As the pair stepped outside of the complex, Gabe was off-put. The air didn’t feel the same as it did on the surface. It wasn’t that the air was stagnant, but the breeze felt manufactured. Even on cold days in D.C., the biting wind was a welcoming change of pace from the office stuffiness, it helped Gabe refresh before making the walk to the apartment he shared with his parents.

The Compound had created a perfect human imitation of the world, but it was still human. Gabe felt a strange tinge at the back of his neck which he had not felt before. Despite the treatment everyone was giving him, he was still technically a prisoner. The manufactured air reminded him of his position. He was starting to feel like there was a reason he couldn’t get in the elevator.

Jace seemed to sense his discomfort and started walking. Gabe was starting to see Jace as more than just an unlikeable guy, he was the guard. Gabe wondered if Jace had compromised the mission Selima and Megan were apparently still finishing. It was possible his punishment was to act as a tour guide for the newcomer. Gabe became muddled in his uncertainty.

Gabe’s pace started to slow, and instead of continuing ahead, Jace matched his pace to remain by his side. The layers of arrogance were slowly starting to peel away and Gabe was starting to believe it had to do with “orders.” Gabe stepped away from Jace.

“What? You were excited to see me a second ago?” Jace said, forcing the words through his teeth as he spoke.

“You’re chipper this morning, or whenever this is,” Gabe said.

“We run a few hours behind D.C. here. About 12 PM your time.”

“No wonder I feel so groggy.”

“I figured I’d let you sleep. You seem to be quite fond of it, as I recall.”

Gabe felt a sliver of something like hatred behind Jace’s words. The hint of malice began compounding upon Gabe’s suspicions. He remained silent, as he tried to piece together more of the days surrounding his capture.

“I’m taking you to our farm,” Jace continued.

“Okay.”

“Nothing to add?”

“Since when do you like to talk?”

Gabe hoped he returned some of the malice he felt from before. Uninterested in continuing the conversation, he turned his head to the left. He was going to give him a taste of his own medicine. There wasn’t much to look at, except for the acres of open fields surrounding them. The apartment complex, or whatever they had housed him in, was the only building for miles. Someone must have driven him there yesterday, or the street he saw was closer than he thought.

The sound of Jace’s footsteps were lighter than made sense, he was constantly in a state similar to when a cat is stalking its prey. Gabe, though a good forty pounds lighter, made dragging noises as he walked. He remembered the symbol on the back of Selima’s phone, a pink cat. Maybe it had to do with some sort of training they went through?

In the Westerns he used to watch, the men would sling guns around and shoot at each other in the daylight. Gabe would question his dad about why they never went to jail for killing each other. It was a known fact only the president’s servicemen were allowed to kill people. Anyone else would be executed on the spot, even for trying.

Gabe’s dad told him people used to fight all the time. They’d come up with different ways to kill each other, almost to the point where it became an art. This was before Patriot Day was established, of course, he would say.

He listened to Jace’s footsteps again. He could feel the years of purpose built into each one. Gabe didn’t think Jace was the type that would come out with guns slinging. He would kill quickly and quietly in the night, stealing the safety of another’s bed with every unheard step.

“You kind of look sick,” Jace said, interrupting the spiral of Gabe’s thoughts.

“Just get me to the farm.”