Lights flash and the alarm's high pitched beeping gnaws at my eardrums as I sprint out the door and down the hallway. My throat tightens. People are coming behind me. Chasing me.

This is the last thing I expected to happen today, but I don't have time to stop and think.

She told me to run.

So I run.

All the doors in the hallway look the same. Although with the strobing lights and blaring alarm, my eyes can't focus on anything as I pass.

When I reach the end of the hall, I turn.

Then, I see it: a bright red exit sign with an arrow pointed at a door.

Footsteps pound down the hallway, a deep thrum underlying the high-pitched wail of the sirens.

I sprint towards the sign to the stairs, grab the handle, and throw my shoulder against the door.

Boom! A dull pain travels down the length of my upper arm as I thud against unmoving metal.

I yank hard on the handle and pull, but it doesn't budge.

It's locked.

Footsteps sound from the other direction, seemingly coming from everywhere. They're closing in.

I jiggle the handle as hard as I can. "Please, please, please."

No luck.

I look down at the plastic card the orderly gave me. It's about the same size and weight as my ID card that tracks my credits and grants me access to my room. Like most teenagers, I've used it to slip a lock before when sneaking back into my dorm building after curfew. Usually with Marcy by my side.

Maybe I can do something similar now. I grip the plastic card, ready to slide it between the door and the jamb. But then I notice a black box on the wall.

It's a card reader.

I tap the plastic rectangle against the box and there is the distinctive sound of a bolt unlocking.

Bingo!

The handle turns and I dart into the staircase, kicking the door closed behind me.

However, my moment of relief is short-lived. As I race down the poorly lit flight of stairs, there is a bang followed by a beep and a click.

They're on my heels.

I run my hand along the banister to make sure I don't fall, taking the stairs two steps at a time.

The orderly told me to head to the basement. But what do I do when I get there?

I try to remember what else she said to me, but I can't focus with the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

As I descend down the stairs, I accidentally bang a large pipe running vertically up one corner of the stairwell with my hand. It's surprisingly warm.

"Stop!" a man's voice shouts behind me, reverberating off the cement walls. Then there is the static of walkie-talkies. There must be more of them coming.

I've been in trouble before, but nothing like this. The terror shooting down my spine, propelling my legs forward, isn't like anything I've felt before.

I pass an unmarked door, take a risk, and pull.

It opens easily, swinging in. But instead of darting down the unknown hall, I leave it open behind me and continue running, gliding on the banister for short spurts.

Then I stop.

There is a crevice next to the big pipe. Can I slide in next to it and hide?

I shake my head, making a split second decision. Too risky.

I keep going, and as I continue my descent, there is some confusion above me.

"The door's open!" a muffled voice shouts.

"Split up!" someone else commands.

They are making so much commotion that they don't hear me below. My light sneakers make much less noise than their clunky boots.

But then there are heavy steps. The static of walkies. Below me, a door slams open. More shouts.

I'm trapped.

There is no choice now. I dart to the next landing with the large pipe and squeeze myself into its shadow. The metal is hot against my face, but I ignore the discomfort and scoot in until my shoulder hits cement.

I'm grateful that I'm wearing black.

Gripping the pipe for strength, I imagine the contours of my body melting into it, blending in until I'm invisible. I hold my breath, but I don't dare close my eyes.

Their boots get louder, and so does their heavy breathing. A staticky voice asks for updates. And then three large security guards rush by my hiding spot without slowing down.

But that doesn't relax me.

On the next landing, the two groups of guards meet.

"Any sign? Over."

There is a click, followed by static. Then a crackling voice comes back through the speaker. "No. Not yet. Over."

"Dammit."

"Well, she couldn't have vanished. She's somewhere around here," a female voice responds.

There is a slight pause.

I wince as the heat from the pipe burns my cheek. I'm not sure how much longer I can stay here.

"Okay team, you three take the elevator to the roof. We'll sweep this floor. We'll find her."

Then a door opens. When it shuts, I'm surrounded by silence.

Slowly, I inch myself out into the stairwell, staying against the outer wall. I stick to the shadows, keeping my footsteps light.

By the time I reach the basement, my legs are rubber.

Before I can catch my breath or even look around, a piece of metal scrapes against cement. I jerk my head and notice a chain-link fence blocking off the space under the last flight of stairs.

Something moves and I jump back, ready to bolt.

But then an orderly steps from out of the shadows. "Good, you made it. I was getting worried," he says.

He is wearing a cap that covers his hair and a surgical mask that hides his face. Dressed like that, they are all just interchangeable medical interns; understudies a few years older than I am, hoping to one day be a counselor or a surgeon.

"Who are you?" I ask, my eyes shifting around.

Instead of answering, he lowers his mask to show me his face.

In the dim light, his features are bathed in shadow, but I can tell that a stripe of his goatee is dyed a light purple. Lavender. Just like the orderly who told me to run's lipstick.

"Okay," I say, taking a deep breath. "What's going on?"

"I know you are confused," he says, just above a whisper. He holds out his palms, beseeching. "But trust me, I'm here to help you."

I nod, but I don't understand why I need help. Why I needed to run. Why I was chased.

Suddenly, in the relative safety of the basement, the weight of what's happened crashes down on my shoulders, and I'm hit with a tidal wave of questions. Words jumble and churn in my mind. The realization that the trajectory of my life has been irrevocably changed is crushing.

Then, out of the darkness, one thought glows brighter than the others–Marcy.

We had plans to celebrate this evening. How am I going to explain this to her? Is it even safe anymore to go home to her?

"This isn't supposed to be happening," I whine.

As the sound echoes off the walls, the orderly's eyes glance up the stairwell. He raises a finger to his lips, then waves for me to follow him as he takes a step back into the shadows beyond the chain-link fence.

I hesitate.

There is a bang above me. A door slams, and boots hit the stairs.

I clench my eyes shut for the length of one inhale, and then leap through the gate and into the unknown.

The orderly grabs my sleeve right below the shoulder and guides me deeper into a hidden passageway. As the darkness becomes total, the ground below my feet turns gritty. Cracked cement gives way to gravel and dirt. The air becomes still and musty.

The silence is all enveloping as the walls absorb the echo of our shoes. When the tunnel narrows and my arm swings against padding, I understand that the tunnel is insulated–sound-proofed.

Soon enough, the path curves and there is a light ahead. We exit the tunnel and come to train tracks. To our right, the tracks dead-end in a pile of boulders. But immediately to our left is an intact underground train station. It is expansive, with bright overhead lights.

The orderly lets go of me and wipes his hands on his pants. He crosses the tracks and climbs up to the platform.

"They're not electrified. Don't worry," he says.

I look around, marveling that such a massive space could be hidden under the streets that I have walked on every day of my life. Then, I follow. And in three quick steps, I'm on the platform too.

"So," I say. "Are you going to tell me what's going on now?"

He holds up one finger and beckons me to follow him over to a set of stairs that go straight into the ceiling. The upper floors have collapsed. When he sits down, he pats the space next to him.

"Less echoey right here," he explains. "But I don't have much time. I have to get back to my shift."

I sit. "Okay, well, can you start by telling me why I am running? Where are we going?"

"You saw the note on your file?" he asks.

"Yes." I nod. "But what does that mean?"

He takes a deep breath. "This is hard to explain. But a few years ago, I was exactly where you are now. So, I get it. What you want, what you are... Just know you are not alone."

I squint at him and study his thick eyebrows and stubbled cheeks. He's traditionally handsome and would easily blend in with a crowd, except for that one streak of color on his chin.

If he is like me, then I don't know what the problem is.

"Alone? I'm not asking for cat whiskers or snakes for hair. I just want to fit in." Frustration laces my words.

He lets out a small chuckle and shakes his head.

"Yup. I know. Trust me. But that's not how they see it. Or..." He looks up at the ceiling and his voice trails off, a flicker of pain crossing his face. Then, after a pause, he turns back towards me, his gaze intense.

"Listen, today is your Choosing Day, so let me present you with a choice: Go back down that tunnel, and go through with the procedure that they have planned for you. It's easier for them to change your mind to female than your body to male, so that's what they'll do. And, who knows, you might be perfectly happy. You'll definitely fit in. Or, you can listen to me, follow the directions, and get the body that matches who you are. You can love who you want to love. You can have freedom. It's your choice."

I take a moment to let his words sink in. But they bead up on my skin and don't absorb. It's too much. Too different from everything I've ever learned. All I've ever known.

"No," I say, my voice trembling but filled with determination, my fists clenched at my sides. "You get to choose what you want on your Choosing Day. That's what we're promised."

"Haven't you ever wondered why teenagers have such different ways of expressing themselves? Of being? Of loving?" He leans so close to me I can feel his body heat. "And then, once people turn twenty, they all look the same? All live the same?"

"Counselors don't let people make immature choices that they will regret," I say, parroting the explanation that has been drilled into me.

He shakes his head, his expression a mix of sadness and frustration. "Do you honestly believe that living as a man is an immature choice that you will regret?"

"No." I stand firm, but doubt is creeping in at the edges. "I–I just assumed–"

"Well, you assumed wrong," he interrupts, his tone firm yet compassionate. "And I'm sorry that I'm the one who has to break it to you. This is a shit decision. Trust me, trust me, I know it is. But we're running out of time. I need to keep this job so I can help as many people like us as I can find."

"Okay." I take a deep breath. "If I choose to trust you, if I listen, what is going to happen?"

"There is a group of us. A large group, always growing larger. We'll offer you sanctuary and the opportunity to get the body you deserve," he explains. "We're just beyond the city, to the south. When I am done with my shift, I'll take you there."

"Hold up," I say. "You guys aren't those anti-tech Luddites, are you?"

He laughs and strokes his goatee, making the lavender streak fade and replacing it with a rainbow. Then he strokes it again and all of his facial hair is the same chestnut brown as the tufts of hair peeking out from under his cap.

"We're big fans of tech. We just think you should get to choose how you use it."

Biotech. He has biotech!

In that moment, I know two things: one is that I will never let someone mess with my mind, but the other is that I am not leaving Dimstad without asking Marcy to come with me.

"Okay," I say, resolute. "How much longer is your shift?"

I'll need at least a few hours to find Marcy and for us to make it back here, downtown.

"My shift ends at five," he says. "But don't worry. You'll be safe here until then."

I nod; that's plenty of time. I glance around, looking for the exit.

The orderly must read my thoughts, because his expression becomes grave. He rests a firm hand on my shoulder.

"Do not leave this station if you plan to come with me. Do you understand? Either go back to the center and go through with their procedure, or wait here. Anything else would be a death sentence."

"I–" Under the heat of his glare, my plea for Marcy melts and sticks in my throat. I swallow. "I understand."

Whether he realizes it or not, he has provided me with an impossible choice. I don't know what would be worse: being in this body forever, or living a life without Marcy.

As he turns away to return to the Choosing Day Center, leaving me alone underground, I release a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

Now I just need to decide whether I'm willing to listen to his warning, or not.