A/N- I have a thing for stories with totalitarian societies. This fic is heavily inspired by books like Fahrenheit 451, Brave New World, and 1984. That being said, please take note that I don't condone nor endorse a totalitarian, communistic, or even socialistic governmental system. Please enjoy!

The sun came up as it always had. It peered over the cold white city, over the streets of black, lighting the world with rays that mocked their purpose of heat. There was nothing special about it, nothing new. It was the usual, untouched by change or challenge, uncontested in its steady preparation for the day.

Gilbert woke in much the same fashion. He was roused by the loud buzzing of the alarm clock on his bed, the new one that projected the words, 'Good Morning,' across his ceiling in harsh green lines. He reached out and touched a button on the tiny cube. It gave a beep for confirmation, and the light on the ceiling went out.

He pushed back the covers of his bed with a practiced fluid motion. The light-blue blankets were stark against the grey metal of the room, but that was normal. He knew every other house looked exactly like this. Of course it did. The bed was bolted to the floor for safety, and even the off-white slippers he put his feet into were standard issue. Gilbert rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he walked down the empty hallway, into the equally bland kitchen.

From the white refrigerator he pulled a pre-made breakfast. It was a bowl of eggs, sausage, and hash browns, all together in what he knew to be a delicious combination. Some people liked the burritos, or the sandwiches. Not him. He liked it nice and simple. Besides, who could want such delicious ingredients in a shell or between bread? Not he. Plain. That's how he liked it. He preferred to leave those strange combinations to the more adventurous types of people.

While it was warming inside the black microwave on the metal counters, he turned and went into the bathroom. He stripped off the soft yellow pajamas, then stepped into the shower. Gilbert had heard stories when he was in school about how people before the New Age had to wash themselves. It was a funny notion, and he shook his head to it as he pressed a green button on the wall and stuck his arms out to his sides. The jets on the walls pulsed water and soap, cleaning him in under a minute. He pressed the blue one next, and holes next to the jets hit him with air, drying him the same way.

Gilbert picked up a new set of clothes waiting for him in the wall, the ones that were delivered daily. They were so lucky to have a city that was willing to even clean their clothes for them. He grasped the handle of the shoot and opened it, pleased to see he would be wearing a deep green outfit for the day. He liked green. It always went well with his black sneakers. Gilbert dressed and ran his hands down the pressed cotton of his shirt and pants, ridding it of nonexistent wrinkles. The city did an excellent job, as always. There were never any faults in the matching uniforms.

He ran his fingers through his hair. It was white, silver really, because of a genetic condition. The city had allowed him to live because it was an easy fix- they gave him hair dye, and contacts for his red eyes. Gilbert had seen his natural hair only when the dye was wearing off, and it made him feel ashamed. He wanted to be equal to everyone else. It was a very good thing he was in constant supply. Since his last dye a week ago, he couldn't see any white, and so he was very pleased with his black hair. Brushing it down into a tame style, he nodded to himself in a mirror that was there. From a little green case he took out his contacts and put them in, coloring his irises into a pleasing light brown.

Feeling normal once more, he returned to the kitchen where his breakfast bowl had finished cooking. He took it from the microwave and sat at the wooden table and chair set he had bought, cushions a light green color. It made him smile- he was wearing green, and he was sitting on a green chair. It was quite exciting.

Once he was finished eating, Gilbert threw away the plastic bowl and brushed his teeth. He took one last look in his mirror, making sure that his contacts were in perfectly. They were, and he was reminded just how lucky he had been to be allowed to live with such a disorder, and then he was out the door.

His steps went down to a small lawn, perfectly manicured, cared for by the city. To the left and to the right were lines of houses exactly like his. The only difference of the perfectly shaped metal homes were the black numbers that crossed the front of the doors and matching numbers on the curb. It made it easy to find houses and to get the right things delivered with ease. It wasn't for the citizens except to find their own homes, considering that the places they gathered were all public. It wasn't that it was forbidden to go to someone else's house, but it was quite certainly frowned upon.

Gilbert walked down the sidewalk quietly, his mind full of static. There was no tune in his mind, no whistle ready on his lips. Just the mind numbing sounds of the world waking around him, several more people coming out of their houses to join him on the sidewalk, all in a single file line to get to the bus stop that would whisk them off to their job.

The bus was black and plain. Stacked double, people walked in and climbed stairs to get to the top floor, and once that was filled, stayed on the bottom level and filled those seats. Just like always, every seat was occupied except for one at the front far right. It was reserved for certain people only- what kind, no one knew, and no one questioned. It just another funny little quirk that their perfect society had.

Gilbert sat in his usual place- third row from the front, bottom floor, against the window. A young woman with pretty brown hair and gentle eyes sat beside him, just as usual, and they shared a nod before looking straight ahead. The ride was quiet, as was normal, the radio on the bus sharing a story that had been continuing on for some time now.

All the radios had stories. Depending on one's mood, there were four stations to turn to and hear these interesting, wonderful stories. The one playing now was about a girl going to school. It was nice for everyone because the narrator went over the lessons that the teachers gave to the girl. Because they were the same lessons they were taught, it was relatable, and so it kept everyone invested in the story.

A day in the story had passed by the time they arrived at work. The announcer cut off, allowing them the freedom to leave the bus with no complaints, because they surely would miss nothing when they were aired at times everyone could listen. One by one, they left the bus. In the same single file line, they walked across a sidewalk, past a large, immaculate lawn, and into a glass skyscraper. It was just like all the ones around it, white and bland and simple. The transition from the white metal houses to the white metal businesses was a change that no one noticed and no one questioned.

They entered in, and various signs in the tiled, clean lobby spoke of where different professions went. Gilbert broke of with the same group of people that he did every day, and headed to the elevator. With them was the girl with the brown hair from the bus, but they didn't share a nod. They had already shared a well enough greeting until lunch time. The bell rang multiple times until the elevator reached the forty-third floor. Leaving some of the people behind, the little group that did the same job as Gilbert all stepped out. They headed through the reception desk and to their personal cubicles, where they logged onto the computers that were touch screen and set in the walls.

The computers were less set into the walls and more the actual walls. One small little black table was in the corner of the cubicle, and Gilbert was pleased to see that his daily cup of coffee was already placed there and ready to go for the day. Everyone got coffee. Sitting in the comfy wheeling chair, he scooted over to pick up the cup. It smelled delicious, the cream color easy on the eyes. Gilbert learned in school that coffee used to be dark in color and very unhealthy. What was given now was a hybrid of that version, was much healthier, and was light in color. He wasn't sure all that was in it, but it seemed to him that whatever was added could only benefit them. How nice it was to have a government that cared not only about their productivity, but their health as well.

He blew on it and took a sip, then placed it down again. With a few swipes of his finger on the electronic wall, he was signed in for work. Gilbert picked up the earpiece that was lying beside the coffee and fit it around and in his ear, and then he was put to work on his job for the day.

Work changed daily. It kept employees entertained and focused, and no one seemed to notice that it was only seven different jobs that were similar and circulated every week. It was the beginning of the week, so Gilbert was instructed to go through a series of problems set up by the server. It was to test his ability to do math, and though he struggled a little, it wasn't a bad ordeal. The cute borders along the puzzles and the occasional encouragement from the earpiece helped immensely.

That was how the hours passed. Math problems passed, a voice gave kind words every once in awhile, and he paused only long enough to retrieve the provided lunch from the commons before he went back to work. Chatter existed in that small room, where the employees spoke of their daily tasks, or asked what others were doing after work ended. As for Gilbert, he stayed back; he didn't want to make plans with anyone else. A new movie was coming out that night at the community theater, and he wanted to see it. Sure, it would be more fun if he went with someone else, but he hadn't gotten up the courage to ask that brunnette from his bus, and it had been a long time since he had seen his friend.

Ah, yes. His friend. What was his name again? Gilbert frowned, pausing with the fork inside his mouth, the bite of a succulent pork sandwich long since swallowed. He could remember blonde hair, always too long, always getting him in trouble. It was a sweet voice, too, that belong to him; words like honey dripped from a tongue much too loose in its ideas. It had been a long time since he had been sent to a center to reevaluate his education. Gilbert knew that the man had come from somewhere else in the country, but hadn't thought that would ever be a problem. Perhaps he had simply grown up in a bad Education Sector. Sometimes that happened, he heard.

Ah, well. There was nothing he could do about it now. And nothing he could try to do that would make it any better. It was a much more preferable option to simply do as he had been told- forget about those that would soon forget themselves.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Gilbert was very happy. Of course he was. He was safe, useful, and he wasn't disobeying. Overall he counted it as a good day as he packed up and left the building. He boarded the same bus, sat next to the same girl, was taken back to the same house, and after some quiet tidying of the clean place, he took the same bus as everyone else did to get to the movies. He was the only one that was not quietly chattering with someone, but he didn't mind. It wasn't like he was all that lonely. No, definitely not. Soon he would find new friends, and they would all go to the movies together- or perhaps to the sports centers, or the recreation rooms, or maybe even down to the river. That was always a fun endeavor, though should he choose that, it would have to be with a certain group of people. Not many were willing to venture there despite the fact they were most definitely allowed. The only thing they could not do was go into the river or cross it by any means. That, Gilbert and everyone else knew, meant immediate transfer, undergoing reeducation (or ReEd for short), and being assigned somewhere that might not be as nice. Nobody wanted that.

The movie theater was packed, as normal. The line was long and he tapped his fingers on his thigh. Once it was his turn, Gilbert simply extended his wrist. There was a tattoo there, from long long ago, and when the woman holding the tickets ran a small bar over it and it flashed his profile up onto the monitor beside her, she pressed a button and buzzed him in. Movies were always free. Some of the sports were not, similar to the way the Night Center offered services as long as there was the money to go with it. Of course, everyone could go if they wished to. Everyone was paid well, and there was no need to spend it on any necessities, so it was just fine to go to any Center wished. Though Gilbert didn't go to the Night Centers.

It wasn't because he thought they were a waste of time. No, it was simply because he did not have such strong urges as other people did. He was comfortable in his quiet, self revolving life, and didn't need to visit the sterile Workers there, no matter the gender. He didn't frown upon those who did, of course, as it was their decision. He has no right to pass judgement. Only the government did.

The movie itself was nice. It was some comedy, little quips of humor here and there, intermittent with views of the sprawling Capital, of the people happy there, of life fun and rewarding. A new plot, of course, different from the last three comedies he had seen, but no less enjoyable.

By the time he stepped out of the building, the sky had grown dark. A few buses were waiting for them, and when they all climbed in, he could see the Night Center from his window. His lips twitched faintly; why, he wasn't completely sure. There were buses there too, people just starting to step off, talking and laughing as they passed through the doors and into the facilities. The sight wasn't there long before the vehicle whined softly underneath them and they began to head home.

Gilbert's mind was quiet for the ride. He tried not to think about what the day had been like; his eyes watched listlessly out the window as the streets, all identical, all the same, all…

Lifeless.

His jaw twitched again and he drew his gaze from the window, moving it instead to his lap. Fingers jumping, tapping out a rhythm he didn't know, he struggled with a strange upwelling of feeling he wasn't used to trying to choke him. He didn't know what it was. He wasn't sure if he was ever going to. It was a bad thing, it had to be, because it kept pushing the thought of wrong onto him with every house that passed by.

The stupor didn't last long. Great wheels grinding to a slow, smooth stop, the bus doors opened quietly. People started filing off. When it was his turn, he walked out, and began down the sidewalk towards his house. The night lights were glowing- round orbs of light set just inside the grass of people's lawns, having taken the place of the ancient street lamps that were hard to fix should they break and possibly doom those in need of their guidance. In his head, Gilbert counted them down as he walked back from the bus stop.

Twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one…

The sound of shutting doors reached him. It wasn't the harsh, metallic clang that he always seemed to expect; instead, the layer of plastic that bubbled around the inside edge of the door kept it nice and quiet, sealing off the occupant from the world until the next morning would come.

Twelve, eleven, ten…

Ah, yes. The next morning. The next morning where everything would be the same. The sun would come up as it always had. It would peer over the cold white city, over the streets of black, lighting the world with rays that mocked their purpose of heat. There would be nothing special about it, nothing new. It would be the usual, untouched by change or challenge, uncontested in its steady preparation for the day.

Three, two, one…

Sirens.

Gilbert snapped his head up. Wailing sirens emitted from the street lights- a great double usage of them. Everywhere around him, people broke off running to get to their homes, the bus long gone. The siren was not unkind. It was a low tone, intermittently interrupted by a calm voice instructing everyone to go inside. If Gilbert didn't know he was already an albino, he would have been sure he had turned completely white.

He ran up his walk, hesitating only briefly to look down the street; he could see nothing, but that didn't mean nothing was there. Letting out a breath he entered his house and slammed the door shut, locking it, the bubble of plastic inflating to create an airtight seal. The sirens were never good. The only reason the sirens went off were because someone was causing trouble, or someone had spotted someone from the Pack.

The Pack, Wolf Pack, the Wolves, whatever they were called, they were awful. Rogue citizens, evil citizens, more beast than human, all wishing to destroy the way of life that everyone knew. Raids, attacks, the whole works- Gilbert had learned about that in his Education Sector. The government had handled the villains well; the attacks stopped. For six years there had been peace. He could barely recall the way the voice had sounded back then because of the complete and utter silence the group had taken on, and many people believed that the threat really had been eliminated. That they could keep living in peace. But maybe that was just gossip.

The sirens continued to repeat the same phrases, same calming words, muffled by the walls of his home. Carefully, Gilbert lowered himself into a chair. He was supposed to go into his bedroom, put in little earpieces to feed him stories and calming incentives, and not worry about it. The government would take care of it. He knew that and yet he… He wanted to know.

Minutes passed. He grew irritated at the repeated phrases, lips pursed together, but his features set in a stubborn façade. And then, all of a sudden, he could hear a noise. A very strange noise, popping, loud, and most importantly, getting closer. Guns. Someone was shooting guns. No- multiple guns. Gilbert pressed his hands over his ears but it still came through, brrap! brrap!, pounding into his head like nails were being pounded slowly into his skull.

Gilbert wasn't sure how the gunfire lasted. It could have been minutes, could have been hours, but he just didn't care. It would have been better had he gone in his bedroom like he was supposed to, drown out the treacherous people defying their government, drown out the ideas that violence like this could seed in one's mind. But he didn't, and he didn't want to risk moving, hardly dared to blink should someone know about it. No one had ever told him what happened to those who didn't follow this protocol simply because no one had ever been stupid enough to go against it.

The gunshots got closer and louder until Gilbert was sure they were right outside his house. His muscles screamed at him for standing still, but as he stood, they screamed at him for that, too. And then…

The gunshots stopped.

The sirens fell quiet, too. For a moment, the world didn't breathe. Limbo gripped every inch of life, captive, like black tendrils rooting everything in its place. Silence. Absolute silence. And then there was a thud from back in his bedroom.

Gilbert jumped. He turned. Hands curled up by his chest in the form of fists, for what reason he didn't know as he had never fought a day in his life, and advanced into his room. What greeted him there was not something he could have expected. Not in real life, not in his wildest dreams, not in his worst nightmares. Had his heart not been beating so hard he could feel it against his ribs, he could have sworn that he had somehow managed to become completely delusional, insane even.

Laying on his bedroom floor was a man; a man with dirty hair that fell in his face, bright green eyes, and dressed in jeans and a sleeveless plaid shirt. A mask covered the bottom half of his face and looked an awful lot like the maw of a wolf, open and bloody, midway into a snarl. What was the worst part, however, was that the stranger had not only climbed through his window, but that he held a gun in his hand and was bleeding at the shoulder, crimson pouring from a hole that Gilbert couldn't look straight at.

"Say one damn word," the stranger hissed, his voice accented strangely, free hand pressing to his ragged bullet wound, "and I will not hesitate to slit your fucking throat."

He didn't say anything. In fact, he wouldn't be saying anything for quite awhile. The last thing Gilbert saw before he passed out was the flicker of the lights that indicated it was time for everyone to go to sleep.

How ironic.