The camera feed is restored to President Hybriad, my mother hidden in the background behind him. I try not to hyperventilate as the President reassures the country, calling all Screeners to fortify their guard. All I can focus on is the slight swinging of my Mom's body from behind the President's right shoulder. My mind refuses to block out the horrid sight.

To make matters worse, rebels just sent the nation a cryptic message. Are they really destined to hurt everyone, too? Will the bombings be the beginning of a new era of pain? I can't handle being attacked from every angle, whether it's Screeners, scientists, or rebels.

I don't process a word the President says in his video feed. My eyes unfocus from the screen, dazed. Then all of us Screeners are roughly rushed out of the room.

I blend into the buzzing crowd, and the C.C. leads us through a stream of gray hallways. My mind numbs as I follow the other Screeners into elevators. Before I know it, we're on the roof, boarding a SkyTrain.

I climb the ladder into the Train, choosing a random seat. It occurs to me after I sit that I should look for Stephen. So I crane my neck to search, but I can't find him. Weakly reassuring myself that he'll be fine, I try to relax without success.

The SkyTrain gains speed and zooms across the city. All the windows of the Train are 0 percent transparent compared to my usual 100 percent. I'm too afraid of touching the settings in fear of sticking out from the rest. It's an old habit I can't let go of.

I ignore the stupid window and focus on Stephen instead. It's a guarantee he boarded this Train, so he'll be okay, right? I hope he is. I can't stand being apart from him. We're a team, and I should have searched for him sooner.

"So how long were you a Screener exactly?" a female voice asks from beside me.

I jump, immediately facing the voice. It's a girl with auburn hair and sharp features, a stranger. "U-Uh, I'm an intern."

"Oh, so not that long."

I give her a wide-eyed look.

"I was just curious," she says smugly, picking at her red, glittery nails. She glances up at me.

I give her a wide-eyed look.

She sighs. "Okay, listen. I'm only interested in how you managed to get a Hybriad Star award at the age of, what, 14?"

"18," I correct her, my voice tapering off at the end. I actually missed my own 18th birthday. A small pang hits my heart. I'm suddenly reminded of my mom.

I struggle not to replay her execution in my head as the girl continues. "Fine, you're 18, but still. You don't strike me as the kind of person who would go for the kill shot."

Her eyes glance to my lap. "And what's wrong with your wrists?"

I look down at my hands. Rectangles of tattoo ink stare back at me. "It's makeup," I lie. "My stylist did it."

The Train pulls to a stop, and everyone rises from their seat. The girl forgets about our conversation immediately and hops into the exit line. I stand confused for a moment before feeling a hand in my shoulder. I jump, whipping my body to face Stephen.

Stephen.

"Hey," he breathes, dressed perfectly in a nice suit.

"Hey," I exhale, and that's all we can say before we're forced out of the Train, once again taking an elevator to the bottom floor. I manage to stand next to Stephen the entire way. Even though we get squished shoulder-to-shoulder, Stephen subtly wraps his right arm around me. Everything seems to fall into place. Except for the face that my mom is dead and terrorists could blow up my entire city. Plus the Enhancement Project is still functioning.

The C.C. leads us out of the elevator, and we exit the building, right on the edge of the city. Tall woods stretch upwards in front of us, and we walk down a familiar road. Within minutes, Stephen and I are facing the place where we first started: the barn-like building. The massive doors are swung wide open for us, but I remember a subtle detail. We exited the barn in Philadelphia, not Grand Rapids. I guess each city must have their own Screener barn.

My temples flare weakly, the volts barely causing me to flinch. But the uneven pattern of the electric makes my mind search for an explanation. I feel Stephen's hand leave mine, and my eyes immediately turn to him.

I swear under my breathe. Stephen's eyes are blank again, facing straight forwards. They've reduced him to a robot, a toy in which they can manipulate. But why aren't I a robot as well?

My jaw drops as gears whirl inside my head. It take all of my effort to restrain myself from trying to wake up Stephen. I face the back of the Screener in front of me. No one can know what I discovered. I think my Enhancement Project technology is... broken. Heat damage, maybe, from the bombs.

Small zaps tickle my temples. feeling more like raindrops than lightning. The dull volts soon subside, and I pray the Enhancement Project scientists don't figure it out. I don't want them to fix the technology.

I step into the giant barn, the framework identical to the one from my hometown. Hundreds of metal seats and tables fill the interior, forming small stations. The C.C. commands each of us to take a station, and I follow on Stephen's heels to the back of the barn. A second set of wide doors are sprawled open near us, giving us a beautiful view of the forest.

I stop for a few seconds to gaze at the scene before turning to my station. I wish I could just escape out the door and run away. Forget I was ever under this much control, this much pressure. I nearly laugh out loud; there's no such thing as freedom without control. Not now, not ever. It's all about order and timeliness.

"Everyone please put on your earpiece," C.C. Welsh declares faintly from the front of the room. I look down on the sterile metal table in front of me, picking up the small device and inserting it into my right ear. I narrowly resist glancing at Stephen.

"Okay," Welsh states. "This is going to be your only practice run for your new assignment. Keep in mind I'm telling you classified information, so don't discuss it again.

"The National Defense Group suspects a few remaining rebels will try to infect the country with a virus. Our labs have perfected an injection called a vaccine. We're going to train you to administer these vaccines."

The C.C. issues a series of instructions in which I follow without much of a choice. I prepare nine different syringes, six of them completely identical and three others resembling thinner, more medical-looking guns. I breathe out deeply and remain facing forward. As I listen to Welsh's directions, citizens file in.

Once every seat is occupied, both sets of doors slowly close. The industrial lighting from above causes everything to look paler than it normally would. I get a feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's the same feeling I had when I first met Stephen after being dumped onto the cold Project floor.

Okay, I remind myself dreadfully, tapping my fingers on the metal table, I can do this. Just insert the needles in the black dots.

I spin carefully to face three citizens, all of them strong men in their 20's. Each of them wear a different class color: white, gray, and black. They all glance at me, not saying a word.

I stifle a mumble before taking one of the syringes into my hands. Approaching the lower-class male, I align the syringe needle with the black dot of ink on his temple. I exhale and bend down onto my knees, injecting him with his first Vaccine. He tenses, then relaxes, then twitches. Ignoring the obvious, I administer the five other injections to the remaining unvaccinated temples.

I exhale again, grabbing the syringe gun. This time, I align it with the dot on the back of the lower class's neck. I curl my finger shakily around the trigger. Counting silently in my head, my fingers snap the trigger, the sound of plastic-on-plastic raising hairs on the back of my neck.

The man's posture stiffens and freezes. I grab the other two guns, each man reacting to their vaccine injections the exact same way. I don't think anything of it... until I see all of the men's eyes. Until I notice that every patient in the room is male. Until they all stand up at the exact same time, precisely in sync.

This is really bad.

"Congratulations, Screeners," the C.C. says into my earpiece. "You're all promoted."

-- -- -- -- --

'new position" won.

idk what else to say... this was a major chapter for Enhancement. more fun chapters are in store.

at least if you call mass control "fun".

Question: On a scale of 1-10, how much do you like Enhancement?

Follow-up Question: Choose a phrase: destination, altercation, or ordination

if you couldn't tell by now, I have a thing for suffixes and repetition when forming my questions. attractive, i know.

i honestly imagined the syringe-gun sounding like the gun they use to pierce your ears so you can wear earrings, at least in america. anyone else see what i'm saying?

p.s. THANKS FOR GETTING ENHANCEMENT TO RANK #69 IN SCIENCE FICTION! WE'RE CURRENTLY AT SCIFI #75! that all thanks to you, the reader! it's your award much more than it is mine. Let's keep going and try to rank even higher :)