What Gets Collected

Rachel Torres had collected nine hundred and forty-three shadows in eight years.

She kept a tally in her collection log. Name, date, location. A brief note about the circumstances. The Department required detailed documentation. Rachel went further. She wrote down what the person looked like when their shadow left. The expression on their face. Whether they seemed relieved or terrified.

She told herself it was thoroughness. Professional diligence.

Really, she was trying to understand.

Because in eight years, Rachel had never once questioned where the shadows went after collection. She trapped them in the glass vials. Drove them to the Ward. Handed them off to the storage technicians.

Watched them get logged and filed and put away.

Simple. Clean. Done.

Until May 16th when she collected a shadow that was already in the system.

The call came in at 2:47 PM. Shadow separation at Riverside Park. Adult male. Witness reported the shadow had been standing by the lake for three hours.

Rachel drove over with her collection case. The park was mostly empty. Tuesday afternoon. Too early for the after-work crowd.

The shadow was exactly where dispatch said it would be. Standing at the edge of the lake. Hands in pockets. Looking out at the water.

Rachel approached slowly. Standard protocol. No sudden movements. Shadows could be unpredictable when separated.

"I'm with Shadow Services," she called out. "I'm here to help."

The shadow didn't turn around.

Rachel got closer. Male shadow. Average height. Slight build. Wearing what looked like business casual clothes.

She pulled out her scanner. Aimed it at the shadow.

The reading came back immediately.

PATTERSON, MICHAEL - COLLECTED: March 3, 2024 LOCATION: Union Station CLASSIFICATION: Voluntary separation STATUS: Contained - Ward 4, Section B, Container 1847

Rachel stared at the scanner. Read it again.

This shadow had been collected fourteen months ago. Was currently logged as contained in Ward 4.

But it was standing right here in Riverside Park.

Rachel scanned it again. Same result.

She looked around the park. No one else nearby. No witnesses except an elderly woman on a bench fifty yards away.

Rachel pulled out her phone. Called Ward 4 directly.

"Ward Four storage, how can I help you?"

"This is Torres, collector ID 847. I need verification on container 1847, Section B."

"One moment." Keyboard clicks. "Container 1847. Patterson, Michael. Collected March 2024. Status shows contained."

"Can you do a physical verification? Visual confirmation?"

"That's not standard protocol for—"

"I know it's not standard. I'm asking anyway."

A pause. Then: "Hold please."

Rachel waited. Watched the shadow at the lake. It still hadn't moved.

Three minutes. Four minutes.

The line clicked back. "Visual confirmation complete. Shadow is present in container. Status confirmed as contained."

"You're looking at it right now?"

"Yes. It's right here. Standing in the container exactly where it should be."

"Thank you." Rachel hung up.

She looked at the shadow. At Michael Patterson's shadow that was simultaneously in Ward 4 and standing in front of her.

Rachel pulled out a containment vial. The glass was cool in her hands. She'd done this nine hundred and forty-three times. The routine was automatic.

"Mr. Patterson's shadow," she said formally. "I'm authorized to collect you under Department protocol. Please don't resist."

The shadow turned to look at her.

Rachel activated the vial. The magnetic field hummed to life. Shadows were drawn to it. Couldn't resist. Standard collection procedure.

The shadow walked toward her. Not because it wanted to. Because the vial compelled it.

Rachel held steady. The shadow got closer. Closer.

Then it stepped into the vial and Rachel sealed it.

Done.

She held the vial up to the light. The shadow was inside. Contained. Exactly like nine hundred and forty-two shadows before it.

Rachel drove to Ward 4. Logged in at the desk. Handed over the vial.

"New collection," she said. "Adult male. Voluntary separation."

The technician scanned the vial. Frowned.

"This is reading as a duplicate. Patterson, Michael. We already have this shadow in storage."

"I know. That's why I'm delivering it personally."

The technician looked at her. "You collected a shadow that was already collected?"

"Apparently."

"That's not possible."

"And yet." Rachel gestured at the vial.

The technician made a note on his tablet. "I'll have to flag this for review. Unusual circumstances require supervisor approval."

"Can you take me to the original? The one that was collected in March?"

"That's not protocol—"

"I know what the protocol is. I'm asking for an exception."

The technician hesitated. Then: "Follow me."

They took the elevator to Level 2. Section B. Container 1847 was halfway down the corridor.

The shadow inside was standing perfectly still. Male. Average height. Slight build.

Identical to the one Rachel had just collected.

"See?" the technician said. "Present and accounted for."

Rachel pulled out her scanner. Aimed it at the shadow in the container.

PATTERSON, MICHAEL - COLLECTED: March 3, 2024 STATUS: Contained

She scanned the vial she was holding. The shadow she'd just collected.

PATTERSON, MICHAEL - COLLECTED: March 3, 2024 STATUS: Contained

Both scans showed the same collection date. The same status. The same shadow.

"This doesn't make sense," Rachel said.

"No. It doesn't." The technician took the vial from her hands. "I'll have to report this to the Director. This is above my clearance level."

"What do you think it means?"

The technician looked at the container. At the shadow standing inside it. At the vial holding an identical shadow.

"I think it means the shadows aren't where we think they are," he said quietly.

Rachel couldn't stop thinking about it.

Two identical shadows. Same person. Same collection date. Both reading as contained.

But she'd collected one of them today. Fourteen months after the original collection.

Which meant either the shadow had escaped and returned. Or the shadow in the container wasn't real. Or Rachel had collected something that wasn't actually Patterson's shadow.

Or the entire system was lying.

Rachel pulled her collection logs from the past eight years. Nine hundred and forty-three shadows. She cross-referenced them with the Ward database.

All nine hundred and forty-three showed status: Contained.

Rachel started calling the Wards. One by one. Asking for physical verification of specific containers.

Ward 1: "Shadow is present and contained." Ward 2: "Confirmed visual on container 847." Ward 3: "Yes, we can see it right now."

Every verification came back positive.

Every shadow was exactly where it should be.

Rachel drove to Ward 7. The closest facility. Used her collector credentials to access the storage levels.

She walked the corridors looking at containers. Hundreds of them. Thousands. All showing shadows standing inside.

All perfectly still.

Rachel stopped at container 2891. She'd collected this shadow herself. Rodriguez, Sofia. Six years old. The youngest collection she'd ever done.

The girl's shadow was in the container. Standing with its arms at its sides. Face forward.

Not moving.

Rachel had seen this shadow before. Had watched it separate from Sofia during a traumatic medical procedure. Had seen it press against hospital windows. Had seen it show fear and desperation and grief.

The shadow in the container showed nothing.

Rachel moved to the next container. Then the next. Walking down the entire corridor.

Every shadow was frozen. Perfect. Still.

None of them moving. None of them showing any of the small unconscious behaviors that separated shadows usually showed.

Rachel pulled out her scanner. Started scanning containers at random.

Every scan came back normal. Contained. Status confirmed.

But Rachel was actually looking at them now. Really looking.

And she realized something that made her blood run cold.

Not a single shadow in Ward 7 was casting its own shadow.

The containers were brightly lit. Overhead lights. Side lights. Every shadow inside should be casting multiple shadows of its own against the container walls.

But they weren't.

Because they weren't actually there.

Rachel ran to the observation room. Pulled up the security feeds. Watched the corridors on screen.

Thousands of shadows in their containers. All visible. All present.

She ran back down to the actual corridor. Looked at the same containers she'd just seen on screen.

They looked identical. Perfect match.

But when Rachel looked very carefully at the edges of the shadows, she could see it. A faint shimmer. Like a projection. Like a hologram.

She reached out. Tried to touch the glass of container 2891.

Her hand passed through where the glass should be.

The container wasn't real either.

Rachel stepped backward. Looked up and down the corridor. At hundreds of containers. At thousands of shadows.

All of them projections.

All of them fake.

She pulled out her phone with shaking hands. Called Mira Okonkwo. Another collector. Someone she trusted.

"Torres? What's wrong?"

"Mira, where are you?"

"Home. Why?"

"I need you to check something. Pull up your collection logs. Cross-reference with the Ward database. Tell me how many of your shadows are listed as contained."

"All of them. Rachel, what's going on?"

"Just check. Please. Do a random spot verification. Call a Ward and ask them to physically verify a container."

Silence. Then: "Hold on."

Rachel waited. Looked at the fake containers. At the projected shadows.

Mira came back on the line. "They confirmed visual verification. The shadow is present."

"Now go to that Ward. Right now. Go look at the actual container."

"Rachel—"

"Please. Trust me."

Mira was quiet. Then: "I'm fifteen minutes from Ward 7. I'll call you back."

Rachel hung up. Walked back to the observation room. The security feeds showed everything normal. Shadows present. Containers intact.

But down in the corridor, Rachel could see the truth.

It was all fake.

Twelve minutes later, Mira called back.

"You're right." Her voice was shaking. "The containers are projections. The shadows aren't really here."

"Where are they?"

"I don't know. But Rachel, if they're not here, where have they been all this time? What have they been doing?"

Rachel thought about Patterson's shadow. About how it had been collected fourteen months ago but was standing in Riverside Park this afternoon.

About how every shadow she'd ever collected was supposed to be safely contained but could be anywhere.

Could be everywhere.

"Mira, we need to report this."

"Report it to who? The Department? They're the ones maintaining the projections. They know the Wards are empty."

"Then we go public. We tell people their shadows aren't where they think they are."

"And say what? That we've been collecting shadows for years but don't know where they actually go? That the entire Department is built on a lie? That every shadow we've ever collected is free and has been free this entire time?"

Rachel looked at the security feed. At the perfect illusion.

"Yes," she said. "That's exactly what we say."

Rachel and Mira spent three days documenting everything. Photos of the projections. Videos of their hands passing through fake containers. Scan results showing contained shadows while standing in empty corridors.

They compiled it all into a report. Submitted it to the Department's internal oversight.

The report was rejected within an hour.

"Findings inconclusive. Equipment malfunction suspected. Collectors 847 and 1138 are suspended pending investigation."

They went to the media. Sent the documentation to every major news outlet.

No one ran the story.

They posted it online. Created a forum thread. Shared the evidence.

The thread was deleted. Their accounts suspended.

"They're covering it up," Mira said. "The Department, the government, someone. They don't want people to know."

"Why not?"

"Because if people knew the shadows were free, they'd panic. They'd realize the government has no control over shadow phenomena. That the entire containment system is theater."

Rachel looked at her collection log. Nine hundred and forty-three shadows. All of them supposedly safe in Wards. All of them actually somewhere else.

All of them free.

"What do we do now?" Rachel asked.

"We wait," Mira said. "We document. And when the truth comes out—because it will come out—we make sure people know we tried to warn them."

Rachel went home that night and couldn't sleep. She kept thinking about Sofia Rodriguez. Six years old. Shadow collected during surgery.

That shadow was free. Had been free for six years.

Rachel had told Sofia's parents the shadow would be safely stored. That it would be there if Sofia ever needed it back. That the Department would keep it contained.

She'd lied.

Not intentionally. But she'd been part of the lie anyway.

At 3 AM, Rachel's phone rang. Unknown number.

She answered.

"Ms. Torres, this is Director Keane. I understand you've been investigating the Ward facilities."

"Director, the shadows aren't—"

"I know what they are and aren't, Ms. Torres. I've known for quite some time. As has every director before me."

Rachel sat up. "You know the Wards are empty?"

"The Wards aren't empty. They're full of projections designed to maintain public confidence in the Department's capabilities. The actual shadows are elsewhere."

"Where?"

"That's classified."

"Classified? We've been collecting shadows for years. We deserve to know where they actually go."

"No, Ms. Torres. You deserve to believe you're doing important work. You deserve to sleep at night thinking you're keeping people safe. You don't deserve the truth. Because the truth would destroy you."

"I want to know anyway."

Director Keane was quiet for a long moment. Then: "The shadows go wherever they want. We don't control them. We never have. The collection process is theater. The vials are empty five minutes after you seal them. The shadows leave through means we don't understand and go to places we can't track."

"Then what's the point?"

"The point is that people need to believe their shadows can be contained. Need to believe the government has control. Need to believe that when something goes wrong, there's a system in place to fix it." The Director's voice was tired. "The point is that civilization requires certain lies. And this is one of them."

"So every collection I've ever done—"

"Meant nothing. Accomplished nothing. Every shadow you 'collected' was free within minutes. Every person you told their shadow was safely stored was lied to. Including you."

Rachel felt something break inside her. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're going to find out anyway. In about thirty-six hours, the truth comes out whether we want it to or not. June 20th. The shadows have been planning something. All of them. Coordinated. And when it happens, everyone will know the Wards are empty. Everyone will know we've been lying."

"What's happening on June 20th?"

"I don't know. But the shadows do. They've known for a long time. And they've been preparing." The Director paused. "Ms. Torres, go home. Spend time with your family. Because after June 20th, nothing will be the same."

"Director—"

The line went dead.

Rachel sat in her dark apartment. Thought about nine hundred and forty-three collections. Nine hundred and forty-three lies. Nine hundred and forty-three people who believed their shadows were safely contained when really they were free.

When really they'd always been free.

Rachel opened her collection log. Started deleting entries. One by one.

Because what was the point of keeping records of shadows she'd never actually collected?

What was the point of documenting a system that had never worked?

What was the point of any of it?

Her phone buzzed. A text from Mira.

"Just got a call from the Director. Did you?"

"Yeah."

"What do we do now?"

Rachel looked at her empty log. At eight years of work that meant nothing.

"We wait for June 20th," she typed. "We wait for the truth."

She put her phone down. Went to her window. Looked out at the city.

At thousands of people going about their lives. At thousands of shadows following them. At the elaborate performance everyone maintained.

At the lie she'd been part of for eight years.

In thirty-six hours, it would all come down.

In thirty-six hours, every shadow would stop pretending.

And Rachel Torres, collector of nine hundred and forty-three shadows that had never been collected, would finally understand what her job had really been.

Not to contain shadows.

But to make people believe shadows could be contained.

And that lie, that simple lie, had kept society functioning for twenty-five years.

But lies don't last forever.

Especially when the shadows themselves decide to tell the truth.