"Oh, I got that too," I said, unsure if I was disappointed or relieved. Silence filled the air once more, a small-screened panel showed numbers slowly climbing down. Tapping my foot impatiently, I stared forward at my distorted reflection.

"Okay," he said blankly. And for the next minute, we stood in silence, listening to the moving parts clicking together, a low hum from a motor. I had the urge to bite my fingernails just to keep my hands busy. It was a nervous habit of mine, something I'd been doing since a very young age.

Looking at the buttons, I remembered an old superstition people used to have. Charlie had shown me in old buildings how some elevators had the number 13 button missing. There was still the 13th floor, but back then people would believe in crazy things such as some numbers being unlucky and would refuse to live on a floor like that. So the button was removed.

I wondered what people in the future would think of us now. Our stupid laws and extreme punishment. Maybe they would have classes in history about our time as we did about those before us. It was strange thinking of a world where a system like this didn't exist, as strange as it might be to them to think that it does.

Sometimes in thought, I would wonder if the past ever saw it coming. Saw what they were doing to the world. I remembered sitting in a humanities class, thinking about the future, and whether this entire population issue would be fixed. Those classes would get boring, always droning on about how important the system is. And so, I would come up with a book I would write if given a chance.

Sometimes I would scribble down scenes on what might happen. Even though I knew it never would.

Coming to a holt, the orange glow around the button flicked off, the screen now displayed the letter G. As the doors opened, and we both stepped out, the smell of disinfectant and polish hit my nose. The sun was on the very edge of rising now, so the lights in the main hallway were still on, a receptionist typing away at her computer.

I wonder what she typed all day. If maybe she ever wished to write a book as I did. I thought about what life she led and who her match was. Did she switch over with someone every few hours? She was not the same woman I had seen yesterday, nor the day before that, so that must have been the case.

Scott gave her nor me a glance, simply walking towards the exit. We were heading towards the same place, and he seemed to be aware of where he was going, so I decided following him would be the safest option. Even if he did seem very closed off, and least it was someone I knew.

"How's Jessie?" I asked, again attempting to try a conversation. It hadn't worked the first time, but no harm in trying. I mean, we were working together. We had to get to know each other someday, and on the first day of work walking towards the same place seemed like the best time.

But I also asked because I was curious. I wondered how they were dealing with it, or even if he knew about Jake and her. I mean, surely he knew right? It was odd, but Jessie and Jake made me feel a connection to Scott in a way. That he was the only one who might understand me. That we were all locked up in the same story.

"Fine," he said blankly as we began walking towards the exit. And as quick as it started, the conversation ended once more. It gave me no more knowledge of what he knew and if he knew anything at all. I almost expected him to say more.

"Oh," I said, not exactly knowing what to say next. I didn't know what to say now. The one thing which made us alike he answered with one word. I tried to reason it to be just sensitive on the topic, but surely there was something else. There's no reason why we couldn't talk about it.

"Apologies, I'm not one for small talk," Scott said finally after another small pause. There was little to no actual remorse in his voice, instead, it was almost an accusation. A backhanded apology which meant more hatred than empathy.

The entrance doors opened, the glass sliding soundlessly to the side as if gliding on air. I bit my lip for a moment, for once thinking over what to say. Scott had no reason to be so bitter towards me. Maybe he wasn't a morning person, or maybe he truly didn't like small talk.

"Sorry, I'll keep quiet I guess..." I said, mumbling the words. There was another silence as we began to walk on the path towards the station, another cold March morning slightly less cold from the uniform. The roads were just beginning to be populated with cars as the work hustle began again.

"You don't have to," he said, again still not looking at me. Our steps were almost in line with each other. He continued, "I just find these conversations pointless."

"Why are you so... closed off?" I asked. He was silent again, and I wondered if he had heard what I said, or whether he was wondering the idea himself. Or if I had offended him in some possible way. I might've been slightly rude asking a question like that, however, he had begun with the bitterness first.

"I just am," Scott said finally, the offense I expected in his voice was absent. And like everything else he'd previously said, it was bitter, monotonous, and lacking any true meaning. He was being closed off on purpose.

"I'm just trying to start a conversation," I muttered, mostly to myself but I hoped he would hear. It was petty, but he had been the rigid one to begin with.

"Didn't I just say I dislike these types of talks?" he said, a harsher tone this time, but remaining emotionless. Almost as a teacher disciplining a student. I scowled at him, within moments I already disliked him. Why he acted so full of himself was beyond me. Did he truly think he was better than me?

"Then how the hell are we even supposed to get along?" I said, knowing that I didn't exactly want him as a friend either. However, the situation was unique between us, and we were forced to share work. Seeing his face every day, walking the same path, doing the same job; it had to happen someday.

"We don't," he said simply, and I resisted the urge to punch him square in the nose. The way he held himself, walked with confidence, and spoke to me was as if he was confronting a child. I wrinkled my nose at his words, trying not to let his actions get to me.

"So we just ignore this entire situation?" I stammered, blurting the first words that came to my head. The plan to not let him get to me had failed miserably, but there wasn't much I could do now, "Pretend each other doesn't exist?"

"Ideally," Scott said, a slight smirk formed. He must have been enjoying getting a reaction from me, and however much I wanted to give him a piece of my mind I shut my mouth.

So we walked in silence, a cold silence. Sometimes silence can be warm, where words are not needed, and other times they can be uncomfortable, awkward. But now, it was just silent, and it made me just feel cold. Like a bitter March morning.

Soon we arrived at the station and I checked my watch, the time reading 7:30 am – which was confusing a bit, considering it was estimated the ride would be 30 minutes. Scott and I stood a few feet away, standing a foot from the track. I turned to him, hoping he would maybe say we were too late and blame me at the very least. I didn't even need to know him to know that he would say that.

But instead, he said nothing.

"Do you know when the train comes?" I asked, beginning to worry. There was nobody else at the station besides a young lady sitting on a bench, reading something on her tablet. I hadn't seen that brand of tablet before, it seemed a lot sleeker than the ones my parents were assigned. I wondered when I would be given mine, or if anyone my age had already received one.

"Yes," he said after a few moments. I waited for a follow-up, a time maybe, whether we had to wait for the next train, if there was a delay, or just anything. But he gave me no glance, just staring ahead at the other side of the station, where a glowing screen showed an ad for sleeping agents.

"When?" I asked when it was clear he wouldn't respond. At first, I thought he hadn't heard me, as he didn't even react, instead, he continued to look at the screen. Bright flashing colors with '20 credits per bottle' stamp in the corner, a slight jingle echoing around the station.

"Soon," he said after another moment's pause.

And five minutes later, it arrived.

I wasn't aware of how he knew but I just assumed he was smart enough to find out. The woman stepped onto a further carriage as Scott and I entered the one in front of us. He sat on the left side of the train, as I sat on the right. He continued looking out the window at the screen, which now displayed a warning about the drug Vextine, and to report it if you see any strange blue substances.

The train ride was around 30 minutes, meaning we were five minutes late. Most people began work around 9, so the carriages had been fairly empty except for a few strangers. I hoped I would get enough time to fix the watch today, but as I arrived at the station, my hope diminished.

As the train stopped, a lady's voice no different from that from assignment day, a day that felt like another life, rang through the train. It chimed 'Grayhem'. I stood up and was relieved to see Scott do the same. I don't know why, but knowing I had gotten the place right was a confidence boost in the least.

Exiting the train, I knew it must have been close to one of the Lower City regions. The darkest of smells hit my nostrils instantly, a smell I can only compare to as death. It's hard to describe what death smells like, more of a musty stench, the smell of rot and vomit. But it's not just a smell, it just gives a hollow feeling deep down. It's one of those things you can't put into words. But you know it is death.

A deteriorating building was close by, casting a shadow on a smaller one with windows boarded up and rotting wood. Being that it was the only one we could access easily, it must've been it. I'll admit, I was expecting something nicer, and was quite disappointed with what I saw. Stepping out from the worn-down train station, we walked towards the building.

"It looks... very abandoned," I said, as we neared closer. The smell of death grew with every step, smoke wafted through the air. Old factories cast a shadow over the tiny building, making it appear even more lifeless. He didn't respond, so I continued, "You sure this is the right place? Aren't the big computers in the main hall?"

"It's the right place," he said without hesitation nor a pause. He continued his confident stride, not looking back at me. I kept up with him, however dropping slightly behind. I would glance everywhere as if expecting to see something horrific. It was around 15 feet from the station, however, it seemed like a hundred.

"You're sure?" I said, growing increasingly worried. Strange bags were thrown to the side of the building, and the stench made me gag. How could a group of people work in a place like this, let alone a job as important as this? Was it even a group? I could only imagine working alone with Scott and one or two other people. It would be a nightmare.

"I'm never wrong," he stated again, slightly irritated at my accusation. It was an arrogant thing to assume you're never wrong, making me resent him even more. His answer to everything I'd asked had been no more than two words at a time, increasing my irritation.

"What if you're wrong about never being wrong?" I said, but he gave me no response. I was trying to be confident, but in reality, the worry was creeping on me with every step. If Scott was wrong, would we be in trouble? No, it said Grayhem. But did it? Every piece of confidence was slowly detangling and unwinding.

Eventually, we reached the doorway, I heard muttering inside along with a few loud laughs. Deep voices, men. I couldn't tell how many, but there was more than two. Scott reached forward, knocking on the door with three taps. I tried to catch his eye to have any idea on how to react, but he kept his gaze forward.

I didn't know how he remained confident in this type of situation, as I was practically shaking.

"Hang on a sec! – I don't know who else would be showing up to this shithole? –" one of the voices called, the sound slightly growing. A hatch unlocked, and the door swung open. I came to face with an extremely tall, messy-looking man, "Oh. Rebecca and Scott right? Come inside,"

He gestured inside, pulling the door and opening it for us. He was tall, maybe 6"0 or taller. He wore the same black sweater we did and a 5 o'clock shadow with messy brown hair. His eyes darted slightly, he was panting as if getting in a deep argument with someone or had been running for a while. He looked unfit, so likely the former.

"Evan, correct?" Scott said, not batting an eye at the sight in front of him. The man, assuming he was called Evan, smiled. His teeth were extremely white, something I wasn't expecting from the rest of his appearance. He had the kind of grin that children would have if done something wrong.

"Smart boy, that's right," he said, and Scott walked in. I followed, hesitating for a moment. Once I got in, I was hit with the horrid stench of sweat, the room extremely warm compared to outside. The room was poorly lit from 2 dying ceiling lights above, "So, welcome to the club. You better get comfy with us, we haven't had newbies in years,"

There were two tables, lined with maybe 20 computers across them. Spinning chairs were tucked in, and most computers had giant sheets covering them from dust. Wires climbed the walls as vines might, and the boarded-over windows had shattered glass, the door with a sturdy lock.

Three computers were on, emanating a white light no different than that from the great hall. Two computers beside each other were uncovered, which I assumed would be ours. In front of two of the computer were as 2 men, who I would soon learn to be Marlin and Noah.

Noah sat in the middle of the tables, on a seemingly randomly chosen computer. Evan sat on the end and Marlin sat a few seats from him. Noah was younger compared to most, in his early twenties. He had dirty blonde hair and seemed thin, however freckles were scattered across his face and hands, his eyes a greyish blue, similar to Jake.

Marlin was the oldest and had been in computer management for the longest. A few years ago there had been an older one who had mentored Marlin, Harry, but he had died from natural causes. Marlin had grey hair at this point, in his late sixties, and spoke with an accent. When he was twelve he was transferred from a city where they had the accent, causing him to constantly make shortcuts on words.

Evan introduced himself as our mentor and told us to see him as a god. It was hard to see a lanky, scrawny unfit man in his early 30s as a god, but it was clear to be a joke anyway. He seemed to love jokes, which was a relief. They all seemed to be very carefree, even slightly immature. Hearing even small snippets of conversation between them, they seemed as close as family.

Evan taught us what we would do at first. He explained that, although it seems simple, we will be given further tasks later. The job he assigned was to sort people's profiles from matching day to make sure everything is all good, that everybody got in alright and that there were no mistakes. He had already done a brief scan, but we were required to do a slightly more in-depth scan.

My best assumption was he wanted us to do work that he didn't want to.

It was strange to hear that their might've been mistaken in the system, especially in regards to something we were involved in. I'd always just assumed that the computer was perfect, but I guess it's impossible to make something perfect if it's made by imperfect things.

But, he was right, the job was simple. This confirmed my suspicion that he just wanted us to do work he was too lazy to complete. I think that day I must have seen at least two hundred different faces. Some I recognized from school, others I'd never seen before. I had tried to remember faces but they all began to blend together after a while. It was a tedious and repetitive task.

I didn't enjoy it, however, looking over to Scott it seemed he did. He didn't keep his eyes from the computer even when I felt so bored I thought would die. How anybody would find pleasure from this was beyond me, but I guess this was Scott, and if I had learned anything today, it was that Scott was very odd.

I thought about mistakes a lot to hide from my boredom. Of course, I didn't come across any, and we were told to notify Evan if there was. Scott, on the other hand, did. About an hour in, he called Evan over. It was for some girl I didn't recognize. Evan walked over, and glancing onto Scott's screen I saw a red square around the girl's profile, below her name, were the words Lower.

"She's deceased, how can her fingerprint scan be shown as present?" Scott said as Evan grimaced, running his hands over his face. Scott continued, his eye lighting up with curiosity I had never seen before, "This can't happen correct?"

"Ignore it," Evan said finally, pointing to the screen showing the data we were going through. Scott looked at Evan as if asking him if he was sure, and Evan nodded, "I know it seems dodgy but those damn finger scanners are so cheap they screw up all the time. Last year we had another mess up which we spent days trying to track down, only to find out the lady who let them in didn't know how it worked. Besides, how could this dead Alice chick suddenly be alive, and out of everything she could have done, why did she decide to go through assignment?"

"I guess you're right," Scott said, noting down the profile as correct and continuing. Evan walked back to his seat. I tried to catch Scott's eye, but his curiosity was faded, and his eyes were now a normal blank green. But there was something in his eyes when they spoke about that mistake that just lit up his entire body.

"Speaking of Lowers, did ya hear 'bout 'em?" Marlin said as the boys began their usual banter once more, Evan returning to his seat and swiveling around. Hearing them banter about different things was a good break. I couldn't work for more than an hour staring at that glowing screen, as it gave me the same nauseous feeling from assignment day. However, the mention of the topic of Lowers was something that had not been discussed until now, "Some idiots got shot yesterday for getting caught snortin' Vextine. Serves 'em right,"

My thoughts went to yesterday, the screams and gunshots I had heard. So Jake had been on a hunt to stop those using Vextine? I hoped he hadn't been the one who did the shooting, however, he was new to the job, so it seemed unlikely anyway. However, the unforgiving tone in Marlin's voice made me flinch.

"What can you do?" Noah said, leaning back on his chair. Usually, I would just briefly listen to their conversation before continuing the work, having it as background noise. However, the topic of Lowers was something I couldn't just ignore, "They're not all idiots but god most of them are. Hopefully, the government can start mixing poison with that damn drug and kill off the moronic ones like rats, keep the smart ones alive you know?"

"I wish they'd just kill them all," Evan said, the words put a sour taste in my mouth. Instantly I was tense, and I tried to act as if I wasn't listening. I was used to dealing with people who treated Lower's poorly, but this just seemed too far, "I know you hate this Noah but you're young, you won't get it. I've seen those fucking dipshits acting as if they did nothing. They think the government is too harsh on them when it's the opposite,"

"True," Noah said, crossing his arms as if this was a discussion they had daily. They had opposing views, and although I thought he was harsh Noah did appear to have some sympathy for them, "But I mean any of us could be Lowers? Imagine if Anna got zapped and you'd be one of them,"

"But ya see here's where it's ya fault," Marlin said, sitting forward on his chair and folding one arm over his body, using the other to point at him. His accent was slightly distracting, but I continued to focus on what they were saying, "Ya're matched with a chick that's like ya, so if she's gon go get 'erself zapped then ya're just as likely to get zapped yaself. Government may be pricks but at least they're smart,"

"I think the government is too lenient," Evan said, shaking his head slightly, "If I was in power I'd sentence them all as first-handers, serves them right,"

"Yeah yeah, you in power," Noah said, a smirk on his face as he dragged his chair closer to his computer, beginning to type again. He shook his head, a small tease in his voice, "What a nightmare,"

"Wanna know what's more of a nightmare?" Evan said, a flair of defiance in his voice.

"Yeah, what?"

"The fact that those vermin aren't all shot on sight,"