“She is not here, French. As far as I can tell, she has never been here. And there are no records of her in the system.” He looked out the frosted glass window behind me and cleared his throat. “Of course, back then, the system was less than efficient. Not that anyone is to blame, really. Those were early days, and we were just learning…”

“We?” Oh, if I could get up right now, the things I would do to him. “We? So you’re one of them now?”

He sighed and dropped his chin to his chest, speaking into his shitty dress shirt. “We are all one people, French. We always have been. All separations are false. There is but one God, and we are but one people under him.”

“God? What kind of god allows some people to be harvested so others can live? How is that godlike?” I sneered. I turned my head; I couldn’t even look at him. I wished he would just go, just get the hell away from me. What was the point of finding your brother when your brother had become the thing you hated and feared the most?

“You do know the story of Zeus eating his own children, don’t you?” He was so calm it made me tense.

“Oh, just get away from me.” I closed my eyes. My whole body hurt, my chest, my back, even my face.

“You’re upset—” he started.

“Upset? Upset?” I faced him again. “Oh, I am more than upset. I am a prisoner, and I am hurt, and I am probably going to die. And that’s not even the worst of it. No, no. The worst of it is that I get to see you again, and you’re not my brother. You’re not even close to being my brother.”

We sat in silence for long minutes. From the beds around us came coughs or groans. Men and women in white coats gliding between bodies like efficient ghosts. Then he tried again. “Well, you need to know that the Watchmen had to subdue you with some amount of force. During the recovery operation, you sustained quite a bad fall. There are six stitches in your right cheek where you came into contact with the floor. I’d advise you to keep your facial movements to a minimum for a while.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I scoffed. “And be sure to thank your Watchmen for me, too. Apparently, they did a bang-up job of watching. Who are they, anyway?”

“The Watchmen?”

“I thought Recruiters ran the show.”

“Out there”—he nodded toward the glass—“Recruiters run the show, as you say. They’re actually Supply Chain Management Officers, but the nickname stuck. In here, the Watchmen are the security.”

“How many layers are there to this bureaucracy?” I could dig for intel, too.

“In the institutions, like this one, the Watchmen are the front line. Then the Agents—that’s where I’m headed. They’re the managers. Then the Clergy are kind of like the board of directors. They used to be more involved in the day-to-day operations, but we’ve built in some layers to maximize their time. And the residents play a part, too.”