Cora hadn’t meant to be out this late. She had always been careful, moving quickly through the city, memorizing curfew hours, avoiding attention. But things had become unpredictable. Store shelves were empty more often than not. The ration system had failed again—not enough government credits, the scanners said, even though she knew she had done everything right.
She had waited too long, bartering for whatever food she could find, and now the city had emptied around her. The streets were deserted, save for the drones buzzing overhead and the occasional propaganda broadcasts droning from the mounted speakers. The Circle provides. The Circle protects. The Circle secures your future.
She gripped the handles of her bag tighter, her pulse hammering in her throat as she turned a corner and saw them.
The checkpoint.
The officers were waiting.
There were four of them, standing in the middle of the street, leaning against the side of their armored vehicle. Their uniforms were sleek and black, Circle Enforcers, with insignias on their sleeves marking them as part of the government’s internal security force. They weren’t military. They weren’t police. They were something else. Something worse.
They saw her immediately.
Cora kept her head down, tried to walk past, but one of them, a thick-bodied brute with a shaved head, stepped directly into her path. He was grinning. They always were.
“Little late to be out, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a slow, deliberate drawl. “Didn’t you hear the siren?”
Cora nodded quickly. “I was getting food. The ration system wasn’t working, so I—”
Another one, younger, thinner, but meaner, snatched the bag from her hand before she could react, dumping its contents onto the ground. Apples rolled toward the curb. A dented can of beans clattered on the pavement. A small pack of protein bars cracked open, the foil torn and useless.
“Well, well,” the young one murmured, crouching down, picking up one of the bars. “Look at that. Someone’s got contraband.”
Cora’s stomach turned to ice. “No,” she said quickly. “That’s not—”
Shaved Head stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder, pressing down. “You calling us liars?”
The weight of his hand made her sick. She wanted to push him away, but she didn’t dare.
“I just… I just need to go home,” she said, keeping her voice steady.
A third officer, lean, with hungry eyes, smirked. “Not so fast. Let’s check her status.”
He pulled out a scanner—a sleek black device linked to the Unity database. The system that controlled everything.
Cora froze.
It would show everything. Her low Unity Score, her failed attempts to leave the country, her flagged online activity, her parents’ estrangement from the Party.
She couldn’t run.
She couldn’t stop them.
The scanner beeped.
The grin on Hungry Eyes’ face widened.
“Oh,” he said, turning the screen so the others could see. “Look at this. We’ve got a troublemaker.”
Shaved Head laughed, his grip on her shoulder tightening.
The fourth officer, silent until now, stepped forward. He was older, with dead eyes and a permanent smirk. He tilted his head, examining her like a piece of property.
“A flagged citizen out past curfew,” he mused. “That’s a serious offense.” He let the words hang in the air, letting the implication sink in.
The young one, still crouched near the spilled food, ran a hand over his short hair, grinning. “Could take her in.”
Cora felt her breath quicken.
Could.
Would.
Will.
The silent one leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. “But maybe there’s a way we don’t have to.”
Shaved Head’s fingers slid down her arm, slow, deliberate.
Cora’s pulse roared in her ears.
They had done this before.
She knew that.
She had heard the stories.
Women who went missing for a night, then came back changed, speaking in dull, mechanical tones. Some never came back at all.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
The younger one clicked his tongue, looking up at her. “Come on, sweetheart. Be smart.”
The older one lifted his chin. “We’re being generous. Just a little…” He gestured vaguely. “Cooperation.”
Cora stopped breathing.
Shaved Head gave her a slow, lazy smile. “After all, we’re the ones keeping this city safe.”
Her stomach turned inside out.
The young one stood, stepping close enough that she could smell his breath—something synthetic, chemically sweet.
“You’re lucky we’re in a good mood tonight.”
She was trapped.
Every muscle in her body screamed RUN—but where?
If she ran, they would shoot.
If she fought, they would kill her.
If she let them do what they wanted, they would discard her anyway.
The world started tilting, a slow, surreal nightmare closing in around her.
And then—
A sharp, high-pitched whine split the night.
A drone.
Sleek, black, hovering just above them, its red eye scanning the scene.
One of the officers cursed under his breath.
“Fucking surveillance.”
The Chairman’s government had no problem with abuse—but it had to be the right kind of abuse, in the right setting, for the right reasons.
They stepped back, grudgingly, their moment interrupted.
The older officer narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re lucky.”
The younger one shoved the scanner back into his pocket. “Next time, you won’t be.”
Shaved Head bent down, grabbed an apple from the pavement, and took a slow, deliberate bite, never breaking eye contact.
Cora’s legs wouldn’t move.
Her hands trembled as she gathered what little food was left, shoving it back into the torn bag.
She didn’t look back.
She didn’t stop walking.
She didn’t let herself cry until she was safely inside her building, her back pressed against the door, her hands clenched into fists, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
She knew what would happen next time.
She knew that next time, she wouldn’t be lucky.
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