting for you."

"Damian Wallace." His name left my breath with the start of a cry. It'd been a year. A year since I'd seen his face; since I touched him, held him, heard his voice.

Inside, I screamed.

A hand reached for mine from behind. It was warm, soft, and grasped me with need. It was him, because I knew that touch, that hand. It took all of me to keep from crying when I turned and faced him.

Him, and his gorgeous, abnormally blue eyes.

"Call me Roger," he said with his handsome smile. "I missed you."