He didn't know how it happened. He didn't know why it happened. All he knew was that it did happen.
He was running. Running from what was not there. Imaginary white vans and black helicopters that he was sure were pursuing him at this very moment. And why? It had been an accident. That's all.
Or maybe he was running for a different reason. Maybe he thought that, if he ran far enough, fast enough, that he could escape what had happened. Maybe his strange discovery would be rendered nothing more than a dream if he ran for miles, miles on end.
Finally he stopped, out of breath. He stood between two rocks that jutted out of the ground, reaching towards the sky, as if grasping for freedom from their earthen prison.
He looked back, seeing the plume of smoke behind him billowing into the air, creating clouds of ash and dust in the air. What has happened to me? He thought in despair, I'm not capable of this kind of destruction...am I?
Yes came a voice next to him you are.
He turned quickly, instincts flared, ready to fight. Next to him was a man. He wore a black trench coat and dark sunglasses, hiding his equally dark eyes. He wore a black satchel at his side, the strap draped over his shoulder. The man examined him for a few short seconds and, without saying a word, said, Come to me." He looked painfully familiar, as if he had seen this man before. Somewhere outside of his reality. From a dream, or something more surreal. The man disappeared.
Mark Konners stood, perplexed. At this point he knew, he was certain, that he was dreaming. None of this could be possible. He told himself to wake up, to feel the familiar comfort of his bed and wake to a beautiful sunrise outside the window that lay before his feet. But he didn't wake. His eyes didn't open. All he could do was stand, staring at the pillar of smoke that rose before him, and recall the horrible events that had taken place over the past day.

Sector Two. That was what his Results had concluded. That he would be best here, harvesting fruit and butchering livestock for the rest of the Nation to eat. Nowhere else, according to the system, would he have any skills in any area. It seemed wrong, almost offensive. Mark watched as other students of the Sector 2 smiled and talked excitedly, almost all of them happy with their results. Mark knew that most of them would leave, each of them going to a different Sector.
There were eight Sectors in the Nation Mark lived in, each producing a different item of consumption that the government saw necessary for life.
Sector One provided the Nation with soldiers, police, and weapons. Supposedly, the Nation needed to be protected from something outside, and only the soldiers of Sector One and some elite members of the government knew exactly what it was.
Sector Two, where Mark lived, manufactured food for the rest of the Nation. Sector Two was one of the largest Sectors, as acres and acres of land were required to house all of the fields of produce and herds of livestock. He didn't know why, but, for whatever reason, Mark hated it here. He felt a drive for freedom. He wanted new scenery, a new place to live, something to do besides picking fruit and packaging food. But he knew he would never be able to. Trying to transfer to another Sector was nearly impossible after the Education System told you where you belonged.
Sector Three produced the Nation's largest amount of gasoline, while Sector Four created tools and vehicles that consumed Sector Three's gasoline, such as cars and airplanes.
Sector Five produced electricity, allowing for communication to be possible.
Sector Six gave the Nation everything involving the sea, as it lied on the Ocean. These included mainly boats and seafood.
Sector Seven was the home to the smartest people in the Nation. In order to be transferred to Seven, you had to have near-perfect scores on the Transfer Test. If you were successful in Seven, you could have had the chance to be a teacher in the Educational System of any of the Sectors.
Sector Eight produced the technology necessary for all of this to be possible. It made machines that allowed Sector Four vehicles to be manufactured at a much quicker rate than was average. It was the originator of the technology that made the laser gun possible.
And then there was Sector Zero. Sector Zero was, basically, the government and all those who ruled in it, including the Nation's military generals, Governors of the Sectors, and the mysterious President Xandar and his personal guard. Sector Zero didn't have any physical location unless the President's Mansion, an extremely heavily guarded fortress where Xandar held his residence, could be counted. Sector Zero was simply the name the common folk of the Sectors had given to their oppressors long ago, who took on to the nickname quite well, going so far as to insist that they be called this. The President never came out of his Mansion, never went out in public, leading some to doubt his existence at all.
Mark could have been transferred to any of these, with the exception of Sector Zero, of course, but was, instead, chosen to stay in Sector Two. That made him angry.
"Mark!" Mark looked beside him, but he didn't need to. He knew who was coming. Only one person would ever speak to him without being introduced. Caleb Watkins, the one person in the entire System Mark could say he trusted without a doubt.
Mark and Caleb were inseparable, had been for years. This was strange, mainly because of the many differences between the two, both physical and based on each individual's personality. Where Mark was a tall person, Caleb was short and scrawny. Mark was usually quiet and reserved, and Caleb was one of the most sociable people you could meet. Mark was two years older than Caleb. Yet, despite their differences, and despite all the people he knew, Caleb had chosen to trust Mark far more than any of the others in the System. Besides this, their brother-like relationship was a rather symbiotic one. People often tried to fight with Mark, who wanted nothing of harming people, despite his obvious ability to do so. When others verbally abused him, Caleb was always there with a quick and witty response. Caleb, however, found it easy to be physically abused, due to his short stature and smart mouth, in which case Mark forgot all about his pacifistic nature and defended his friend.
"What'd you get?" asked Caleb, sitting next to Mark.
Mark looked down at his Result sheet.
"Two," he responded through gritted teeth, "You?"
"I got One," Caleb said, "Kind of happy with my results, honestly."
"You?" said Mark, almost bursting out into laughter, "A soldier?" Mark had a hard time picturing the scrawny fifteen-year-old in a white uniform, a rifle strapped to his back, standing at attention.
"Apparently," Caleb responded.
"When are you leaving?" asked Mark, although he knew the answer.
"They're giving me a week to pack up. Then I'll have to wait for someone to take me."
"So you don't know exactly."
"Not really."
"What about Nellie?" Nellie Reed was another friend, at least to Mark. To Caleb, she was more. He had been a secret admirer for a while, and had recently left the 'secret' part behind. Caleb and Nellie had begun dating, and, while it was just an assumption, for Mark didn't ask for details concerning the relationship, Mark thought it was going well. Caleb looked behind him, looking at Nellie, who sat about ten yards away, studying her Results.
"I doubt she'll be coming with me," he said, a sad tone in his voice, "But I think I've got a plan. I'll figure out where she's going and, when I get to One, I'll do my best to be transferred to where she goes. I won't be able to live there permanently, but at least I'll be able to see her."
Mark just nodded. When it came to relationship advice, he was a horrible mentor
"I'm going to go see her," he said, "See you later."
"See you," said Mark, standing up, beginning to walk home.

Mark couldn't sleep that night. Part of the reason was that he was frustrated at the news of Caleb's departure. It was going to be difficult without Caleb, without someone he could trust. But there was another reason. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw a face. A face of someone else, someone who looked his age. The man was fighting something. The person screamed at him, calling to him for help. Come to me, he pleaded.
Frustrated, Mark grabbed a book from his shelf and walked downstairs. He began reading. It was an old story, written in a time far prior to his time. Others in the System would probably make fun of him for reading it.
Most people, except for Caleb.
It was a story about a girl. Genetically, she was different from most of the others around her. She was able to usurp the authority of the tyrannical government that was falling to pieces around her, allowing her to escape their grip. She did so with the help of others who were like her. But, in the end, she gave her life to save the people, even some of the oppressors, of her country from annihilation.
Mark sat in front of their fireplace. On a cold September night like this, the fire felt good, warming his skin as he read the story he'd read so many times over and over again. The wet wood of the fire popped, sending sparks everywhere. The tiny specks of light flew across the room, illuminating the dark, grey walls, making them dance with beautiful light. However, these sparks did not go out as they usually did. Instead, they froze in place. Mark watched in perplexed wonder as one of the sparks made a straight line for another, combining the two. The larger spark then moved to another, then another, then another, the speed of its travel becoming faster and faster with each spark being added to the inferno. Once all of the sparks had been combined into one huge ball of fire, it turned and flew towards Mark. Mark jumped up, trying to dodge the flame. The main part of his body evaded the fire, but he wasn't fast enough to move his hand out of the way. The fire took hold on his hand. Mark dropped his book, which was now in flames. The fire caught on the carpet, the flame shooting up. Mark could hear the loud screeching of the houses fire alarms, but just barely. The rest of the world seemed to drown out as he studied his hand in horror. It was covered in fire, but he neither felt nor saw any pain. In fact, he felt just the opposite. He felt power. He heard someone yelling at him, jolting him back into reality. He looked behind him, seeing his mother, Amy, on their stairs, gaping at the sight of his hand. Mark looked in her eyes and ran.

He ran out the door, ran past the Sector Two Boundary, and ran for miles and miles on end, trying to comprehend how and why such a thing was possible.

And there he stood, watching smoke billow into the sky. For how long, he did not know; time seemed to be irrelevant to him now, such an insignificant thing compared to the consequences of the day's events. Was he suspected of the accidental arson? If so, would Caleb be safe? He was the only one, aside from his family, that Mark had been close to. Would they come after him? They must know that he crossed the border of Sector Two. Even if, somehow, the fire wasn't his fault, or nobody knew it was, he had broken the law already. He couldn't show his face anywhere; to anybody. Maybe they would think he had died in the fire, leaving him safe, for now. Where would he go? To where would he come?
Come to me.
That voice again. Mark couldn't get it out of his head, couldn't ignore it. Perhaps he should heed the voice's instructions. Maybe they were, somehow, being sent by another person.
Come to me. Sector Three.
Sector Three? Why there? At least it wasn't that far; Mark could see it in the distance. Who could be there to help him? And why would they help him? Or maybe they wanted to hurt him; maybe it was the government trying to trap him, capture him for his crimes. No, that couldn't be it; the voice had begun before Mark had set the fire.
But it was his only option. He couldn't go anywhere; he didn't know how to survive outside the Nation. All he could see for miles and miles was a huge, grassy field, trees and rocks occasionally dotting the horizon, but, outside of the field, he didn't know what existed. Or, maybe, nothing existed. Maybe it was just a barren, grey land. Or maybe there was literally nothing there at all. Perhaps, outside the boundaries of the nation, a huge cliff dropped, plummeting down, down, into a dark, endless void.
Mark couldn't go back; people might be looking for him, suspecting him of arson. He couldn't go outside the country; he didn't know what existed out there, didn't know how to survive the environment. So there was only one option:
Come to me. Sector Three.