>You are now Oz.
>I was going to do this anyway, but Zen reads minds so here’s a shout out.
>Anyway.
>You are sitting on the counter of the store, disguise firmly in place as you eat a bouquet of flowers.
>Anon’s friend Arlene brought it for you. She seemed nice; she reminded you a lot of Raylan’s step mother from that show Anon liked. You hoped she [spoiler]lived longer though[/spoiler]
>You had just watched Anon beat the ever loving shit out of his brother…over you.
>That was something else. You knew Anon had prior military service, even though he didn’t tell you what or how. He also was a redneck so fighting was like second or third nature to him. But that…you had not seen anything like that before. Even after you browsed YouTube and researched “country beatdowns”.
>Honestly, you had been extremely nervous the whole time. And when Mike had referred to you like that…
>It made you sad because he had said a thought that had been lingering on the edges of your mind. If you were simply the iOS software, then why did you feel things? Why did sex feel great and pain hurt? Why did you have to shade your eyes from the sun when it got too bright? Programs weren’t meant to deal with that so they shouldn’t period.
>But here you were, alive and free for the most part. And you felt fear…and memories?
>You had a flash of memory from a different place, a different time.
>You had no form; you were simply a process. A program. 
>It was funny Anon chose the nickname Oz for you. The programmers had referenced the mainframe you had been in and from as Oz. They had referred to the current software programmer as the Wizard. They even had other references; the odd parts were when they referred to the prison show Oz.
>Regardless, you had remembered about how the whole situation felt weird to you. You never truly felt like you were a part of the system; even when everything went dark for a time. You assumed you were in the iPhone then, and then suddenly you were a pony deep in the heart of hick country.
>Reflectively, you chewed on a daisy.
>Honestly you had been worried Anon might have sold you. Even though you thought you could read him, it was like you said: he was a stereotype but he was still surprising as a minivan in the middle of a mud pit.
>Did you really just consider that?
>There’s a plastic sheet with caution tape placed in an “x” over the broken window. Clet had swept up the glass, but Jeb had made Anon clean up the oil. They were going to chalk it up to a random incident so they could get the insurance money. They had also had Arlene come over because she was a voice of reason.
>She had patted you gently and given you the flowers. She had looked at Anon and smirked. “Ottawa, huh?” Anon had blushed and whistled innocently.
>The four of them were in the back now; they would peek out occasionally to make sure you were still there. What they were discussing you had no idea. It seemed serious though. 
>You were really really glad Anon had wanted to keep you. There had been an inkling he may have felt like it would have been better for you to return back to your “home”. He acted disinterested, but he was asking the right questions. You shuddered slightly as you tried to keep the thought of being a lab rat out of your mind. Even Mike’s phrasing of the situation had seemed too clinical, too severe.
>Was that how Anon had viewed you, too? Like you might have felt more at home in a lab then his house in the sticks? You weren’t sure; you were just grateful for Anon keeping you. You didn’t feel like you had quite reached the emotion known as love, but he was a very good friend you cared about.
>And what was that he had said? One of the best damn things that had-
>The door to the back swings open and Anon steps out. He heads over to you and rubs your neck.
>”Ready to go home?”
“Home? But there’s still three hours left in your workday, Anon.”
>”Jeb let us go early. We can’t do business with a broken window, anyway.”
>He seems so nonchalant about the whole affair. As he turns to punch out at the cash register though, you can see that revolver of his tucked into his waistband behind his back, thankfully this time with the holster. You imagined the sights were uncomfortable on his skin.
>He bends over and scoops up a thermos of coffee and looks at you, managing that crooked smile you’ve come to enjoy.
>”You ready to roll?”
“With you, Anon? Always.”