It doesn't take long for me to put away the few possessions I'd brought. By the time I'm done, it is only early evening and I'm bored. BioLink had removed every trace of previous occupancy - the bookshelves, cabinets, drawers were all empty. There isn't even a television, but the odds of broadcast waves making it into town were slim anyway. With nothing else to do, I read the pamphlet the driver has given me.

Most of it is pretty dry; there's a map of the town, with directions to the nearest grocery store and other necessities. It also includes restaurants, stores, and of course the BioLink facility, which sits on the page like a great, white inkblot. I am confused for a moment - can't I just look all this up? - and then I remember that in fact, I couldn't. Not until I've accessed LeafLink.

While the pamphlet doesn't explain how it works, it does include directions for maintaining the LinkPort, just in case I ever forget the complex procedure of opening a box and pouring water in.

The only thing that captured my attention was a printed itinerary of my schedule for tomorrow. I was to report to the facility for morning orientation and then devote the rest of the day towards 'construct training.'

You know, typical stuff.

Apparently I'd been one of the last additions to the creative team; unlike Briget and I, most of the members had been recruited earlier and given more than a single night to settle into things. Fine by me though - I was just grateful to be here.

It doesn't take me long to finish, and I toss the paper down on the cushions beside me. I glance around at the bare walls, the simple furniture. It dawns on me that this isn't some business trip - this is my new home, as stipulated. This was going to be a place I would grow into, whether I liked it or not.

Some new decor would definitely help make this place feel like home, but that would have to wait for a later day. For now, I decide, stocking the kitchen should be my next step. Having food in the cottage would go a long way of making me feel more comfortable.

I stuff the pamphlet in my back pocket, grab the house keys I'd been given from off the foyer dresser, and step out into the evening air. Along with the sun, the temperature had dropped, and it was far more comfortable outside than it had been when I'd arrived. I walk around the side of the house to get the bike. It's dull-gray and simple, but appears to be in good condition. A few moments later, I pedal down the cottage's short driveway, turn onto the road, and point myself in the direction of Main Street.

It takes about twenty minutes of winding roads until I arrive at the store. Despite it being relatively early, the streets had been practically empty; when I pull into the parking lot, there are only a handful of cars. I don't see any other bicycles, so I choose to lock mine up right next to the entrance.

The grocery store isn't large, but it's clean and well-stocked. I make my way down the aisles, grab staple goods like bread and eggs. There are moments when I cross paths with the rare shopper, and my guard goes up, but the old woman bagging tomatoes, the man deliberating cereal - they all seem completely normal. I don't have the nerve, however, to walk up to anyone and say hello, and they too, ignore me in turn. It means the store is quiet, aside from the banjo-heavy folk music leaking out of some beat-up speakers.

Very conscious of my bike's limitations, I only select a few light groceries and make my way to the checkout. There are several cashier stations, but only one is being manned. A young woman stands behind the register. I approach the space, attempting to make eye contact with her, but her face is turned away in a different direction, and she doesn't react to me at all. With no other shoppers in line, however, I assume she's just zoning out, and I begin to place my items on the cashier treadmill. I glance at her expectantly, but she's still unresponsive, her expression out of view.

"Excuse me," I say, disgruntled, trying to put myself directly into her vantage. When I manage to catch her eye, however, I realize that they've been closed the entire time. She'd positioned herself so that if you were approaching from the aisles, you wouldn't be able to tell. Her eyelids are fluttering, the orbs underneath moving rapidly. Her mouth is slack, and open slightly. As I peer at her, she works her jaw, and a low mumble trickles out. It's absolute nonsense, and I can't help but recoil at the sound.

"Hello," I ask, my voice an octave higher, "are you alright?"

She goes silent again, but her lips still move and her eyes continue to twitch. It's unsettling and eerie to watch, and unconsciously I take a step back. I want to suddenly be very far away from this empty, shuddering human. For a split-second, I wonder if she's having a seizure; I couldn't think of anything else that could explain her involuntary, spastic movement.

"Yo!" I'm shouting now. "Do you need any help?"

The cashier flinches and her eyes snap open. Badly startled, I jerk backwards even further, and collide with a rack filled with candy and magazines.

"Oh, shit - sorry, sorry," I mumble, scrambling to keep the entire thing upright. "I was just trying to get your attention-"

"No worries!" The cashier smiles at me brightly, her face completely transformed. Suddenly, there's just a normal person in front of me, instead of a twitching mannequin. "I totally got distracted for a while there.' She cranks the conveyor belt into action, and begins ringing up my groceries.

"Oh," I manage to say. "I feel you. Power naps are the way to go."

"What?" She chuckles, as if I'd said something mildly stupid. "I just wanted to go uplinking for a minute. Things just get so slow around here." She loads the groceries into a bag and hands it over. "It passes the time."

My movements are robotic as I pay, my mind struggling to keep up. "...Uplinking?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says, brow furrowed, "like, in LeafLink?" Then, her expression clears. "Oh, wait. Are you new around here?"

"Something like that," I say, ripping off the receipt. "You're telling me that, just now, you were in LeafLink?"

"Oh, yeah - it's super easy to use."

"What's it like?" I ask. "I've never seen someone, ah, use it before."

"Oh." She frowns. "Well, it's kinda hard to explain. You just gotta try it out for yourself."

Thanks for that steller explanation, kid. I want to press her for more information, but it's clear she's not in the mood to talk. Already, I can tell she's turning away, settling into that same position that had kept me from noticing her 'uplinking' in the first place.

I wish the cashier a good night and practically sprint for the exit. Framing the doorway, I belatedly realize as I approach, is a collection of indoor plants. I instantly recognize the thick, braided stems, the umbrella-shaped canopies.

And then I'm past them and through the door and I'm outside under the darkening sky and I can breathe easy again.

That had been an opportunity to see what LeafLink was actually like, to speak directly to one of the experiment's participants. But I panicked, and barely managed to maintain the conversation. I think there was a tiny part of me that had been holding out; despite everything, I never fully believed LeafLink was possible. But then I saw that woman, and it was like her soul had been drained away. She had become this murmuring hunk of flesh, and I knew her mind wasn't where it should have been.

She'd gone somewhere I didn't understand and then returned to reality, as nonchalant as opening your own front door.

I mount my bike, carefully balancing the bags between my handlebars. My ride back is uneventful and when I arrive at the cottage, I put away groceries, careful not to look directly at the LinkPort, quietly humming to itself on tha kitchen table (yes, that's right, it makes a sound). The driver nor the pamphlet had explained anything about the thing, besides the fact that it's apparently some sort of receiver. Maybe the information was too proprietary to share, except in-person? Or maybe I'd never know? Regardless, my curiosity had simmered down - I had no desire to attempt LeafLink for the first time unsupervised, anyway. My trip to the supermarket had only cemented that opinion.

I quickly cook myself a simple meal, and bring it into the living room to eat. It doesn't take long to finish, and after cleaning and putting the pans and dishes away, I decide to get an early night of sleep. I set a mental reminder to look for a local bookstore or something - the lack of television and internet access was really getting to me.

There's an alarm clock in the bedroom, and sheets already fitted to the bed. I set the clock for early tomorrow morning and try to get some sleep.