Algorithms

7

The next day, Marc wasn't at work. Good for him, I thought. But there was an empty feeling in my stomach that said something wasn't right. The day went by even slower than usual—I hadn't realized how much time I actually spent talking to Marc, and how much more enjoyable that made my day.

~

I'd just returned from my lunch break when someone grabbed my arm, startling me, and pulled me behind a row of lockers. When I saw it was Finn I started to scold him, but he put a finger to his lips, and whispered, "The Feds are here."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah. Some guys in black suits. And they want to talk to you." He was looking at me in a strange way. "What did you do?" He asked hesitantly.

"Nothing." I said. "Do you think this is about Marc?"

"Maybe." He said. "But you better get out there. Good luck."

I stood up and straightened my shirt, then headed out the door. Finn was right: there were two men in black suits waiting for me.

"We have some questions for you," one of them said.

The other led me to the conference room. The first man stood outside the door.

"What is this about?" I asked when I sat down.

"We just have a few questions about Marc," the man said.

"Is he okay?"

"We aren't sure where he is."

"Oh?" I said. Then, knowing it was more bold than wise, I added, "Do you need to know where he is?"

"Of course," he said, his face still expressionless. "It's our job to... protect... our citizens." Just one word popped into my head—reprogramming. A chill ran down my spine. What if it wasn't a myth?

There was silence for a moment as he studied me with his cold eyes. "Do you know where Marc is?"

When I heard the question it dawned on me where Marc had gone. "No," I lied. I consciously tried not to bite my lip and give myself away.

"You recently removed yourself from the dating sites." The man said.

"How do you kno—"

"Are you seeing someone?"

I wanted to ask if it's illegal not to be on the dating sites, but my better judgment silenced me. Play stupid, it said. "Yes. His name is Finn. He works here too, and we're a 98% match." I smiled proudly.

The man studied me longer—for what felt like an eternity—and finally asked again, "Do you know where Marc is?"

"How would I know that? He's just a co-worker. And a weird one at that." I said, trying not to wince externally as I echoed what I'd heard others say. The man motioned for me to go.

As I left the interviewer exchanged a look with the other Fed that said talking to me had been a waste of time. I hoped so.