The night sky over Silicon Valley buzzed with drones, a constant, artificial starlight cast down from Damian Sinclair’s floating fleet. Like his mind, they were ever watchful, scanning, analyzing, bending the shadows to reveal every hidden movement. Below, in his quiet glass tower, Damian watched the city pulse to his rhythm—a symphony of algorithms and innovations, all in his image. His reflection in the window seemed ageless, unchanging, a mere echo of his own genetic perfection. Somewhere, in cryogenic storage far beneath his feet, lay millions of embryos, each one a small monument to his genius. For Damian, this was no mere experiment. It was his greatest work—his legacy—crafted cell by cell to outlive them all.

A red button flashed on Damian’s desk. Damian strolled over and leaned into the microphone. “Yes, Tara?”

“Mr. Sinclair,” a cool voice breathed, “They’re ready for you.”

He cracked his neck and marched over to his office’s elevator. A grin slowly crept onto his face on the way down to the Keynote Arena. The doors opened to the sound of thunderous applause coming from behind the thick, silver curtain. Damian grabbed a microphone from a meek assistant, stepped through the curtain, and took in the sight of thousands of his admirers, from industry figures to reporters to the lucky few fans that had coughed up the ten grand it took to secure a seat there.

“My friends, today we are gathered to witness history in the making.” He could see a wave of spectators leaning in on the edge of their seats.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you today not as a mere innovator or CEO, but as a steward of our collective future. We live in an age of incredible achievement and unparalleled fragility. Our world is more connected, more technologically advanced than ever before—and yet, we’re more vulnerable to global threats: climate catastrophes, pandemics, political instability, rampant infertility. One unfortunate crisis, one moment of oversight, and the diverse tapestry of human achievement could unravel.” He paused, letting the silence stretch as he scanned their faces, leaning in, hungry to know his next words. “And only we—yes, we here—can prevent that.”

Behind him, a giant screen showed a cell failing to undergo meiosis, shriveling in a petri dish. It was replaced by a plump infant smiling down at the audience with icy blue eyes.

“That’s why I created Project Genesis, a comprehensive repository of the human gene pool, a vault designed to secure the full spectrum of humanity’s diversity. In this vault, we will store the DNA of individuals from every background, every corner of the globe. It’s a legacy library, preserving the finest details of who we are for generations to come.

“Imagine a future—a hundred, even a thousand years from now—when unforeseen events have altered the face of the Earth, and there’s a need to restore humanity’s genetic essence. Future generations will look to Project Genesis as the beacon of their heritage, able to rebuild a diverse, vibrant human population with all of our strengths and talents intact.

“This isn’t about me. It isn’t about you. It’s about the survival of humanity’s best qualities. Every artist, every scientist, every teacher, every visionary—we are collecting the DNA of pioneers and everyday heroes alike so that humanity will always have a path forward, no matter what happens.” Images of Aristotle, Leonardo da Vinci, and Albert Einstein flashed on the screen. The images faded away to reveal a video feed that panned across the audience.

“Project Genesis isn’t a replacement for human life; it’s a safety net. A precaution. And as your steward, I believe it’s my duty to take this step now. Because if we don’t preserve ourselves, who will?” The crowd roared with excitement.

“You may recall providing a DNA sample with your entry here today. My gift to you all is that each one of you will be part of the first generation of this monumental archive. You will be the mothers and fathers of the future, regardless of the limitations biology may have placed on you.”

A collective gasp escaped from the audience and made way for another round of applause. Damian’s grin grew wider. The crowd didn’t know the first phase was already complete.

Damian walked back behind the curtain and took the elevator back to his office. He pressed a button on his desk and a large monitor lowered down from the ceiling. The news was already buzzing about his announcement. Headlines scrolled across the screen. “Eccentric CEO pledges to save the world.” “Sinclair Enterprises, the nexus between humanity and progress.” “Damian Sinclair champions biodiversity.”

Damian leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together. “Savior of the world” sure had a nice ring to it. It was true, too. At least, it would feel true to the citizens of the world. They would get to feel important and useful, which is as close to a sense of purpose as any mere human could hope for in the modern age.

Damian believed in the power of predictability and perfection. He felt that entropy was an unavoidable eventuality in a chaotic world, but it was his own purpose to harness that random disorder and turn it into a force for good—his own definition of the common good, that is. Human beings were messy, flawed, dangers to themselves and others. Replacing humanity with clones was a necessary evil—and “evil” itself? Such a subjective word.

- - - - - - - - - -

That night, Damian could hardly sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about the millions of new beginnings resting safely in cryogenic freezers in the sub-basement. The first trials had been massively successful. All key performance metrics had been easily met, and not a whisper of it had escaped the top-secret lab. He felt the urge to check on his little ones.

Damian had a dozen children scattered across the world, each born via a carefully chosen surrogate. Each surrogate had been handsomely paid to bring progeny into the world, though a couple had turned down the money, as they felt it was a sufficient honor to give Mr. Sinclair the gift of life. He didn’t have relationships with these children. When they came of age, they would receive access to a hefty trust set up in their names. Until then, they were of little use to him. He would bring them out for photo ops to maintain his carefully constructed image of Damian Sinclair, benefactor and father to the modern world.

But these embryos—these were all his. When the time was right to release the rest into the world, he would release his tight grasp on their cryogenic chambers and unleash them throughout the planet—and beyond. Space was the final frontier, and he had already begun populating it with various satellites and probes in anticipation of a global catastrophic event. It was only a matter of time until humans finished wrecking the great planet they had been undeservedly gifted.

Damian pulled back the black silk sheets and stepped into his gilded slippers. He stopped at the wall of windows and took in the sight of his empire. Below, skyscrapers reached up toward his tower up above, obscuring the colonies of humans marching on the drab pavement underneath. Their lives were so… inconsequential. So meaningless until the moment Damian had deigned to give them something to hope for.

He pulled a white lab coat over himself. He hadn’t checked on the babies since the big announcement. Damian padded over to the elevator and clicked the button that led him down to the sub-basement. He felt the air grow colder and his breath crystallize into the air as he descended.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. He stepped into the gleaming white corridor and the doors closed behind him. He made his way down the long hall and past the row of heavy metal doors. He stopped with his right foot still hovering over a miniscule speck of dust on the white marble floor. He cursed the cleaning crew under his breath and vowed to relieve someone of their duties the next morning. Damian stepped over the impurity and toward the gold door at the end of the hall, the imperfection still fixed firmly in his mind.

He scanned his lanyard at the door and it slid open to reveal a massive laboratory. Rows of giant freezers stretched through the lab and lined every wall. He turned to a screen next to the door reading -272.5º C and frowned. This would not do. The embryos had to sit at exactly Absolute Zero to be preserved until their deployment. He angrily tapped at the screen to set it to -273.15º C.

Damian strolled through the rows of freezers and held a hand up to the frosty glass. Here laid the next step for humanity. The culmination of his decades of hard work. As he strolled past each cryogenic chamber, his gaze softened to a faint smile. Here lay the next step for humanity, his meticulously designed children, preserved at the very edge of absolute zero. And it was all his. His legacy.

During the day, few people had the privilege of access to this secret unit—only the top scientists and trusted engineers he had hand-picked. During the night, the place was empty. This was his sanctuary, where he could shout his dreams and lofty ambitions out to no one but his army of embryos.

Reaching out, he pressed a palm to the frosty glass, whispering to the embryos, “One day, little ones. One day, you’ll have the world. And when you do… it will be my world.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Damian Sinclair leaned back in his leather chair, the faint hum of the supercomputers below vibrating through his feet. The applause from the keynote still echoed faintly in his mind, a distant roar of validation that never quite filled the void. Validation was fleeting; progress was eternal. He opened a holographic interface on his desk, scrolling through the latest updates on Project Genesis. Every metric exceeded expectations, and yet, the numbers brought him no comfort. They never did.

Sinclair’s gaze drifted to the skyline, the city below sparkling like stars on a clear night. Each light represented a piece of his empire: the research labs, the data centers, the production facilities. To the world, they were monuments to innovation. To him, they were merely tools.

His mind wandered to his early years, back when humanity’s chaos still held sway over his life. He thought of the polluted skies of his childhood, the food shortages that wracked his small town, the global leaders paralyzed by inaction. He had watched his neighbors struggle, their lives consumed by forces beyond their control. They had been good people, but goodness had not saved them. Progress would have.

Damian’s ancestors believed in hard work and fairness, values he came to see as quaint and obsolete. By the time he was 20, he’d abandoned their ideals entirely and joined his father’s empire. His father was an unkind man, a man who shared his beliefs about how humanity had to be reined in and controlled for its own good. The future wasn’t for the weak, the fair, or the sentimental. It was for those willing to bend the world to their will.

Damian came from a long line of entrepreneurs, all starting with a stake in various diamond mines throughout the world. Perhaps you’ve heard of them. They were the ones responsible for the advertising campaign that led billions of women to expect their partners to get down on one knee and present them with a sparkling diamond as proof of their never-ending love. It was pure manipulation of the masses, forcing hordes of young men into debt to prop up the Sinclair Mining Company. Today, the mines were still in operation and kept running with the blood of the poor who had no other choice but to risk their lives and limbs to dig shiny rocks out of the ground.

But the Sinclairs today were more often known for their tech empire, which had been in the making since the dawn of the first computer. They were known for bringing the digital era to the public, from the personal computer to the smartphone and then artificial intelligence engines. Now, it was nearly impossible to find a corner of the world that the Sinclairs had not helped mold. They built hospitals operated by artificial intelligence, lobbied hard with governments around the world to get favorable national contracts, and gradually built the modern skyline.

Damian’s hands rested on the smooth arms of the chair as the hologram shifted to a live feed from the Genesis Vault. Rows upon rows of cryogenic chambers stood in perfect formation, bathed in the sterile glow of LED lights. Inside each chamber was an embryo, genetically optimized and meticulously crafted. His legacy, cell by cell.

A sharp pang of satisfaction coursed through him. These embryos weren’t just his children; they were his ideals incarnate. Their genes carried the essence of his intellect, his resilience, his vision. They were humanity’s next step, freed from the bonds of randomness, entropy, and inefficiency.

“Entropy,” he muttered under his breath, the word bitter on his tongue. He tapped a control, zooming in on a specific chamber. “The enemy of order. The enemy of progress.”

If the trials succeeded, this technology would accelerate humanity’s evolution exponentially. They would be freed from the shackles of natural human error and propelled into a brighter future, a future that was shaped by Sinclair’s hand. Widespread trials had been in progress for decades now, but full execution of the Sinclair Protocol was still in the works. There were still some kinks to work out to ensure that the subjects’ behavior was programmed as intended.

Sinclair opened another interface, this one displaying global headlines. Economic instability in Europe. Protests in South America. Rising infertility rates worldwide. Each headline was another reason why humanity needed him. The chaos outside reinforced the necessity of his work. Without him, the world would burn itself out in a matter of decades.

His public narrative was carefully crafted to position him as humanity’s steward. “Damian Sinclair, the savior of the species,” the headlines proclaimed. The public didn’t need to know the details, the uncomfortable truths about the calculated elimination of diversity. They couldn’t understand.

He skimmed a report on fertility clinics run by his subsidiary, LifeBridge Labs. Their recruitment program was running ahead of schedule. Thousands of couples, desperate for children, had unknowingly contributed their participation to Project Genesis. Sinclair smirked. “A simple trade: their hope for my future.”

For all his confidence in the project, Sinclair wasn’t blind to the risks. Human beings, even in their perfected forms, carried the seeds of rebellion. He’d read the reports of minor irregularities among the early clones—flashes of independence, moments of unpredictability. It was a weakness he couldn’t tolerate.

He glanced at the data on DS-A015, a clone stationed in the cognitive testing division. The logs showed subtle deviations from expected behavior. Nothing dramatic, but enough to trigger his concern. He made a note to have the subject’s parameters adjusted. “Perfection requires vigilance,” he reminded himself.

The door to his office slid open, and Tara, his chief strategist, stepped inside. She carried a sleek tablet, her professional demeanor failing to mask the underlying adoration. At this point, Sinclair practically expected to see it on his underlings’ faces. After all, why wouldn’t they revere their fearless leader? They should be thanking him for all he did for the planet.

“The Vault expansion is ahead of schedule,” she reported. “And the AI deployment in South Asia is complete. We’ve seen a 22% reduction in energy consumption since the rollout.”

“Good,” Sinclair replied, his voice measured. “And the behavioral imprint trials?”

Tara hesitated. “We’re seeing… some anomalies. Minor deviations in cognitive patterns. Nothing to suggest instability, but enough to warrant further observation.”

Sinclair leaned forward. “Define ‘anomalies.’”

“Certain subjects are exhibiting faint traces of independent decision-making. It’s likely just noise in the data, but we’re running diagnostics to be sure.”

“Run them again,” he ordered. “There’s no margin for error.”

Tara lowered her eyes and nodded at the floor. After she left, Sinclair activated the wall screen, filling his office with projections of the future. The simulations depicted sprawling cities powered by clean energy, genetically engineered crops thriving in barren soils, and a society free from war and poverty. Many of the human figures in these images shared his cold blue gaze, like staring into a glacier.

He watched the simulations with a mixture of pride and melancholy. The final stage of the world he was building would never be his to inhabit. It wasn’t about him, not really. At least that’s what he told himself. It was about the legacy he would leave behind—a humanity perfected, freed from the chaos of its origins.

Sinclair poured himself a glass of whiskey, staring at the glowing city below. He thought of the sacrifices he’d made, the lies he’d told, the lives he’d manipulated. “History will judge me,” he said aloud, raising the glass. “But history doesn’t build itself. Progress demands a price.”

His android assistant stepped stiffly forward from its position against the wall. “Right you are, sir. And we thank you for your courage.”

As midnight approached, Sinclair received a notification on his wrist terminal. The Vault expansion team required his approval to proceed to Phase Two. He descended into the sub-basement, where the cold air nipped at his face. The sight of the Vault always filled him with quiet awe—a tangible representation of his life’s work.

He stopped in front of one of the Vault’s chambers, placing a hand on the glass. “You’ll finish what I started,” he whispered. “When the world is ready, you’ll show them the way.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Damian Sinclair entered the executive elevator at precisely 7:00 a.m., as he did every morning. The elevator, a custom-built capsule of glass and steel, provided an uninterrupted view of the city below. For most, the sight would have been a moment of inspiration or serenity. For Sinclair, it was a daily reminder of his dominion.

He tapped his wrist terminal, bringing up the morning’s agenda in a holographic display. Every second of his day had been meticulously planned by his assistant, Tara, under his explicit instructions. Nothing was left to chance. Efficiency wasn’t just a goal—it was the foundation of his empire.

The boardroom at Sinclair Enterprises was a cathedral of innovation. Its walls were embedded with dynamic displays showcasing real-time data from every department: production metrics, R&D updates, and global market trends. Sinclair strode into the room, his tailored, deep blue suit a sharp contrast to the muted tones of the room.

“Good morning,” he began, his tone curt. The team of department heads nodded in unison, their laptops glowing in front of them. Tara stood at his side, tablet in hand, ready to support his every command.

“Let’s begin with the Vault expansion,” he said, eyes scanning the room.

A man with thinning hair and nervous hands stood to present. “The expansion is progressing as scheduled. However, we encountered a minor delay in—”

“Stop,” Sinclair interrupted, his voice slicing through the air. “Delays are unacceptable. Define ‘minor.’”

The man fumbled with his words. “A… shipment of cryogenic units was delayed due to a logistics error. We’ve already—”

“An error,” Sinclair repeated, his gaze narrowing. “Do you understand what this project represents? What’s at stake? Logistics errors are not ‘minor.’ They’re cracks in the foundation.”

The man paled. “I’ll ensure it doesn’t happen again, Mr. Sinclair.”

“You’ll ensure it’s fixed,” Sinclair said coldly. “Today.”

“Today? Y-yes, of course, sir,” the man stuttered.

After the meeting, Sinclair returned to his office, a sprawling glass enclosure at the top of the tower. He stood by the window, watching the city pulse with life. The faint sound of drones patrolling the skies provided a constant reminder of the control he’d imposed on this world—his world. His desk lit up with a notification: a coding anomaly detected in one of the AI systems overseeing the Vault. Sinclair’s jaw tightened. He pressed a button on his desk, summoning the engineer responsible to his office.

Within minutes, a young man in his early twenties arrived, his face flushed with anxiety. He carried a tablet, clutching it like a shield. “Mr. Sinclair,” the engineer stammered, “you wanted to see me?”

Sinclair didn’t look up from the holographic display in front of him. “Your name.”

“Adrian Stevens, sir.”

“Adrian,” Sinclair said, testing the name as if deciding its worth. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“I—I believe it’s about the anomaly in the AI system, sir.” Of course, Adrian didn’t know what exactly the AI system was meant to govern. He was fed a story about it controlling general company operations.

Sinclair finally looked at him, his piercing gaze enough to make Adrian shift uncomfortably. “Not ‘anomaly.’ Say the word.”

“Error, sir.”

“Correct.” Sinclair leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Errors are unacceptable. Do you know why?”

Adrian swallowed hard. “Because they disrupt progress.”

“Disrupt?” Sinclair’s voice was a low growl. “They sabotage it. They undermine the vision, the future. This ‘error’—this lapse in your oversight—could jeopardize the integrity of the entire company.”

Adrian’s face turned crimson. “I—I understand, sir. I’ve already started debugging the system and—”

“Stop,” Sinclair snapped. He stood, towering over Adrian. “I don’t want excuses. I want results. You have two hours to fix this. If you can’t, I’ll find someone who can.”

“Yes, sir.” Adrian nodded rapidly, clutching his tablet as if it were a lifeline.

“Dismissed.”

As Adrian hurried out of the office, Sinclair sat down, his jaw tightening. He despised inefficiency, but what he hated even more was incompetence. He made a mental note to monitor Adrian’s progress closely.

Later that morning, Sinclair descended to the primary laboratory floor. The lab buzzed with activity, a symphony of whirring machines and hushed conversations. Engineers in white coats moved like clockwork, their movements precise and synchronized. As Sinclair entered, the room fell silent. Conversations stopped and heads turned. His presence was a force field of authority, demanding attention without words.

“Dr. Mendez,” Sinclair called.

A middle-aged scientist with graying hair approached, his expression laced with caution. “Mr. Sinclair, welcome.”

“Walk me through the imprint trials,” Sinclair ordered.

Dr. Mendez led him to a workstation where rows of data scrolled across a holographic display. “The latest batch of memory-echo testing shows promising results. The imprints are integrating seamlessly into the subjects’ neural pathways, with a 94% retention rate of targeted experiences.”

“Six percent failure,” Sinclair muttered as he turned up his nose. “Unacceptable.”

“It’s a vast improvement over previous iterations,” Mendez offered, his voice hinting at fear.

“‘Improvement’ is not perfection,” Sinclair said. “Every failure is a liability. Identify the outliers and eliminate the variables.”

“Yes, Mr. Sinclair.”

Sinclair continued his tour of the lab, inspecting every detail. He paused at a station where a junior engineer was calibrating a device. The engineer’s hands trembled slightly under Sinclair’s watchful eye.

“Steady hands,” Sinclair said sharply. “Precision is everything.”

“Yes, sir,” the engineer murmured, focusing intently on her task.

Back in his office, Sinclair reviewed the day’s reports. Every department was a cog in the vast machine he had built, and he monitored each one relentlessly. His assistants knew better than to bring him anything less than complete transparency. A notification appeared on his desk interface: Adrian Stevens had resolved the coding error in the Vault’s AI. Sinclair reluctantly allowed himself a brief nod of approval before noting the next task. Adrian would not receive praise—results were expected, not celebrated.

As the day wound down, Sinclair poured himself a glass of scotch. The skyline was painted in shades of gold and crimson, the city below bathed in the glow of the setting sun. He thought of the embryos in the Vault, suspended in a state of perfect preservation. They were his legacy, his solution to the chaos of humanity. And yet, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered doubts. Was perfection truly attainable? Could he ever trust the system he had created to function without him? Sinclair dismissed the thoughts, taking a long sip of his drink. Doubt was a weakness he could not afford.

---------------------

Note—This is a full novel I've written that I'm working on getting a literary agent for. Please message me if you're interested.

"Why do I have to wear a uniform to school?" Chloe asked her mother.

"So, everyone knows who you are." was the answer her mother gave back to her.

"But I'll look like everyone else." Chloe protested.

"That is true." Her mother conceded, "and you will belong. No one will question you."

"I want to look different. I want to be able to express myself." Chloe continued making her points.

"No, you don't." Her mother corrected, "You want to fit in and be appreciated for who you are. No body cares who you are, they only care that you fit in. You can try to assert yourself over the group and when you do, they will not accept you."

"But how do I get noticed?" Chloe's pleaded.

"By fitting in." Chloe's mother answered.

"That doesn't make any sense. How do I get noticed if I'm like everyone else, if everyone's the same, nobody gets noticed" Chloe shot back.

"Do you notice people?" Chloe's mother asked.

"Yes." Chloe answered.

"What caused you to notice them?" Chloe's mother continued.

"They fit in." Chloe's found herself responding.

"If you want to fit in, do what they are doing." Chloe's mother advised.

"Okay, I'll try." Chloe answered.

"That's my girl." Chloe's mother encouraged.

Chloe was wearing a school uniform. It comprised of a white button-up shirt on top and a dark green skirt below and black sandals. While she was completely unaware of it, the boys very much paid attention to her as she walked from one class to the next mesmerized by the sway of her hips.

The boy's uniform was similar to the girls, they also wore a white shirt but instead of wearing a skirt they wore dark green slacks with black dress shoes. They were also required to wear a monotone-colored tie.

To open the school day, all the students paid tribute to their glorious leader. The state protected and provided for them, and it was their duty to show their gratitude. Through the wisdom of their glorious leader, they lived a life of meaning and service.

A huge picture of the glorious leader hung in the entrance of their school. It was the first thing anyone saw when they entered its illustrious halls, and it reminded everyone who was responsible for their prosperous way of life. Sometimes Chloe would stop and stare at the young, tall, handsome figure who risked everything to make all their lives better. He deserved to be praised, she thought. He had taken the most risk and they all benefitted from that. They should be grateful. Chloe learned about how greed and commercialism almost destroyed civilization in the dark times. Chloe learned how whole populations were discarded as if they were cattle and made to serve the whims of people who used their power for selfish ambitions.

There were basic reading and writing lessons and some lessons to do with math, but the part of the day Chloe loved most of all was learning how to cook. The glorious leader had commented on many occasions that the people needed to be able to take care of themselves and not being able to cook was a major problem in the dark times. So, he mandated that every person must be able to cook. Chloe didn't want to let the glorious leader down by not being able to cook.

Chloe also felt the desire to be an individual. She didn't exactly hate the uniforms, but she wanted to choose what she wore. She was getting older, and she wanted to show the world that she wasn't like everyone else. However, the pressure to maintain appearance were too strong for her to outright disobey, so she buried her frustration for the good of society. This she did daily.

One day her best friend Kristen, noticed she wasn't her usual self. "Hey, what's wrong?" She asked.

"I don't know" Chloe answered.

"I was feeling kind of down and I met someone who helped me. I think they can help you too. I'm going to be seeing them today, why don't you come with me?" Kristen offered.

"I don't know. You know how my mom doesn't like me being with people she doesn't know." Chloe answered.

"Yeah, I know." Kristen said sympathetically, "But I think she really can help."

Chloe didn't answer so Kristen tried genteelly persuading her, "I promise I will be with you the whole time."

"You promise." Chloe asked for assurance.

"I promise. You won't regret it." Kristen said sweetly.

"Okay" Chloe finally relented.

Chloe and Kristen went to a part of town that Chloe had never been to before. She was starting to feel a bit apprehensive about it. They came to the door of what looked like a long-abandoned building in need of a lot of repairs. Kristen knocked on the door. After a few moments the door opened, and they went inside. Once inside they heard music. Chloe had never heard anything like it before. It almost sounded like noise, but it had rhythm and a beat. Chloe and Kristen came to a large room where a lot of other kids her age was moving their bodies to this strange music. A girl noticed Kristen and greeted both of them.

"So, is this the girl you were telling me about?" The strange girl asked.

"Yeah, I think she's ready to join the underground." Kristen answered.

Chloe looks at the strange girl. She didn't wear a uniform. She wore clothes that Chloe hadn't seen before, and she was the only one who was wearing them. She looked around and noticed that all the kids were wearing something different, and they all stood out to her.

"Do you want to take off that uniform?" The strange girl asked. Chloe just nodded,

"Then follow me."

The strange girl led Chloe into a changing room. There were all kind of different clothes on hangers. "Try on whatever you like." The girl said, "hang up your uniform and when you are ready to leave, just change back."

Chloe started trying on clothes. She wanted to try on everything. She wanted to see how everything looked on her. It took her about an hour to decide but she finally did it. When she walked out on the floor where everyone was dancing, she felt like an individual rather than part of the collective.

"What do I do now?" She asked once she got to the floor.

"Just feel the music and move your body." The strange girl told her.

"But I don't know how to do that." Chloe protested.

"You'll get the hang of it." The strange girl answered, "Just try and relax." Kristen had also changed out of her school uniform, and she just started moving her body. Chloe tried mimicking her. She felt really self-conscious. The strange girl smiled; it was always the same, but she knew it wouldn't take long. Chloe noticed there were also boys there, but she didn't notice at first. The reason why was because all the strange clothes blended together, and you really had to look at someone to tell who they were. She saw kids there from her school and she saw kids from other schools.

"What is this place?" Chloe finally got the nerve to ask.

"It's a place to go when you want to just be yourself." The strange girl answered.

"Don't you worry about being caught?" Chloe followed up.

"There are worse things than being caught." The strange girl replied.

Someone came up and handed Chloe a drink.

"What's this?" Chloe asked.

"Just something to help you loosen up." The strange girl answered.

"Is it alcohol?" Chloe followed up. Alcohol was not permitted to minors and she had been well indoctrinated to stay away from it.

"Not exactly." The strange girl continued, "Alcohol is how the masses escaped in the past. This is how we do it in the future."

Chloe took a sip. It had a sweet fruity taste to it that she had to admit was good. She started feeling good and after about 10 minutes she started loosening up and was able to finally feel the music. It was the most amazing feeling she had ever had.

This went on for another good hour when the festivities were interrupted by a blast coming from somewhere outside. Moments after the blast, several adults, wearing the uniform of the official security forces, flooded into the warehouse and started capturing the kids there. No one resisted, they all knew better. Chloe was taken to a detention center and remained there for what seemed like hours. Finally, a young woman that Chloe had never met before took her out of detention. Chloe was taken to a room where her mother was there waiting for her. The three of them sat down.

"Chloe," The young woman began, "Since this is your first offense, we are releasing you to your mother. We know how much you want to follow our glorious leader, but we also know that sometimes young people get confused by their feelings. To help you, we have paired you up with another student who can help you work through your concerns. This person will help you sort out your feelings and provide an example of how you are to behave. You may go now."

Chloe and her mother left the detention center. For a long time neither of them spoke. Finally, Chloe had to break the silence. "I'm sorry mother for putting you through this shame." Chloe finally said.

"I know." Her mother answered, "Our glorious leader has given you mercy and you must show your gratitude by trying to mimic the mentor they are providing for you."

"I will try my best." Chloe confirmed. Chloe knew that she should have been punished more severely for her discretion. She was grateful that their glorious leader understood that sometimes people make mistakes.

Chloe entered the school building the next morning. She stopped in front of the portrait of the glorious leader. His confident, strong appearance gave Chloe courage. She reported to the front office and waited for her mentor. A girl was introduced to her. She looked familiar but she couldn't quite remember where she had seen her. She was dressed in the same school uniform that Chloe was wearing.

"Chloe" the administrator started, "This is Stephanie. She will be your mentor from now on. If you follow her example, you will make us all proud of you."

"Hi Chloe," Stephanie started, "I don't want you to feel bad about yourself. I was once caught like you were. I felt horrible and someone showed me the way just like I'm going to show you. Don't worry, you're in good hands with me." Stephanie spoke sweetly and smiled.

Chloe didn't answer. She was trying to remember where she saw this girl before. As they were walking to Chloe's first class, it finally hit her. This was the strange girl from the old warehouse. Chloe didn't know what to think.

“Get away from the window Laura.” Luke locked the door and shooed me away. He and David peered out. I pushed my head back up enough to get my eyes above the window sill, and there I saw Mama and Papa, standing on the other side of the street. I wondered why they didn’t stay inside the bakery, but now that I think about it, they were probably just going to run home to make sure we were safe. At the same time Mama and Papa ventured from the bakery, a girl, maybe three or four, ran out into the street. Later I learned that her name was Annabelle. She was lost and frightened by the noise, so she ran to the only place she knew: the church.

A bullet crashed through the window on the other side of our door. Luke pushed us away from it and closed the curtain. I grabbed the rifle and unlocked the door when Luke and David weren’t looking. I cracked it open and peeked out. One of the men in the brawl I recognized. He disliked Papa, and now, burning with rage, he saw his chance. To me, it was all in slow motion, though it all happened in a few seconds.

Papa saw the child stumbling across the street, and he ran after her. He swooped her into his arms, Mama behind him. BANG! Papa’s eyes opened wide, and he stumbled forward. As he fell, he put the terrified child in Mama’s arms. Screaming, my brothers and I rushed out of the house. We gathered around him, lying face down, blood pouring from the hole in his back. There was nothing we could do.

It would’ve been easy for our family to fall apart that day. Our stunned grief followed us wherever we went. It was a feeling we couldn’t shake, a weight we had to carry every day. Every morning we rose to lift that weight, but over time we got stronger, and the weight that seemed so heavy at first got a little easier to bear.

Mama was the strongest of us all. She held tight to God and saw to it that we helped each other through our grief. It hurts to think about that day, and the days following, but it was one of the most important parts of my life.. This event and the actions of my parents shaped me into who I am today, and as I grew older and approached the age of independence, I thought of my family when I thought of who I wanted to be. Like my father, like my mother, I wanted to do something important with my life. I just wish I knew earlier that the important things in life aren’t the big things, but the small ones. It wasn’t my father’s death that changed me, but how he lived every day of his life until the last moment.