A gaggle of runners jogged past Ben as he sat on a bench and crunched through a bag of salty crisps. He quite enjoyed the outdoor activity but for the chill wind; now sinking its sharp fangs into him. Ben had great ambitions of living outside the system, perhaps in the woods where he’d hunt badgers for food. A ridiculous notion, in the end, Ben knew he hadn’t the chops for homeless life. He was too used to comfort, he had become soft and pliable, a perfect target for failure’s whip.


    “Spare change, mate?”


    Ben jolted on the bench and looked at the scraggy man approaching him from behind. “Christ on a bike, you scared the shit out of me.” He held his chest.


    The man scratched his fuzzy grey beard and shrugged. “Just looking for a few quid.”


    Ben stuck out his bottom lip and went thoughtful as the man swayed.


    He scrunched up the empty packet and dropped it in the small park bin by the bench. The park was beautiful. He remembered the park being filled with homeless people who would harass and mess the place up. The news ran a big report on them. Ben always looked down at them with disdain and he was the type to tell them to find a job. How an opinion can change with a twist of fate. “You’re the first bu–homeless person I’ve seen.”


    The man looked around and nodded, “Yeah, park got cleared.”


    “By who?”


    “Dunno…” He sniffed and wiped his nose with his forearm. “You got any change or what?”


    “I might, but why don’t you tell me something first?”


    “What?”


    “Where all the homeless people went.”


    “Tha’ sector place down tha’ road.”


    “Why didn’t you go?”


    The man thought a moment. “I liked me tent.”


    “Surely it’s better in the support sector?”


    His bulbous nose seemed to glow red as he thought. “I just didn’t like ‘em.”


    “Like who?”


    “The people they sent to pick us up. They cleared away our camps and stuff. I hid.”


    “Why?”


    “I don’t like people or big groups. They had us all lining up. I ain’t doin’ that. Plus now I got park to meself mostly...cept fer ducks.”


    Ben ruffled in his pocket and pulled out a few pounds. “Here. Do you want some food too?”


    “Please.”


    Ben offered him a few snacks and a bag of crisps and the bum went on his way.


    The next few hours were spent aimlessly meandering through the town. Ben paid close attention to his surroundings this time. He found it incredible and frightening how much had changed under his nose. “Living under a bloody rock,” he said to himself under his breath. There was an overwhelming curiosity about SS9 that pulsed in his chest. He wanted to ask everyone he saw what they might know.


    He walked back home but stopped close to Greg’s house first. He wanted to check his emails and look at the weird website again. He clicked to log into Greg''s WiFi and hoped he hadn’t thought to change the password. The box blinked and he was in.


    Ben had perched himself on a wall with his laptop on his knee. He looked odd, but there wasn’t anyone around to query his set-up. He clicked on the website and opened up several links. A lot of them were generic warnings and ominous messages. He was getting bored with the cryptic texts and the poor-quality videos. Until he clicked link number thirty-one. It was a video. A woman talking into a camera with a ghostly face. She spoke softly but controlled. “They aren’t real. None of them are real. They’ve been replaced. I called my mother. She answered. I liked to call her to listen to her voicemail. She couldn’t have answered, she’s dead. She’s been dead for six months. We spoke, it was real. But not her.”


    Ben closed the laptop and took in a deep breath. He hopped off the wall and went home. He put his device on charge and checked his phone. It rang in his hand. “Hello?”


    “Is this Benjamin?”


    “Who are you?”


    “This is Pete, from work.”


    “Hi, Peter.”


    “You didn’t show today, you’ve been recorded as AWOL.”


    “Lost my internet connection.”


    “You could have called, Benjamin–”


    “Talk like a human Pete.”


    “I am talking like a Human.”


    “No, you’re not,” Ben spoke through a smile and sat before propping his feet up on the coffee table.


    “Benjamin, this is going anywhere. I expect–”


    “What happened to you, Pete?”


    “Excuse me?”


    “Did you move to a Support Sector?”


    “I do not know–”


    “Are you real, Pete?”


    “Benjamin, you’re clearly suffering in some way or another. Have you spoken to your doctor?”


    Ben chuckled. “Am I getting fired?”


    “We will discuss your situation when you return.”


    “What’s wrong with me is you’re all thieves who don’t pay enough.”


    “You could always find another job.”


    “You know that’s not true, Pete.” Ben hung up and looked through his phone contact list. Uncle Joseph. He died last year. The funeral was small and the death was unexpected. He called the number. It went straight to the message confirming the number wasn’t available.


    It was three in the afternoon now and Ben found himself without direction. Just waiting for the next confirmation of his demise. He had two months left on his house. No internet, no job. Next month he will not be paid a penny and he’ll have no heating or water. His options were narrowing and the sanctuary offered by SS9 would start to pull at him. Ben was weak and he knew it.


    A nap took him to six in the evening. He hadn’t dreamed of a plan so he’d need to make one. Greg. He should visit Greg and apologise. In reality, Ben just wanted to speak to someone. His lonesome existence had been compounded by his futile efforts to survive this ordeal. He had begun to believe the lady on the website, maybe everyone wasn’t real. Greg was, he was real.


    The air had grown colder and he imagined what it must be like to sleep out in this weather. A warm bed and a roof were something he’d always taken for granted. After meeting the bum and entertaining the idea of living on the streets he had become more acutely aware of his surroundings.


    Greg''s brown door loomed over him. He knocked, fidgeting with his fingers as he did. The door clinked as it was unlocked and it swung open.


    “What the fuck do you want?”


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    “I want to apologise–”


    Greg tossed the brochure at him. “Why are you posting this shit through my door?”


    “It’s what SS9 sent to me–”


    “So?”


    “Did you look through it?”


    “Yeah, it’s a living facility for dossers and spastics, what do I care?”


    Ben frowned, “It’s not.”


    Greg folded his arms. “Is it not?”


    Ben shook his head, “It’s something else, someone from inside sent me a link, with a bunch of videos and all sorts, since speaking to them loads of weird stuff has happened.”


    Greg looked frustrated but his eyes gave witness to an undeniable curiosity. Ben caught the look and pressed on.


    “Do you know about Movement zones?”


    Greg’s nose scrunched up, “What?”


    “Yeah, I found out about them yesterday when trying to go for an interview. You need to pay a charge to leave the town outskirts.”


    “Bollocks.”


    “It’s not, you’d think someone would have told us right? I can show you…please.”


    Greg chewed his bottom lip and looked around. “Show me what?”


    “Everything. Look around. Where are all the neighbours?”


    “Dunno,” Greg shrugged. “Minding their business like you should be.”


    Ben shook his head, “They aren’t here. I knocked on about ten doors before yours, you’re the only person to answer.”


    “So? They’ll be at work like you should be.”


    “Work? They shut my internet down.”


    “Who did?”


    “My company, look if you give me a chance I can show you.”


    Greg sighed, “Fine, come in.”


    “Thank you.”


    “If you piss me off you’re out again.”


    Ben shuffled inside and sat on the couch. He explained what had happened to him with Abi and the police, the job he was told to apply for and the conversations he’d had with Ste today. Greg seemed interested and asked plenty of follow-up questions. Ben was pleased to have someone interested for once. He’d supposed Greg had been thinking about his visit all day.


    “So why would they want us all in these Support Sectors?” Greg said as he set a cup of tea down in front of Ben.


    “Cheers. I don’t know. I am trying to figure that out. I was speaking to an ex-work colleague who lives there. He spoke like a weirdo and I think he sent me that website I mentioned.”


    Greg nodded. “My brother went into a Support Sector.”


    “When?” Ben’s eyes widened.


    “About two years ago when they were first being set up I think. My brother is a druggy. He lived down south. I tried contacting him but he didn’t bother replying. Waste of space anyway.”


    “You should try again.”


    “I said it’s a waste of time. He’s a useless druggy. I bet he’s dead now anyway.”


    Ben’s eyes flashed. He saw a little of himself in Greg for a moment. “Right, fair enough.” Ben changed subjects quickly and showed him the website. He didn’t want to show it right away as it was a bit far out.


    To Ben’s surprise, Greg took a keen interest in the videos. They spent at least an hour clicking through them. Greg spoke about how he loves conspiracy stuff but was also buying into a lot of the videos.


    “The reason I came to your house, wasn’t just to get internet…”


    “Right?”


    “I need help, and I have no one, I am just on my knees now, no one will talk to me.”


    Greg chuckled, “You are a bit weird, pal.”


    “Yeah, true. But not that weird. I have been doing the same routine for ten years. Get up, go to work, come home, pay bills. All of a sudden, my job doesn’t pay the bills and I am being herded into a facility I hadn’t heard of.”


    Greg nodded and sipped his third cup of tea. “Yeah, I’m struggling too.”


    “With bills?”


    “I can’t afford my rent properly. My landlord is decent though but he’s saying I got to sort it out. I got a good bit of cash in the bank though so I have plenty of time.”


    Ben pursed his lips, “That’s the difference. Time. I was running out, no savings, all of a sudden they come knocking.”


    Greg shrugged.


    “Wait.” Ben paused. “You don’t have an Abi do you?”


    “One of those spy cubes? Nah.”


    “You’re smarter than me.”


    “Clearly.”


    “Touché.”


    “So what are you going to do?” Greg stood up to stretch his legs.


    “Probably end up on the streets or in that SS9 place.”


    Greg looked uncomfortable for a moment. “That’s unlucky, mate.”


    “You could call it unlucky, I think it’s planned.”


    “Well, I need to make some food, you can see yourself out.”


    Ben’s eyes sank. “Yeah, I’ll be off then.”


    Greg cleared his throat, “Keep my WiFi info, in case you need to connect to the web.”


    “Thanks, pal.”


    Ben returned home and made a sandwich. Having a real human conversation had bolstered his mental health. It roused an appetite for something other than snacks and crisps.


    Before he could take a bite from his sandwich his phone rang. “Fuck sake,” he set his plate down and retrieved his phone. It was Uncle Joseph. “Not possible…” He answered and raised pressed the phone to his ear. “Hello?”


    “Hello.”


    “Who is this?”


    “It’s Joseph.”


    “Uncle, Joseph?”


    “That depends on who''s asking.” He laughed.


    Ben opened his mouth. He recognised the voice, but he’d forgotten what he looked and sounded like. Surely this wasn’t him. “It’s Ben.”


    “Benjy boy?”


    Benjamin dropped his phone. He scrambled to pick it up. “How?”


    “How?”


    “You died.”


    The line went dead. “Shit!”


    He thumbed through his phone to find the contacts list. They were all gone. Apart from one. Andrew. “What the…” His phone rang again. It was Andrew. His only contact.


    Ben answered, “Listen, pal, I don’t know what you’re up to, but you better–”


    “It’s good you’re making friends.”


    “What?”


    “Making friends with your neighbours, it’s good.”


    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


    “Greg, you know, the man you visited today.”


    “I’ll call the police!”


    “Would you like me to call them for you?”


    Ben was sweating. “Look–”


    “Mr Yeoman, I must discuss something with you.”


    “What?”


    “If you wish to die in the frozen night under a bridge, I cannot stop you.”


    “Too kind.”


    “However, if you wish to sew seeds of dissonance regarding the marvellous work we do here at SS9, and all of the support sectors for that matter, then I can stop you, Mr Yeoman.”


    “How will you do that?”


    “Mr Yeoman, it’s best not to test us here at SS9. I can be your best friend or your worst enemy.”


    “A friend? Why don’t you pay off my house, best bud?”


    “I can provide you with much more appropriate living conditions.”


    “Yes, but I like these ones.”


    Ben’s lights went out and the room fell into darkness.


    “We shall see.” Andrew disconnected.


    “Shit.” Ben found used the small torch on his key ring and opened up his RCD fuse box. Nothing had tripped. Nothing worked. No lighting, or appliances, everything was blacked out.


    With no internet or phone contacts, he had resorted to pushing papers around under dim torch light. He checked the bills on his makeshift work desk, looking for an energy bill. “Aha.” He plucked the sheet and called the number. Fortunately, they kept these call centres open at all hours these days.


    “Good evening, Tillion Energy, Susan speaking, how may I help?”


    “Yes, I have no power.”


    “Alright, let me bring up your details.”


    Ben went through his information. The lady sounded pleasant enough, which was a bad sign.


    “Mr Yeoman, we have no record of your account with us.”


    “Well, that’s wrong.”


    “There’s nothing here for you, sir. You have no account with us.”


    “I literally have a bill here from you, and my lights went out ten minutes ago, clearly you were supplying me.”


    “Well, perhaps you changed companies.”


    “Unbelievable, I have no power here.”


    “I understand, sir.”


    There it was. Ben took a deep breath. They always understand. That’s their little calling card. He screwed up the paper and tossed it at the wall.


    “Can I help you with anything else, sir?”


    Ben hung up. He was tempted to charge over to Gregs, but he’d been punished already for speaking to him, and he didn’t want to freak him out at night with nonsense about losing power.


    He had some tea lights left which he lit and set around his living room. He tried to figure out how they knew about him visiting Greg. The only device he had was his laptop. He found the USB he had used to get the internet access. “Very clever.” Ben felt stupid, he’d been fooled by simple tricks. He had all the confirmation he needed to know that SS9 and Andrew had it in for him. That means David was in on it too. There was some satisfaction in knowing his failure wasn’t entirely down to himself, but he knew if he’d worked harder and made more money this wouldn’t be happening. For now. Greg is in a better position than him, but the platform is falling away.


    Ben decided to sleep. He didn’t know how many days he’d have left with a roof over his head and he should take advantage of every decent night''s sleep he could get. He got under his covers and laid his head back. Something stirred while he lay there. He sat up and dashed to his front window, he didn’t know why but he thought he should.


    Outside, staring at his house, two men illuminated by the lamppost, dressed in red jumpsuits. They were the same men from Ste’s house. He opened his window. “What are you two doing?”


    They both looked at him.


    Ben closed his window and drew his curtains. “Calm down, Ben…” he breathed. He dashed downstairs and rustled through his kitchen drawer for a knife.