“Where were you last night?” cries the Mask in a harshly amplified, metallic screech. She struggles against its grip, but the talons, extending on ashy-white arms, only dig deeper, and she is forced to kneel in the muck and grime of LAW Street. “We repeat; what was your location at 2200 hours?”

“What does it matter to you?” she asks, her eyes flickering to-and-fro, desperately searching for a means escape, an alleyway or an open door, only to find none. The shadows grow deeper as a bleached plastic face lowers itself to her level. They have always frightened her, the Masks, and she averts her gaze from the terrible eyes, those soulless holes of unfathomable shadow and despair, that she knows record her every move, waiting to be transmitted throughout the wires implanted inside the creature’s head. “You were not present at the concert,” rasps the voice, “Why were you not celebrating? Do the Media Culture Stimulations not please you?”

“What would I want to ‘celebrate’ at those brain washings, even more deaths?”

“Their lives were insignificant; a minor loss for the sake of the progress of Nation.” Pain and rage burn within her when she hears these words, reddening her pale cheeks to the same rosey shade of her hair. Sounds of gunshot resonate from the deep recesses of her memory and her vision blurs as she recalls the mounds of decimated corpses littering the trash-covered alleyways, but she blinks away the tears that threaten to spill over. No, I will not show them weakness. I must be strong. Instead, she musters her courage and retorts, “Not important? How can you say that? They fought only for their beliefs, and you slaughtered them as if-“

“Enough!” shrieks the Mask. “You have greatly upset our Benefactor. She is very displeased with you and your individualistic doctrines. You clearly have not yet fully embraced your role as a part of our society.”

“And what ‘role’ would that be?” she replies, her voice filled with scorn and venom, although she still hides her face.
“Become one of the People and cease to be yourself, that is all we require.”

“Never!” she spits at the foot of its rain-spattered robe. “I will never be like you; I want to think for myself!”

“In that case,” the clawed hand grasps her shoulder still tighter, whilst another clamps itself on to her chin, glowing eerily in the harsh Astrobe light and forcing her head slowly upwards, “we must administer intensive adjustment treatment, immediately!” Again, she attempts to resist their efforts, only to find that her gaze still rises. Up, up, and up, until she faces the hollow sockets. A sudden chill wracks her body as all her remaining strength leaves her, as if it were being sucked down into the abyss of the Mask’s eyes. Her last resolve is suddenly shattered, and she feels the world give way under her feet. As darkness obscures her vision, she falls deep within the inky expanse. Soon you’ll see things,
our way.