Three

                                    

                                          
"Get in the Relocator." Master. Allivan's voice is gruffer than what it sounded like outside and Trace felt the robot remove it's hand from her arm and push her into an elevator-like contraption.
                          
The robot follows suit, the man close behind. He taps a booted foot impatiently, his arms crossed and his eyes staring angrily at a pair coming towards them. Trace glanced up at them, breaking her stare from her scruffy riding boots and beginning her stare at the pair.
                          
A robot, identical to that gripping her arm, was pushing a boy along. He had blonde hair, swept in a surfer-style haircut and blue eyes which sparkled despite the dirt that streaked his cheeks. Trace looked away as he entered the Relocator, not trusting herself to look into her father's eyes again.
                          
"I need you to promise me something." her father was staring her straight in the eye. Screams filled the silence and she nodded, sniffing as tears ran down her cheeks.  Her father stroked her cheek with the back of his hand and she hugged him. She knew what was coming.

                          
"If something happens to your mother or I, I need you to run. As fast as you can, as far as you can. Away from us. Don't even look back. Don't wait for your brother.
                          
"Just run."

                          
Slowly, painstakingly slowly, the doors close, encasing Trace in a coffin of insufferable darkness.
                          
***
                          
The tingling sensation began in her feet, slowly spreading through her legs, her stomach and back, down her arms and up her neck. It filled her ears with a soft, buzzing which grew until it was a crescendo of noise that droned everything out and forced her too close her eyes and press both hands to her head. She couldn't think straight, the noise shattering her thoughts into splinters which cut and ached.  

                          
The momentum of the sound slowly reached a level that made Trace want to scream for it to stop  but it caught in her throat, her body not being able to release the noise. It clouded her mind even more until it was all she could think about; all she could hear; all she could feel. Her body was numb, filled with the tingling sensation, like thousands of pins and needles stabbing into every inch of her body.
                          
Then it stopped. The silence felt oddly out of place and her limbs felt loose and out of place. Every breath sounded too loud. Every tiny movement felt like it was shattering the stillness. When she opened her eyes, it was still dark. She could feel the others in the confined space and was glad for the cover of darkness. It kept her claustrophobia at bay. 

                          
A shaft of blinding white light illuminated the space, causing Trace to bite back a hiss as her vision was turned hazy and glaringly red. Keeping her eyes closed, she let the robot push her forwards. A tiny part of her thought she was putting to much trust into this machine but the scalding light overpowered and won.
                          
She felt herself stop walking and cautiously opening her eyes. The light wasn't as bright, casting only a dim glare as her eyes darted throughout the room. 

                          
It was shaped like an hexagon, with halls coming off three of its sides. The frames of floor to ceiling windows covered every other part; their glass shattered into splinters on the floor and outside. The shards glinted as the sky turned pink with the coming night. A few early stars could be seen winking out from their sunset blanket as shadows danced on the floor from half-dead trees outside. Trace watched as a spider climbed through the skeletal arms of one of the greying trees, its black body standing out against the stone-like trunk it was scurrying across. Her eyes wandered through the garden, noting where nature was slowly reclaiming the earth. 

                          
The dirt was full of green shoots, limp with evening dew. The few large trees that weren't stumps were grey and brown but very much alive, their branches full of dark leaves and seeds that blew in the breeze. A creeper had taken over on of the far walls, nearly to the extent of her vision, giving the building an old-mansion feel even though it could be no older than a few years. A flower bed ran the length of the perimeter, it's bed's filled with weeds and a few wildflowers, adding a feeble splash of colour on the otherwise dismal garden.

                          
What really drew her eye, though, was a large crater- obviously from a meteorite- in the middle of the garden. It was free of any debris or rock or shoots or weeds, like Mother Nature was scared to reclaim that patch of earth, but a small puddle had formed inside. A small cockroach crawled out of the slush and over the side, making Trace wonder if humans were the only creature to have mutated. She didn't think cockroaches could survive underwater but, then again, she had been wrong before.
                          
She hoped it was the latter.
                          
"You like it?" A voice startled her and Trace jumped back from the window. Master. Allivan was standing next to her, his eyes trained on the darkening horizon.
                          
Trace didn't know whether she was allowed to speak. At the orphanage, it was always drilled into them that they were not to speak unless spoken to; to keep their heads down, pay attention and do as they were told- a feat which she was never able to achieve as Imogen. She would often focus on the wrong thing or reply back or refuse to comply if it meant someone else was at stake. It seemed even as Trace she wasn't able to accomplish this.
                          
Now, she wasn't sure what to do- she had been asked a question but any words stuck in her throat like it was lined with superglue. She decided to lock her eyes on her feet  and wait until he dismissed her.
                          
Instead, Master. Allivan laughed and muttered to himself, "Of course you don't. No one does. Not anymore. Not since she died."
                          
Trace didn't ask what he meant; didn't ask who 'she' was. She knew. It was who they always were. Their partners. Their wives and husbands. Their loves.
                          
"Trace, you will be working inside as my house servant." He continued, brushing off his last comment and turning around and walking towards one of the hallways. Trace looked at him, then to the hall they had just come out of, then too the boy, who was watching Allivan as well, then back to the man. 

                          
Allivan noticed she hadn't followed and faced her. "Are you coming?"

                          
Her mind was swimming, the dull ache had returned and her hand was itching again. All she wanted to do was burrow beneath the covers of her bed at the orphanage and sleep forever.
                          
Instead, she gritted her teeth, clenched her itching hand into a fist and followed after the man who had bought her life away.