I feel the burn on my scalp as I pull the comb through the tangled bush that descends from head. In the reflector that stands in front of me, I watch the delicate red waves fall. Combing is no use. I fold my hair to make a braid to the back but I am unsuccessful; my outcome consists of random parts sticking out. Moving on to my face is worse. Staring into my dark green eyes makes me shiver. Why do they have to be dark green? I have to get my surgery soon. For most, imperfections were minor, such as little pimples or crooked teeth. For me, it was basically everything. But how would they make my hair and eyes a normal colour like black or brown; the way it's supposed to be? I'm a mess, an abomination to the council, who would never approve of me. But the worst is my behavior. I've been thinking differently lately, seeing and hearing different things, and worst of all, developing some form of creativity, curiosity and questioning the rules. What would the council say?

The silver walls of the room have built in reflectors, and I can see myself on all four walls. Great. I guess that would be a good thing if I was pretty. Beams of light from the corners of the room light everything up. It's one of those automatic features that came from the previous room update. From now on, my room can sense when I wake up and when I go to sleep so it can control the lights. But the brightness seamed to make my face look even worse; my features bulge and shine in the weirdest way.

As an attempt to be as close as I can to normal, I turn off the main reflector, take my gray clothes from the closet and slip them on; the standard attire for Sector B. Lastly, I adjust my monitor - which sits around my neck - so that the little blue light is facing forward. Other than the annoying things about myself that I can't control, I take pride in making sure I am perfect; how the council wants everyone to be.

I switch on the reflector one last time to ensure perfection. Well, the closest I can be to perfect. The reflector blinks orange, which is pretty much as good as I get. Once the surgery takes place, the reflector will be flashing green forever. If one is truly ugly, or has any sort of disabilities, the reflector would be yellow. But of course, they would take the surgery.

I pat down on my frizzy hair one last time before turning off the reflector and then turning off the room. Everything running shuts down and all lights dim until the room is pitch black. I walk out into the large main room and close the door behind me.

The main room is filled with people walking around, young and old, in light gray. This is the main room for Sector B. We live in the East side of our area. Sector A in the North, D in the West and C in the South. Chairs are placed around the edge of the grand circular room. I take one and look around.

Everyone in my sector knows me, because I am basically the odd one out. But I don't know everyone. Sector B is very big; it consists of 2500 people. But this is only one B house out of about 25.

"782!" a voice calls from somewhere in the crowd. I look to my right and he emerges from the left then takes the seat beside me. He's 268. I'm 782.

Many younger ones misunderstood name as age and vice-versa. One's name is the order that they were imported in. If they were one of the earlier ones, there number would be smaller. If they were imported later or if they were newer, their number would be larger. I would explain to them that even though age and name were both numbers, they mean completely different things. One could be named 374 and be 3 years old. I would even use myself as an example and ask them if I looked like I was 782 years old. And when I told them I was only 15, it would blow their tiny little minds. I would also tell them that names were usually a higher number than age. But I had to constantly correct them for mixing everything up.

268 is my age but earlier. I love having someone to talk to. Unlike mine, his hair and eyes are how they're supposed to be. Black hair, brown eyes. How I will soon be.

"What's all the commotion about?" I ask. The main room is usually empty.

"Apparently, The Council has created a new reminder and it's about to play." he replies.

"Good! Remember the old one? That was so damn annoying. I even memorized it! We want to protect and preserve the best form of humanity-"

"Seven! What if the Council hears you?"

"I doubt they can hear me with all this noise." I say as I throw my hand in the air. But what I really want to say is: Screw the Council! Sure, they claim to provide and care, but it sure doesn't feel like it. I would never reveal my inner thoughts in a regular place though. I know for a fact that (and I quote) The Council is always watching – they tack that to the end of every reminder and it just creeps me out.

"So are you getting your surgery soon?" he asks, as antsy as I am about the topic.

"I think I'm going to. It's been scheduled for a long time now but they keep postponing me to treat the disabled people first."

He nods and then clasps his hands together.

"Was the surgery painful?" I ask, probably overstepping my boundaries.

"Well it depends on the person and the feature. When I was first imported, my hair and eyes were naturally like this,"

"Lucky,"

"And I had crooked teeth, dry skin, and a slight stuttering problem. Fixing the teeth hurt a little, and the dry skin part was fine. I was unconscious for the stuttering part. They must've tapped into my brain or something."

"Hm. Do you think it will hurt for me?" I ask, my eyes searching his face for any hint of an answer before he responds.

He, too, inspects my face for a while before answering.

"The eyes…" he says, staring right into mine as I stared right into his. It feels like he can see inside.

"Such an intricate shade of green, deep, glimmering… mysterious. I wouldn't want to ditch eyes like that." he says. "I don't know if it would hurt physically, but maybe knowing you have to loose such beautiful eyes might hurt emotionally."

"What are you talking about?" I say suddenly as I turn away from his gaze. I shake it off, but wonder if I really want to get rid of them, now that I know that Two likes them.

"Attention, Sector B 14!" says a voice. The crowd thins as people find seats around the room.

"The Council's new reminder is about to air. Please take your seats. Also, don't forget that Monthly Behavioral Conferences are next week."

Monthly behavioral conferences! That never ends well for me. If I don't change before then, I'm toast.

The reminder starts and I feel worse about the conferences, just knowing all the bad things about me they've been tallying up. Of course, there is my awkward appearance, but that's not all. I might've stolen a few things, done a couple things that would be considered "against the rules" but it was all for a reason. Well at least it seemed like it.

This world makes no sense. The council is stupid. Everyone is stupid. And I'm not going to just stand there and sink into the stupidity. I'm way smarter than all of these people. None of them question why society is like this and none of them even think about changing anything.

It must have something to do with that surgery. A surgery that I've always been waiting for, but now I'm not so sure.

One part of the room turns white and we all stare at it, awaiting The Council's reminder. A woman stands in the middle and begins walking forward. I realize they updated to a commercial that literally pops out; a projection. I remember learning about something like that in class, some years back. She begins to talk in a sharp voice, like she definitely knows what she's talking about. That almost makes me want to believe her.

Food. Water. Shelter. Happiness. Life. We have been providing resources for you since the very beginning. We love and care for you. You are the best form of humanity and we want you to be perfect in every way possible.

I look over at everyone, only to see that they're listening attentively… like a bunch of mindless drones. I nudge Two to reiterate how messed up this stuff is, but as usual, he basically ignores me.

The woman talks, and I tune her out, but she seems to be speaking into my brain for the last couple sentences.

Stay safe and stay perfect.

I roll my eyes, involuntarily.

And remember, The Council is always watching.

At that moment, the pixelated lady turns her head and glares at me directly. Before vanishing, she smirks at me.

My heart stops beating. Her computer generated stare was like plunging two needles into my eyes. Though it didn't hurt, it was just… extremely unsettling. Looking into the now empty space where she stood, I can still feel her gaze. And the weird thing was, I sort of recognized her from… who knows where.

"Two!" I whisper-shout. "Did you not see that woman look at me? She looked right through my soul!"

"What do you mean? She was so sweet." he replies.

"Are you f*cking crazy? She's…" I glance around for cameras, although I know they're everywhere.

"Seven." He said strictly. "Watch your mouth. Maybe you're the one who's crazy."

He stands up and walks towards a group of sane people to surround himself with. Now, calling someone crazy is strictly against the rules. I break rules all the time so it's okay for me to insult someone. But Two? Okay, maybe I needed to hear it.

I'm left in the room with nobody to talk to, so I observe. I watch the little ones speaking with their elders, others my age having conversations, some a bit older, all without problems to worry about. All with those perfect faces.

Soon, many part to go to their duties. The younger ones would go to school of course, but any older than 14, and we're expected to train. And it's pretty much all downhill from there. The council makes us into these perfect machines – preservations of the best mankind has to offer – and we train all day to become even better. We perfect selflessness, intelligence, bravery, truthfulness, peacefulness, appearance and everything in between. All of which I cannot seem to get the hang of. I blame the fact that I haven't gotten the surgery yet. At every monthly behavioral conference, I'm constantly picked at for not being flawless. This whole place is utter madness.

In the crowd of people exiting, I spot Two again and catch up with him. My light tap on his shoulder makes him turn around.

"I'm so sorry for calling you crazy." he says, with that annoying niceness that everyone seems to have, but me. It's so sincere, it almost makes me want to laugh.

"It's fine. You know I can't help the swearing when I get worked up." I hate to admit it.

It all started when we were younger, still in school, learning the rules. They'd told us that rule number whatever-the-heck was no swearing. They'd told us the words that were never to be spoken. Ha! Those little b*tches thought they could stop me.

"Where're you off to?" I ask in a calmer tone.

"My training begins with appearance analyzing today." He says, a matter-of-factly.

"My training begins with bravery." I comment, mocking his formal tone. "But I'm already tired as hell. Training's stupid. Especially bravery. Does it ever end?"

Two glances around for the cameras he knows are everywhere.

"Careful…" he whispers to me, with a serious expression, his stern brown eyes staring into mine. He then merges into the crowd and leaves. Is it worth being careful? I think I'd rather have them kill me off then "be careful".

By the time our conversation is over, the room has thinned out. The children have all gone to learn about the messed up lives their living, and the older ones have all gone to maintain it. I push open the doors of the sector house and inhale the not-so-fresh stuff called air. There's a low hum in the distance and I know it's the air purifying machine, making its rounds around the community. Aside from the humming, it's quiet and peaceful for once. I look into the distance, at nothing in particular and notice the white abyss that surrounds the community. I wonder what's beyond the white, and if there even is a beyond.

Training begins in 5 minutes. A voice recording on my monitor reminds me.

Shit.

I skip down the steps and head towards my doom.