We waited for silence to settle above us before we opened the door and stepped back out into the hall. To me, it felt like hours—sitting, waiting, watching the monitors for a sign of Bessel. In actuality, it'd only been twenty minutes—that was all it took for the Hosts to attack us.

Twenty minutes, and our team were all that remained in Dome B.

Roger led the way through the smoke-filled hall and up the stairs of our base. Behind me, was Matthews, groggy but well enough to fight—despite my being against it. The meds within that syringe may have been out of date, but they worked the way they should have. Matthews was left with nothing more than itchy bandages and a headache.

Now, with Roger, it was different.

As we walked over our fallen comrades, kicking away mess and empty weapons, I watched him. He moved the same, spoke the same, but the veins visible on his skin at times emitted a pulsating glow; I could see the medication still travel through his bloodstream. When he knelt down to pick up a discarded shotgun, and a blue line shot up the ripped tears of his suit, I couldn't help but think... his nano-bots healed tissue for him, so why take the shot?

"He had to have used contact lenses to hide his eyes," Roger said as we stopped at the entrance. It was blown in, with the right door gone, and the left dangling on its hinges. "That's how I didn't know."

"Can't you feel them?" Matthews asked, rubbing the corner of his eye as he came around us to look outside.

The streets were empty. Quiet. Not even the air blew. The corner lights had been shot out by gunfire, leaving us with just the glow of the moon. Staying inside the hall, I watched the slim clouds slide over the night sky.

"I can't... not like I used to." Roger shifted his head outside the door and eyed both ends of the street. The handgun's metal squeaked in his hand. "If I'm not looking, I can't find them."

"And his team?" Roger looked back at me as my voice cracked. "His whole team wore contacts? Just... sneaking around the Domes, hiding, making us believe—"

Roger shushed me before my emotions spilled out in words. He let his hand linger over my lips. "Relax," he whispered, pressing down.

I gulped and nodded.

So, did he. That nod was meant for both Matthews and me, and when Matthews caught it, he stepped out into the empty street, staring left, then right. Roger followed. "We won't know who knew what until we get there," he said.

Get where? To Provincial Hall? I gulped again.

We used the shadows behind cars to duck and cover. The grime on our suits kept us blended with the night. As long as we held our breaths and were light on our feet, we were invisible.

And, so were the Hosts.

"I can't see anyone," I whispered as I looked over the back end of a blue convertible. My eyes scanned the streets, the buildings, but there was nothing and no one. Not even the sound of feet. It bothered me because what I'd seen on camera was complete mayhem. And yet, now... the city was dead. How could a city filled with millions of people be so... quiet? Had someone snapped their fingers and called their soldiers back into the shadows?

"They're probably in buildings, hidin'." Matthews came beside me, his eyes wide as he looked around the streets, too.

"What about Peace?" I looked at him, then at Roger. "Where are they? Not all of them could've fallen, right?"

"No, Doll." Roger shot me a small smile before pressing one hand over his ear. In mine, static started like a sparking candle. That built in receptor he had, the one that connected to me, wasn't just for me; it was for everyone.

It took three taps of his finger before the static cleared. Then, I heard Douglas' voice.

"Roger!" My eyes went wide as he shouted, and I looked up at the streets to see if I'd spot him anywhere. I didn't.

"Douglas, what's your location?" Roger shifted up against the car, eyeing every corner of the street. "Dome B is gone. The others are still locked and secured."

Matthews heard him, too. He pressed his hand over a tiny Bluetooth that fit neatly on his ear; so small, I hadn't noticed it.

"Gone? I got no word of the attack!" Douglas hissed through our devices. "Where's Bessel?"

My heart dropped.

"That's the thing." Roger slid back down, settling into a squat beside me. "He isn't here. He attacked us and left."

"W-What?" I'd never heard Douglas stutter before.

"You heard me—it's Bessel. Xerses said he'd staged it all."

Douglas started to complain, but with the movement and gunfire around him, it made him hard to hear.

"Look—" Roger cut him off before he could continue, "—Bessel did it. He installed bombs, had spies, nearly killed us. But we're fine. Everyone's fine." He looked back at me, grabbed my hand, and gave me a weak smile.

"The computers?" Douglas nearly shouted. "What about the—"

"They're fine, too," Roger said. "Backup hard drives are taking care of everything. All right? So, again—location. I need to know where you are. And him—where's he?"

Douglas cursed under his breath before he said, "I'm West of you, a few miles. We're barricaded inside a scraper, shooting out the Hosts across the street. Bessel's team were—" he paused, and I heard the tremble in his breath. "Wait, did Xerses say why Bessel did it?"

Roger hissed and without warning, he darted down the street. Matthews and I looked at each other but followed as quick as we could. "Does it matter?" Roger snapped. "Where is his team?"

"They're back at Provincial Hall, infiltrating Polk's office."

Shit.

I saw movement in the shadows between the buildings. Flashes of machine-blue eyes broke the darkness with each blink, and swiftly, the few hosts that remained in the area duck behind cars and structures to surround us. The sound of ammo being loaded into weapons echoed in the air.

Roger prepared his handgun, pointed it to his side without looking, and fired. "He's a Code," he said it without a flinch as the bullet left the barrel. It hit a Host that had run out from beside an electronics store, right through the head. The woman's body fell back into the glass, setting off the alarms from the clear panels on both sides of the store's entrance. Red, blinking lights lit up the dark. He lifted the shotgun next.

"Shit, shit, shit." I jumped back against a car and tried to listen closely for the sound of feet, but I succumbed to the fear that hit me. I squeezed my eyes shut as Matthews aimed his gun and fired, yelling out into the night. Roger fired both of his guns right after.

"A Code?" Douglas' voice broke out with static.

"Yes, a Code! A Host! He's on the other-side, Douglas!"

The sounds of the bullets hitting metal, cars, and concrete walls filled the streets. Douglas' voice faded as the static became too much before it shut off completely, and left my receptor buzzing with residual noise. It took me a minute before I opened both eyes to see the white flashes from firing guns. The blue eyes had come out the shadows like locusts—we were outnumbered.

"Clara." Roger's voice echoed in my ear, making me stand. "Keep your eyes open."

I spun around to see him and Matthews in the streets center, back to back, bullets firing. Hosts went down at every corner. Bullets hit their heads, shoulders, legs—none could move more than a foot before coming in contact with one.

"My eyes," I breathed as I watched them.

"You're my eyes." I looked at him and realized his lips weren't moving. But in my ear, I heard him clearly; his voice... "Do you remember?"

I shifted my legs to run to them both, but it was Matthews who stopped me. He shouted so loud, I winced and stepped back. That's when I knew all Hosts were focused on them, not me; I wasn't a target.

"It'll be like we used to do it, remember?" Roger's voice was calm—how, how could he be so calm? "You're going to run down the street, go left, and then right. You'll cut down the back alleys behind that grocery store. Keep going until you reach Provincial Hall."

My stomach flipped so fast I felt sick. As I heard his voice, he and Matthews turned and fired in opposite directions. From the building on the right, Hosts came pouring out from the main door. Peace members came running from the distance. Everyone was moving, fighting, and I—I couldn't take in another breath.

"Did you hear me, Clara?"

"Roger, I—"

"No." His voice was firm. "I've given you the steps. I'll try to guide you, but you'll have to keep your eyes open. I can't keep you alive if I can't see you."

When Peace reached Roger and Matthews, they formed a barrier around them. Devices attached to their wrists powered on, and bright, white lights came out from them. Those lights shot up, encasing them in a circle, a shield; one that blocked out every Host bullet.

"Roger," I breathed.

"Go."

"But you said—"

Now, he turned. He looked at me, eyes as bright as the veins on his neck. He yelled his words as he reloaded his weapon, and I felt a cold drape over me. "Run, Clara! Just go!"

Go.

Just go.

I turned on the ball of my feet and darted down the street. I pushed off cars, street curbs, and fallen lights. My heart hammered in my ears as I sucked in hard breaths. And I heard him, just gently in my ear. "We're not going to die, Doll. I promise."

I bit my tears as I turned left, and the sounds of bullets became a far-off echo. 'You better not die,' I thought I skidded down the next street and stumbled into a street pole. My fingers gripped the cool metal as I struggled to catch my breath.

That's when my eyes went wide, and I screamed on the inside, because I heard him laugh—laugh. I wanted to kick him right then and there, but I couldn't. I had to run forward; I had the fate of the city in my hands.

♦

Just like he said, I ran through the city, like I'd done before. The shadows covered my face and the cars hid my body; quick and nimble, like a ninja. For this, I didn't need an ounce of the training he gave me; this came naturally. No one spotted me.

It took me twenty minutes to reach my destination, but my lungs weren't happy. Neither my legs. They both burned as I stopped across the street, leaning on a black sedan for support. When I lifted my head to look at the building I needed to get into, I dropped a little lower.

Bessel's team stood outside the doors and lined the front steps. Their guns were raised, ready to fire, and I... I knew I couldn't get through them. Natural ninja ability couldn't get me through those doors; I needed Roger's skills. The one's I couldn't remember.

"Think, Clara," I whispered to myself as I stared at the group and the three men in front of them. Those men weren't Bessel's, but Alex's. Their heads were down, hands bound behind their backs. They were forced to kneel at the very last steps. For them, running wasn't an option; each had a gun pointed at their heads.

I had to help them.

"Roger?" I whispered his name as I pressed my fingers into my scar. There wasn't a response, not even static. Just silence. Sucking in a breath, I cursed and looked at my options.

Running directly up the stairs was out of the question—practically suicide. Roger promised that he and Matthews wouldn't die; why would I go and get myself shot the second I arrived? There was the side entrance, the doors Team B had broken into when we first came through, but I couldn't see it from where I stood. Bessel had ten men guarding the front—at least, ten that I could see. There had to be some guarding the sides.

I bit my lip harder than I meant to as I shifted over and leaned against the side of the car. "Shit..." I hissed. "Roger, you've got to hear me here. There's no way I can get in there."

One of Alex's men looked up in my direction. I stilled.

Had he heard me?

"Uh oh," I whispered, shifting back. I thought if I slipped into a shadow, he'd look away. But he didn't. His eyes were glued to my every move. A part of me told me to move, but it hit me—he was the only one who saw me.

I went with it because I had to.

Leaning back against the car, I locked eyes with him and mouthed the words: are you okay?

Hawk eyes, I swear. He read my lips. His response was to flick his head to one side, a quick no.

Well, shit, that wasn't good... he wasn't okay. But that was obvious. Biting my tongue, I looked down at the light that touched my shoes, then back at him. I pointed behind him: I need to get inside. Polk. Delete.

He blinked and nodded.

Assuming he understood my entire mission with soundless words, I didn't know how pointing and fidgeting would help me. He was trapped, a prisoner of war. In his state, there was nothing he could do to help me get inside. Mentally, I cursed myself for wasting time; I could've found another way.

But then... he spoke. "Hey." He looked back at the gun pointed at his head. "Can a man get some water here?"

Oh, wonderful... he's suicidal, too.

"Shut it, human." The man behind him pressed the gun hard against his neck and the kneeling man hissed in discomfort.

Human—he said human, as though he wasn't one himself. Roger said we wouldn't know until we saw them... and looking at them, I knew—Bessel and everyone on his team were Hosts. All spies to Zara's system.

"The name's George. We've gone over this." The kneeling man said, eyes looking up at me as he did. "I just want some water."

"You don't need it. Once we've restored your implant, you'll never have to drink again."

Fuck me...

My hands gripped the sides of the car as the man with the gun cackled into the night air. The others followed suit. The sounds of their voices sent chills down my spine.

'Restore your implant.' They'd planned on having everyone taken over. That's why Bessel wanted the computers destroyed. The minds of the citizens were there, and obviously they had no intention of giving them their bodies back. Restoring implants meant there were Codes somewhere that needed a home.

They had to be somewhere in that building. I had to get in.

"Just some water, man. I'm dying here. Can't put someone else in my head if I'm out, right?"

The man's face contorted, annoyed and frustrated. He looked back at the other members of his team.

Now was my chance.

I moved my hands around the car, preparing myself to run out into the street. I knew I could dart in the middle, take the gun from the guy who laughed and turn it on him. Hopefully, the recoil wouldn't hurt too bad, and I could shoot the other two. Maybe then, somehow, I'd have enough time to free George and have him help me. We'd free the others, take down the other seven men, and run inside. I'd have my own team.

It was easy to think it but doing it—not so much. As I stepped onto the asphalt and took in a breath, George jumped up and ran.

"No," I whispered, ducking back behind the car. Him doing that was just as much suicide as me running up the front steps, and at least when I thought about it again, I had a plan.

But he didn't—he couldn't have.

He pushed his feet against the sidewalk and darted down the street. Bessel's men fired at him but missed—every single shot. Their bullets hit the streets as he zig-zagged, creating sparks at his feet, but that didn't stop him. He kept going, and it wasn't long before his two comrades spotted me, nodded, and did the same.

An awkward, unplanned diversion, and it worked.

They led all but two of Bessel's men down the city streets, leaving the building practically defenseless. I listened for the sound of their shouts as they turned down the road and out of sight. Mentally, I hoped they'd make it out of it.

"Don't die, George," I whispered as I looked up at the building's front doors. "Too many people are dying today."

The remaining two men had their hands pressed to their ears. I just knew they had to be contacting someone, sending out distress calls. But I couldn't wait to see who'd arrive for backup. I lifted myself up on my toes, watching their every move, and planned.

Because I had no time.