Cora sat on the bare wooden floor of what had once been her home, knees pulled to her chest, her back pressed against the cold, lifeless wall. She had stopped keeping track of the days. The calendar still hung on the fridge, the pages untouched, frozen in time, marking the moment when everything had finally slipped beyond her control. The apartment was nearly empty now. The furniture had been sold piece by piece, exchanged for ration credits, traded for a few extra days of electricity before that, too, had been cut off. The landlord had come once, then twice, before eventually leaving a simple printed notice on the door. Eviction Pending—Noncompliance with Unity Standards.
There was nothing left to take.
She had tried to run.
The last airport had been a nightmare, bodies packed together in chaotic lines, desperation thick in the air. The planes were still leaving, but not for people like her. The priority flights were for Circle officials, for the wealthy, for the obedient. She had waited her turn, clutching her identification, a single bag packed with everything that mattered. When she had reached the counter, the woman behind the glass hadn’t even looked at her before shaking her head.
FLAGGED FOR REVIEW.
No explanation. No questions. No chance to appeal. Just those three words.
The people behind her pushed forward, voices rising in frustration, drowning her out, forcing her to step aside. The security officers barely acknowledged her as she was ushered toward the exit. The crowd swallowed her whole, and by the time she found herself back outside, it was already over. The flights continued. The last few were still escaping. And she was trapped.
Her car had run out of gas on the highway back to the city. The stations were empty, the fuel diverted entirely to the war effort. She had walked for miles, past abandoned rest stops, past cars left on the side of the road, past hollow-eyed men and women standing in clusters, murmuring among themselves, waiting for something that wasn’t coming.
The last embassies had shut their doors weeks ago. The borders were closed. There was no one left to turn to.
She had driven through the night, past darkened suburbs, past rows of houses with drawn curtains, past streets where people no longer spoke to one another. Even in her own neighborhood, the windows were dark. Those who still had power had long since learned not to flaunt it. The Circle had made it clear that rations were for those who contributed. Those who still had something to offer. Those who were loyal.
Cora had nothing left to give.
A Ghost in Her Own Life
She had tried to call her parents, one last time.
Her mother picked up. For a moment, Cora had let herself believe it would be different, that the fear in her voice might be enough to break through the wall that had formed between them. But the moment she started to speak, she heard the exhaustion, the cold detachment in her mother’s voice.
“You made your choice, Cora.”
The line went dead.
She hadn’t tried again.
Her friends had disappeared in the same way—some in the dead of night, their apartments suddenly empty, their belongings carted away. Others still existed but not in any way that mattered. Their profiles on Unity remained active, their posts full of government-approved phrases, of praise for the Chairman, of solidarity with the cause. She had reached out to a few of them, hesitant, desperate, but none had responded.
She understood.
To acknowledge her was to invite scrutiny.
To associate with the flagged was to become one of them.
And once you were flagged, there was no coming back.
The Propaganda Wins
Even now, in the suffocating silence of her empty home, the screens still glowed, the messages still played. The television had long since gone black, but the speakers mounted along the streets carried the Chairman’s voice, low and rhythmic, a constant, pulsing reminder that the Circle was watching.
The Circle provides.
The Circle protects.
The Circle secures your future.
She had tried to resist it once. Had screamed at the broadcasts, torn down the flyers, thrown her phone across the room when the notifications wouldn’t stop. But it wore her down.
It was everywhere.
It was in the way people spoke, the way they lowered their voices in public, the way they carefully avoided looking at the empty buildings where their neighbors used to live. It was in the tired, empty smiles of the shopkeepers who still worked, who still followed the rules, who still counted themselves among the fortunate. It was in the endless banners, the flags, the news reports that cycled the same images over and over again—marching soldiers, cheering crowds, captured traitors, cities reduced to rubble.
And it was in the silence.
The silence of the streets, where laughter had once existed.
The silence of the apartment halls, where children no longer played.
The silence of the world beyond the borders, the world that no longer acknowledged them.
She had nothing left to fight with.
She had no money, no power, no voice.
She had seen what happened to those who resisted.
She had seen the black vans parked outside government buildings, seen the way the enforcers moved through the streets, rounding up the dissenters, the flagged, the ones who had dared to ask too many questions.
She had seen what happened to Alex.
No trial. No charges. Just gone.
She didn’t want to disappear.
But she didn’t know how to exist like this.
Giving In
She reached for her phone, flipped it over in her palm, pressed the power button out of habit.
Nothing.
The battery had died hours ago. She hadn’t bothered to charge it.
She set it back down beside her and stared into the darkness. She could hear the distant hum of drones overhead, the low murmur of a television from another apartment, the sound of boots on pavement as patrols moved through the streets.
The Circle provides.
The Circle protects.
The Circle secures your future.
The words echoed in her head, filling the empty space where her resistance had once been.
Maybe it really was her fault.
Maybe the Circle had saved them.
Maybe if she had just listened, just obeyed, just believed, she wouldn’t be here.
Maybe Alex really was a traitor.
She felt sick.
She knew what was happening.
She had seen it happen to others.
She had watched them crumble, one by one, until there was nothing left of who they used to be. Until they had become what the Circle needed them to be.
And now, she was becoming one of them.
She closed her eyes.
The propaganda never stopped. The war never ended. The Circle remained.
And she was tired.
For the first time in her life, she let herself believe the words.
The Circle provides.
The Circle protects.
The Circle secures your future.
And finally, finally, she let it happen.
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