Enhancement

- - 20 - -

My jaw practically hits the floor, and I stumble away from my syringe table. The men soon regain their senses of being, not scared or startled whatsoever. This is really bad. Really bad. The Enhancement Project is expanding its reign.

And I'm the accomplice.

The C.C. tells us to dismiss the men, and I do so without much of a choice. The vaccinated citizens head out of the barn, forming a quiet group as they filter out. By the look of their calm behavior, I decide the Project is letting them walk by themselves. At least for now.

I watch the men the entire time they exit, feeling myself descend secretly into hysteria. I can't continue to harm these people, but I can't refuse either. What am I kidding, I can't just not inject them. Not here, not now. I'll be dead within the second, screened or worse.

The urge to turn towards Stephen hits me like a Train crash. I know I can't turn around, or else the Project might somehow figure out the technology in me is damaged. If I do anything suspicious, then we might be punished or separated. I care so much about him that it takes every ounce of strength to shut him out for a minute.

The next round of patients enters the barn, all of them Screeners. Walking in tight ranks, they split up evenly between the stations in the large barn. The sight of them makes my fingers shake.

As three Screeners sit down at my station, I prepare more injections. Grabbing nine syringes and needles from the metal cabinet next to me, I click them into their correct spots as the Screeners talk behind me. My mind whizzes, bouncing between surrender, hostility, and Stephen.

A cocky female Screener says, "So I'm hoping I get reassigned to guard the farmlands."

A helmet clunks onto the ground as a male replies, "Me, too. That's where all the violence is anyway."

The same girl snorts. "Of course. That's probably where all these rebels are coming from. The fields have the least number of guards."

"Stupid lower-classes," the second girl mutters. "They better wise up before we have no buildings left."

"I want to shoot every one of 'em," the boy declares in agreement. "Everyone knows that they're the ones trying to terrorize society."

But how could they get control of the broadcasts and set up those bombs, I think silently, helplessly sliding another needle into place. The bombers I saw that day didn't look like lower-class citizens. Some of them looked skinny and dirty, almost...

"Dead," one of the Screeners says. "They should all be hung for treason like that other bitch."

My fingers clamp around the final syringe, a hard-set glare ingrained in my face. That's my mom they're talking about. My own mom.

"Uh, hello?" the mouthy Screener says, knocking me out of my thoughts. "Are you going to give us our vaccines or not?"

I turn around, facing the three of them. "Unless you'd rather have me mix up these syringes and kill you?" I snap.

No reply.

"That's what I thought," I huff, grabbing few injectors. I bend to my knees, aligning my syringe with one of the male's temples.

"Any day now," he smirks.

I push the needle in his skin as hard as I can. He jumps, his eyes watering.

"Better?" I ask. He doesn't say anything. I do the same to the other two girls.

"Just remember," I say as I vaccinate the male's other temple, "that no one is below you."