As he usually did when travelling by bus, he got off before reaching his destination for a chance at walking. The fare was the same regardless; it was different with taxis and broomtaxis, however, whose fare was supposed to be measured according to an instrument that told exactly how much it was and how long the passenger had been abroad. This, however, wasn’t the case anymore. The driver, based on his mood, his hygiene, and whether he smoked or not, determined how much you would have to pay.

Buses were, for the most part, comfortable and efficient, as long as the driver and conductor didn’t overcrowd the aisle. In some unfortunate days when the bus was full, Mike had to give up his seat because the conductor asked him nicely not to keep a lady standing. Once, an evil conductor, unshaved, reeking of sweat, smoking, and cursing foully at the traffic, had ten men vacate their seats so that more passengers, girls all, would get on. Mike knew, however, that this wasn’t an effort to attract the fair sex, but to make as much money as possible. He detested public transportation, but told himself it was a pill he had to swallow for an easier life.

Nair, luckily, didn’t protest walking the rest of the way. She returned Mike’s smiles and nodded to most of his questions.

“Hey, you alright?”

She shook her head, and her smile, bit by bit, fell from her lips.

“Then let’s hurry to the mall.”

Across the street, outside Artur Lionokk’s College, were several patrol cars and a bus. Bystanders and shop owners looked to the throng of law-enforcers, and Mike wondered what they were thinking to themselves. Did they all confess their helplessness like he did?

Crows, each gripping a long, Burst Needle across their chest, stood at their open car doors, whipping their head about as though real birds. From inside the college whistled a cry, a thunderous roar of yelling and swearing, and a piercing wail of several women and girls. A messy column of Crows filed out beyond the gate, hustling college students in headlock. All of the students had their shirts pulled over their faces. What was left of their shirts only covered their collarbones and exposed everything else. They deposited some in trunks, raining down blows from truncheons, and wrenched the rest onto the bus. A woman, possibly a professor, tried to stop a pair of Crows unloading their rage and contempt with truncheons and clubs at a student’s back. It was swollen and bloody already, each thud and thump making Mike wince. They shoved her down, but her cries leapt up. As soon as that was over, they disappeared into their vehicles and drove away.

What had those students done? Crows were one of the Four Eyes, the Political Security Directorate to be exact. But if that was the case, then it could have been anything, since the PSD had the authority to summon and arrest anyone: citizen, soldier, officer, and even politicians. It couldn’t have been a fight, however, because then the college security would have handled it. No doubt it had been a protest then. College students were notorious for banding and starting bodies that had nothing to do with education. College was, for some people, their birth into the world of politics. It couldn’t have been a demonstration, either, to celebrate a victory or support the president in his elections, for that would be labeled ‘Spontaneous’ and security forces would be part of the march in civilian attire, ready to strike and arrest should anything happen.

For a heartbeat, he pictured himself on that bus the Crows filled up with students. How awfully would security forces jeer at them? How hard would they hit him before the bus stopped outside a security or intelligence bureau? Just for now, he was safe from them. But even though he was safe, his mind kept trying to convince him otherwise.

You are never secure around security forces, the voice, which sounded a lot like him, said.

Nair was shaking. Beads of sweat exploded onto her forehead, and her hand was freezing. Her voice, when it finally appeared, was a cracking wheeze. Clearing her throat, she whispered, “I want to hide behind you.”

“Nair.”

“Hide me, Mike.”

“I am not large enough.” He smiled.

“Hide me, Mike, I don’t want anyone to see me. Kreesta could be already following me now.”

“Maybe I can’t hide all of you,” he gripped her hand harder, almost covering it all, “but I can hide your hand in mine.”

Her smile eased the shaking. “Kreesta wants to steal my heart, Mike, will you hide it as well?”

“I have to have your permission for that first.” He grinned.

“Take my heart and hide it in your chest. They won't find it there, will they?.”

“They won't.”

“Mike.”

“Yes?"

“Whisper my name like you always do.”

“Nair,” he whispered.