"Are we going to-" I paused, tightening my grip around his arm as I pulled him closer. Cold in the night rain, I struggled to pull my own weight as we left through the large glass doors was growing with each moment, and as I struggled to form a sentence, I inhaled sharply, "...Jacks?"

"I can't go back to Dad's..." he stared at me, a distant sadness creeping behind his eyes. I didn't even want to try and think of what would happen if we went back. He continued, his arm around the large jacket as he helped me past a glowing storefront, "I said one night... and he- he doesn't like it when people go against their words. I need to ensure your safety,"

He looked at me, a deep intensity that was so easy to get lost in. It was like reading a book that was so captivating you found yourself carried away on every word, transfixed on every sentence as the reality around you numbs into oblivion. Above us was a small overhang, shielding us somewhat from the assault of raindrops that seemed endless in its descent. Seeing that every word caused the pain in my side to worsen, he knew what I wanted to ask. If we aren't going there, then where are we going?

"Do you trust me?" he asked, answering my unspoken question with a question himself. I nodded, not even having to think before answering. He gave a short smile, his glasses now fogged from the rain as he continued, "We need to go to the library,"

"The library?" I echoed, but my voice was hoarse and broken. He nodded before we continued to move forward. I had said I trusted him, and I did, but I couldn't help but wonder how the library would be used to either of our situations. If anything, surely it would only hinder it.

But I trusted him, and so I would go wherever he planned on going. And it wasn't only because he was the only thing keeping me from collapsing on the ground.

We were once more beyond lucky as we arrived at the station, a train was positioned in the docks and pointing in the library's direction. Against the city's foggy landscape, the downpour of rain and slight blurriness to my vision, the bright yellow lights from the interior of the train were almost blinding. Stepping onto the carriage, I found myself shaking as the doors closed behind me.

I wanted to ask why we were going to the library of all places. It was open 24 hours, and the nights had no supervision except for the cameras, reviewed every few weeks. It was supposed to be monitored daily, but after many years of an empty library, the chore became nonessential, leaving the library as the very few places not under constant supervision.

Regardless of my questions, I was too faint to ask. I was still shaking, only wearing a bra underneath the coat, having not had enough time to put my shirt back on before we'd left. I was beyond thankful that Scott had grabbed it before we left, tightening the coat around me tighter to hold some warmth.

The journey was wordless, the only sound being that of rain against windows and the light hum of the train. I was tired, and now as I began to warm up, I realized how empty my stomach was. I wanted to eat, but knew that Scott probably had something planned. He always seemed to think of everything.

We left the train, and I'd forgotten about the heavy downpour. It almost hurt how wild the rain was, and I was once more thankful for how close the library was to the station. Walking through the doors I'd gone through so often, I was hit with the nostalgia I'd known for so many years. It was empty, as expected, and I knew nobody would be here.

"I need to know where the non-fiction section is... specifically the technology sector?" Scott asked, looking down at me with wet hair dripping on my face. I didn't know what he needed to know what this could have to do with the current. It seemed like something that could be dealt with at a time when I wasn't near death.

But I trusted him. So with a shaky hand, I pointed towards the back section of the second level. He followed my directions, helping me up the marble staircase as I swore harshly under my breath, an intense pain shooting up my spine. Luckily it seemed to subside at the top of the stairs, and I was thankful that there appeared to be a place to rest in the corner section near the bookcases.

As we made our way over to the technology section, relief washed over me. It was so secluded that I doubted even if there were cameras that they could see us. The bookshelves obscured the table, which lay wedged in the corner. There were two seats tucked underneath it, a large cushioned sofa pressed against a wall. I practically fell into one of the chairs, panting as if I had been running the entire time.

"Wait here," Scott said, throwing his dripping jacket over the opposing chair's side. The blood from the left shoulder had mostly been washed away. I nodded, and although it was far warmer inside the library, I kept my jacket tightly around my body.

Resting my head against the table, I closed my eyes for a moment. I wondered if Charlie was okay, and in turn, whether Lillian was okay. Jake knew where they lived, and if he decided that taking it out on Charlie wasn't enough, then there would be nothing stopping him from doing the same to Lillian.

But it still perplexed me the way he had reacted to seeing me. He didn't seem the same, didn't seem like he wanted to kill either of us. But he had, just hours earlier, shot both myself and Scott. Perhaps his bullet would even result in my death at this rate.

Whatever the case, I was glad I plunged that knife into his wrist. If I had been in a better physical condition, perhaps I would have done a lot worse.

I was startled awake as a pile of books landed on the table. I'd only meant to rest my eyes for a moment, but had drifted into sleep for who knows how long. Scott looked at me, taking the coat from the chair and slinging it around his shoulders once more.

"I'll go purchase something to eat- there's typically some stores open at around this time. Will you be alright here?" I nodded, groggily rubbing my eyes at I stared at the roughly dozen books that he had piled on the table. He took one final look at me as if making sure I wasn't going to roll over and die, before turning and leaving.

Although this part of the library felt safe, it was a lot safer with Scott around. Now with only myself for company, I struggled to stop myself thinking of the worst. Would Jake be tracking us? Could he even know where we were going? I certainly didn't expect the library of all places, but there was always a chance he knew.

I shook my head as if brushing away the thought. I didn't want to sleep, worrying that if I did, I might never wake up. With still shaking hands, I pulled back the oversized coat around my arms to pick up the book from the top of the pile and placing it in front of me.

The cover was a sickly beige, a grey-black title which simply put 'The incomplete history of systematic assignment' a subtitle in slightly smaller text that read 'Algorithms for gene diversity & refinement, predictive modeling and population reduction.' Despite the mouthful of a title, and half the words being gibberish to me, I knew what it meant. This book was what made our entire country tick.

In all honesty, I was surprised at how thin it was. Of course, in comparison to many other books, it was extremely thick, the pages forming around 2 inches of height. But for the history of everything that made our society, it was difficult to see how it would fit into one book at all.

Opening it up, I understood why. Not only was the text so small you had to squint to read it, but it didn't say how it worked. There were no strings of code that formed the algorithm: that would never be in a book available to the public. Instead, it told the history of how it came to form.

I read the first paragraph, extensive wording discussing the start of the journey. The population was supposed to level out at 10 to 12 billion, and although it would be challenging to maintain, it would at least be livable. But it didn't level out, instead doubling to 24 billion people over ten years. Holding an entire fifth of the world's population, The United Nations set into action the first of the rules which would inevitably move to form the system used every march 3rd.

March 3rd was the day when it was set in place. One child per family. Turning to the following page, I saw a picture of how it was supposed to help. A minimalistic diagram showed how over five generations, 15 people could be reduced to one using this method. I found my eyes drifting past the words without reading them, the language far too dull to stay focused.

I began to skim through the pages, occasionally catching sight of a subheading that read the new implementation. Something about gene diversity, but many just referenced other books or classified documents I likely would never lay eyes on. I was in the center of the book now, soft pages rippling past as if they had formed into liquid.

There was a page that caught my attention; my finger caught on the flicking page before it was lost in the sea of words. I flipped it open to see a profile on a man called Theodoric Apollo, but it wasn't his name that I'd noticed. There was a photo, a simple profile shot that might be found on any electronic files of someone, on their keycard or identification. But he seemed so familiar; rough features which contrasted him against the highly polished profiles of everyone else.

It was deep black hair, messy and unkempt as I so often saw Scott have. His eyes shone against his washed-out features, a mixture of blue and green, which struck a similar to a predator stalking its prey. Even through the pages, it was impossible not to feel as if he was staring at me.

And then I remembered where I had seen him.

Had it been only a few days ago? I had seen him, the billboard flashing to a boy with ink crawling up his neck, the same wild hair and eyes as he laughed. I had let it fade from my mind, not wanting to deal with another issue on top of the many I was beginning to gather.

He didn't look as young as the boy I had seen. At least from memory, the boy appeared to be as young as any other person assigned this year. No older than 16, perhaps 17 at the oldest. This man, Theodoric Apollo, could not be the same boy. There was no ink crawling up his neck, his face far more mature than him, with wrinkles and scars showing his age to be at least late forties.

An idea occurred to me for a moment. An idea that I had just imagined the billboard changing. That perhaps I'd been as tired as Scott had been, and with the confusion of the symbol of Jordan's ring, I had imagined the ink on his neck. That I'd seen this man Theodoric Apollo in a history book before, and some part of me imagined him instead of the model advertising her product.

But deep down, I knew that wasn't true.

Theodoric wasn't the same. He had the same resemblance to the boy in the billboard, but it was the same resemblance that Jack had to Scott. Similar, but not exact. Had this been the boy's father? Does this mean that I hadn't imagined that sudden change on the billboard? That something, or someone, had broken in?

I jumped as a hand rested on my shoulder, my whole body turning as I prepared myself to fight whoever was there. But I relaxed, merely staring up at the eyes of Scott, who looked down at me with deep worry. In his hand was some sort of steaming roll. He handed it to me, which I took gratefully as the warmth traveled through my hands. As he sat down across from me on the opposite chair, looking down at the book I had been reading.

"Who's that?" he asked quietly as I turned the book to face him. I began to take small bites of the roll, something I guessed to be an egg, perhaps an omelet type roll. Whatever it was, it was warm, and above all, was already making me feel better. When was the last time I had eaten?

"I don't know," I said, hesitating whether I should tell him the resemblance to the possibly imaginary laughing boy I had seen. Scott probably wouldn't believe me, and I hardly thought myself. I decided to remain quiet until I knew what exactly Scott's plan was.

"Theodoric Apollo," Scott began to read, his voice calming and soft. I listened intently, continuing to eat my roll as he spoke, "Political leader turned agitator. Once in line for the presidency, he fell victim to opposing propaganda. After attempting to abolish the system entirely, he was promptly removed, along with his co-conspirators. Included was his impregnated assigned partner, which were both removed as a result. Due to this, no further unrest has been noted since removal. Further examination resulted in-" Scott paused, taking in a deep breath, "It-it's just been blacked out,"

I looked over at the page, crumbling the now empty bag which had held my roll. I shoved the paper into my pocket to dispose of later. And sure enough, right where whatever this had lead to, had been blacked out as if ink had been drawn over the book itself.

"What do you think it said?" I asked, staring at the void empty lines as if the now censored words would magically recover, that it would show the true events that had taken place. Scott shook his head.

"I don't know," he said, turning to me. He skimmed through the rest of the book, pages flying by. But nothing seemed to catch his attention, and all the faces seemed like strangers to me. There was hardly any faces at all besides the few notable people who coded the system itself.

Scott closed the book, frowning. I couldn't help but yawn as the food now made my fatigue even more apparent. As if knowing what I was about to ask, Scott nodded, and with an awkward push away from the table, I walked over to the sofa against the wall, lying down and practically passing out the moment my head rested against the seating.

It only felt like a few seconds before Scott was lightly shaking me awake again. I'd thought I'd just closed my eyes for a second, but as I sat up I saw golden rays streming through the mosaicked library windows. Suddenly remembering I was only in a jacket, I pulled it tighter around me.

"You must look at this immediately," Scott said somewhat quickly, sitting down beside me and pointing to a page. I was struggling to properly adjust my vision, I rubbed my eyes to try and read whatever he had woken me for.

It was a picture. At first I wondered it's signifigance. It was a group of roughly twenty, a good mixture of men and women with no specific features worth of note. But where Scott was pointing, I noticed someone. Theodoric Apollo, smiling into the camera. He had an arm around someone who at first seemed to be nobody, but as I looked closer, my heart sank and my blood ran cold.

Standing beside him, was Evan Jackson. Our mentor.

----

I'm now looking for Beta readers on the final version of Overwritten. Applications can be found here, in my biography, in the inline comments or on my announcement. Once published all Beta readers will receive a free signed copy. If you have trouble accessing the link it is attached to the chapter, or feel free to private message me. Thank you for reading Overwritten.

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