Disclaimer: I still don't own anything, much less Winston, who makes a cameo.

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Stev was escorted back to his cubicle by Jenkins' burly cohorts. He just stared blankly at his desk, which inadvertently annoyed one of the lesser guards. The taller one gave him a whack to the ribs with the butt of his rifle, an audible crack was heard. Stev hardly noticed it, all he could think about was how much he wanted to run screaming from his desk, the ministry, the country, all mankind, to get away. Instead he just stood there, staring at his desk. As the guards took their leave of him, he felt an incredible wave of apathy wash over him, 'why couldn't they have merely killed me?' he thought sullenly. Yet within himself he knew that he was 'lucky'. Had he been so fortunate as to have had the Party decide to eliminate him they would not have done it there and then, but over a grueling period of months perhaps years of torture (mental and physical).

It was nearly half past 0100 hours by the time Stev left the ministry. The streets were nearly deserted, which meant, unfortunately, that he could not go home. After tonight it was most certain that he would be monitored as much as possible, and with so few crowds to disappear into he would assuredly lead the Party, or the Thought Police, or whomever to capture everyone in the underground. So he set off walking, not knowing exactly where he would end up.

Stev wound up eventually at the community centre, it was the safest place given the circumstances. They were heavily monitored (of course) but anyone watching him would see nothing more than poor alcoholic playing a few games before passing out in whatever accommodations were available. He would actually have to sleep (something he was not fond of, for personal reasons), to allay the suspicions of whomever that he had hours of uncharted free time, which he actively spent engaging in anti-Party activities.

As he entered the imposing building his eyes, by now accustomed to the dimly lit streets, were assaulted by the harsh fluorescent lighting typical of nearly all edifices now adays. The place was devoid of life except for three or four night owls like himself. Stev found a chess player in their ranks, so the two of them sat down to a game. They exchanged fairly few words; the man's name, Stev found out was Winston. He was an older man, his face a mask of apathy, yet all around him he had an air of suffocating hopelessness. Stev liked him identified with him, he tried to find him again a few weeks hence, but he never saw him again.

After he bid his opponent goodnight Stev wandered about for awhile. Played a few rounds of table tennis, he decided to avoid any strenuous activities that night. Finally at about 0300 hours he bedded down for the night in a sterile plastic chair. He dreaded sleep, but he had to keep up appearances, so reluctantly he let unconsciousness claim him.

He started awake wanting to cry out, but as per usual holding it in, it was the same old type of dream, nothing new. Glancing at a clock he noted the hour was quarter past 0500 hours. With two of hours of sleep under his belt Stev roused himself for the day, it would be best if he got in a few hours early to catch up on the work he'd missed the previous day. Stev got out of his chair and stretched, the pain in his chest from yestermorn's activities manifested itself, Stev stiffened, but otherwise his pain remained hidden. Stev guessed (and was correct in presuming) that at least on of his ribs was broken. There was no time to worry about that now, he had work. At any rate there's really not much that can be done for cracked ribs, save give them time to knit. He grabbed his briefcase and rushed off to minitru.

Stev arrived at a quarter passed 0600 hours and began to work on the enormous mound of papers that had piled up the previous day during his prolonged absence. And so passed the day. Every now and then Steve's rib cut into him, twice his vision blacked out (not new, merely inconvenient).

The day wore on.

In order to make up all the work he had missed, in addition to the steady stream the chute spat out at him, Stev had to stay late (again). It was 2300 hours by the time he left. Walking home he was a little slower today, he arrived back at the underground around 0100 hours. He walked the last of the corridors on the verge of passing out. He leaned heavily on the wall determined to make it to his desk, without falling. He groped his way along the wall; he stopped for a moment when his vision blacked out again, waited for it to clear. Finally it did and Stev continued down the dank hallway.

"Stev!" He looked up and caught sight of K'rin running towards him. She stopped in front of him, eyeing him up and down frantically. He was a sight for sore eyes, his face was bruised, one eye was blackened, and one of the lenses in his glasses had spidery cracks running through it. No other skin was showing except for his hands, yet under his threadbare garments his torso was contused badly. She looked at his face "Where- what happened?" She stopped; Stev took a step forwards, needed to get to his desk. His grip on the wall slipped and he staggered forward, K'rin caught him easily and tried to help him to the room. Stev pushed her away weakly.

"I can handle it," he explained. K'rin stood in the hall helpless to aid him, looking face impassive. He sat down on his worn chair, shuddering slightly at having jostled a rib.

"Stev," K'rin murmured "what happened?" She had barely uttered these words when Bront strode in, A tall heavy-handed man in his late thirties. Bront was the unspoken director of the clan, no one questioned it, no one else wanted the job, and he did it well enough, if controlling sometimes.

"Stev boy? Tell me what happened." Stev sat silent, staring at his monitor, it was switched off. "Stev," Bront got on his knees in front of him, him hands firmly grabbed Steve's shoulders "What did they do to you?" Stev had left the monitor on. His little community couldn't afford to waste electricity. "Better yet, what did you tell them?" If a person probably wasn't coming back someone would turn off all their equipment, they had given up on him. "Listen to me. Do they know where we are?" Stev stared icily at him through a black eye and broken glasses. He just stared at him for a moment.

"I did not tell them anything" he replied darkly. He tried to shake Bront loose, with no degree of success. He stood up, trying to signal his company to go, swayed a bit on his feet. "I'd like to be left alone, I-I really have to get back to my work"

"Good, my boy, very good" With his job done Bront strode out of the room (Bront was not as cold hearted as he seemed. But in this world one needed to be distant, those who cared too much eventually suicided, one lost too many people to be affectionate. So Bront was mechanical in dealing with people. It worked.)

Stev looked to K'rin. "I have my work, I've lost enough time already. I have to restart my computer, it could take awhile." The last comment had a bit of edge to it. They had given up on him, after only a day they had given up on him. It was a given to everyone that he would be captured and killed, but complacent with his fate though he was, it was disturbing to see life continuing unchanged without him. K'rin looked past him.

"There's a meeting tomorrow, it's mandatory." She said steadily "Phred told me you were going to bring up the moving issue. I thought you might like to know." She turned on her heel and walked out. Stev watched her leave, looked after her until her thin, gloved frame faded into the murky corridor

With everyone out of the room Stev's weakness hit him, he reached for his chair and caught himself before he could fall. He reached around and got his meds, and turned on the computer.