B283DGF1

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Nobody can hear a scream in the machine, except for the nurse.

Hand sanitizer was the scent of work. That, and burning flesh. But the nurse didn't mind, didn't let it bother her that she never truly got the scent out of her nose, even when she was home, sitting in front of the TV, listening as the government told her what was happening abroad. The machine was what kept her nation from being like the ones on TV, and she had always found it an honor to work for the doctor who flipped the switch and saved the nation, every single day. What's a little burning flesh scent when it meant peace?

She never once questioned the machine. Everyday, she clocked in, typing her identification number into the pad on the wall, and helped the doctor with the victims who needed their help.

In this world, victim was used as a synonym for someone who was sick, and needed help from the machine.

The nurse never questioned her role in modern medicine. This was what kept the nation going after all. She never did, until she knew the victim on the table in front of the machine.

"What's this?" the nurse asked as she stared at the victim. She knew what it was. She had done this every day for six years now. Six years. Six years of thinking everything the doctor did was good. That it was all for the greater good. That the victims needed the machine in order for the nation to stay whole. That's what everyone believed.

"Does it matter?" the doctor replied. He was an older man. He had to be, since he was there when the machine was first revealed, after the nations last civil war. It had been such a bloody war, and he had provided an answer. And everyone had agreed. 'It's society's machine,' he has said as a younger man, standing in front of it, shaking the government's hand. A clip was played in every elementary school. When nurse had first seen it, she had never thought she would be standing here, working with the doctor himself.

And she had never thought she would know one of the victims.

The nurse nodded, her eyes trained on the victim's pale eyes. His daughter was in the same class as her son. He was a nice man. A good man. He went on all the school trips with the kids, and made the best cookies in the bake sale. Logically she knew it made more sense to assume he had fooled everyone, that the doctor was right, that this was for the best. But looking into his eyes that slowly blinked back at her, she couldn't do that.

"He's B6728D5," the doctor said as he flipped through some notes.

"What's his name?" the nurse pressed. She knew his name.

The doctor said nothing as he flipped the machine on.

She flipped it off, and looked the doctor in the eyes. "His name," she demanded, before looking at the victim, pale on the table, ready to be slid into the machine. Ready to produce the scent of burning flesh that she herself could never shake. She looked back to the doctor, who seemed to be angrily looking through his notes.

Let him be mad, she thought. This is important.

"He has no name," the doctor landed on, flipping the switch on the machine once more.

And once more she turned it back off. "Everyman has a name."

"He's B6728D5," the doctor repeated. "That's enough now."

"Doctor, what's my name?" the nurse countered.

The doctor looked up, confused. "Nurse."

"My real name, doctor. I've worked here for six years. What's my name?"

"B283DGF1."

It was then she realized life in this world had gone too far. The people here had lost all sense of humanity. The machine didn't make the nation safe. It was fear and the murder by way of the machine that did that. "Jennifer."

"What?"

"My name is Jennifer, and this man is named Will. We have to stop this."

The doctor looked her in the eyes. "B283DGF1, I feel it may be best you get in the machine. For your own good, and the good of the nation, of course."