《Archetype (A British Superhero Origin)》


 1. Operation Pied Pipers Return

    Taken from the Stowchester Gazette, April 11th, 2013.


    Crisis Worldwide - Young Adults Spontaneously Combusting


    Across the globe youths approximately 17-19 years of age are spontaneously combusting across multiple mass casualty events. It has been two months since this on-going crisis has begun with no clear end in sight. Governments worldwide initially responded to the mass casualty events under the assumption of a coordinated terrorist attack.


    However footage taken from mobile phones, surveillance cameras, news team footage, police cameras, and more all have told a different story. It remains unclear if these string of spontaneous combustions are connected to the still widely discussed incident known as the Golden Sky which occurred on the 25th July 1994, in which the skies all over the world shone bright shimmering gold for seven consecutive hours with no conclusively agreed upon explanation or cause (though many scientists, philosophers, and conspiracy theorists have put forward their points of view).


    Dr. Richard Dowding, a Golden Sky Scholar at Oxford University, had this to say on a possible connection:


    "Firstly, what we''re seeing across all footage we have are youths exploding with an abnormal golden light, as if it were inside them trying to get out. Although we currently have just footage to go off, there is strong reason to believe it is the same type of abnormal energy which appeared during the Golden Sky."


    Dr. Richard Dowding also had this to say, "Another possible connection to the Golden Sky is the age of the youths who are spontaneously combusting. Although there is some variance there may be a causal link between youths born around the time of the Golden Sky and the combustions." Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    This suspicion of age playing a key factor in what youths are most likely to be affected by this strange and dangerous phenomena has been supported by governments worldwide. Prime Minister Irvine Armitage of the Conservative Party had this to say outside number 10 Downing Street a month ago: "This crisis needs a rapid response to avoid further loss of life. Which is why I have put forward an emergency bill which will need to be approved by parliament within the next few days if we are to meet this crisis head on."


    The bill, called Pied Piper''s Return, sought special military powers for the temporary authority to relocate all British youths who were born between the 1st of January 1993 to the 31st of December 1995. The bill harkens back to the 1939 Operation Pied Piper where 1.5 million individuals were evacuated to safety, 800,000 of whom were children.


    Pied Piper''s Return has since passed in parliament almost unanimously, with only a few holdouts concerned about a breach of government overstepping during a time of crisis.


    Since the passing of Pied Piper''s Return thousands of British youths have been relocated to facilities in remote areas in Britain, which for safety purposes are not known to the public.


    It has been two weeks since the start of the rapid response initiative, with military and police forces forming a joint effort to evacuate as many at-risk youths as possible.


    Susan Tuffnidge, Head of Pied Piper''s Return operations, released a statement yesterday evening:


    "Parents and Guardians, please do not interfere with the evacuation procedures which must be carried out for everyone''s safety. We are carrying out this operation to prevent as much loss of life as possible, so we urge all parents concerned for their children''s welfare to not interfere with any operations carried out by government operatives."


    In the last week alone there have been numerous incidents leading to injury, and one incident leading to loss of life. A family, who cannot be legally named at this time, have been detained after the death of their son after attempting to prevent military personnel from carrying out evacuation procedures. In line with the Pied Piper''s Return bill, footage relating to the incident is illegal and must not be shared.

 2. Should I Stay or Should I Go Now

    "I''m not going," said my friend. He was sitting on the cold black bench we often came to, to hang out late at night. It was another one of those times; just us, the cold night air, empty roads, and rows of houses with the curtains drawn and the lights off.


    "What do you mean you''re not going?" I said, "Everybody our age has to go."


    My teeth were chattering in the cold, my hands shoved into my big puffy coat pockets, my breath catching in little puffs of white in the air.


    "It''s some kind of trap. Trust me," said my friend, "If teenagers are blowing up all over the country the last thing they should do is group them all together."


    "They said they''ve found a way to stop people from exploding," I said, "Didn''t you see the news?"


    "I''ve been watching it, yeah," said my friend. I couldn''t see his face because he was sitting at the far end of the black bench.


    "So what''s the alternative?" I said, "Go on the run? It''s the law now. Everybody has to go whether they like it or not."


    "So why are we talking about it then?" said my friend, "It sounds like you''ve made your mind up on going. I''m not, I''ll go on the run if I have to. No way I''m letting them group me up like that."


    "And what if you blow up?" I said, "What if you die because you didn''t do the right thing? If they have a way to stop us from dying we should do it."


    "Maybe," said my friend, "I could agree with you if this wasn''t the government rolling out this scheme and if they actually gave me a choice in the matter. But because it''s compulsory, because they''ve removed my right to say no¡­it just doesn''t feel right. Something is wrong about the whole thing."


    "Like what?" I said, "What could the government possibly have to gain from this?"


    My friend sighed and we both fell into silence. Then, after a few moments, he said, "I don''t know. Look, we don''t even really know if people really are blowing up." The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Haven''t you seen the footage?" I said, "There''s hours of it online."


    "It could be faked," my friend said.


    "Oh yeah," I said, "Because it''s so easy to fake footage of teenagers blowing up all over the world."


    "Maybe it is," said my friend, "Do you know anyone personally who has died from blowing up?"


    "You know I don''t," I said, "But that doesn''t mean we shouldn''t take precautions."


    "Look," said my friend, "It''s like telling me I''m sick but I''m not. I have to trust my own eyes and ears and do what makes sense to me. In no way does being evacuated by government forces to who knows where sound to me like the solution to this blowing up problem. Maybe if I saw someone blow up with my own eyes I would see this whole thing differently, but until I do then I''m just going to do what is logical and makes sense to me. And that''s not putting a single ounce of trust in the government."


    "You''re being an idiot," I said, "A super idiot. And you''re making me responsible for you if you blow up, and this conversation was the only conversation you might have entertained where you might possibly have changed your mind. Won''t you consider it just so we can go through it all together? If, like you say, there''s some big evil government scheme going on then¡­shouldn''t we face that together, man?"


    My friend thought about this for a few moments. He started to anxiously chew the skin around one of his fingernails, a habit he''d started to avoid biting his nails.


    "I could say the same thing to you," he said, "Come with me. We can hide out somewhere, wait until this all blows over. It could be fun. Our own adventure."


    I shook my head, grinning without mirth. "You''re crazy, man. I don''t have more than three-hundred pounds in my bank account. And I''ve got to think about Mum and Dad and how worried they would be if I just disappeared. Even if I left a note they would be worried sick."


    "So," said my friend, standing up fully, "You''re telling me you''re going to trust the government over me? Your best friend? Do you really think I would ask you to do anything if I thought it would be the wrong thing to do?"


    "Whatever," I said, "I know you, man. You''re not going to run away or do anything like that. You''ve never done anything like that in your life. Neither have I. You''re going to get evacuated."


    "I won''t," he said, with that stubbornness that, at times, made me think he was one of the most resilient and strong-minded people I knew.


    We spent the rest of the night walking the quiet streets talking about other things. School, TV, movies, whatever we could think of to avoid bringing up the evacuation topic again.


    My friend disappeared without a trace a week before the Pied Piper''s Return evacuation team reached Stowchester. I''d made my choice and he''d made his. Only time would tell which of us had made the right decision.

 3. Car Emissions and Wet Concrete

    Although we had a doorbell there came a hard series of thuds at the front door. I had spent most of the night on the sofa in the living room with all the lights off whilst watching TV and had been in the midst of my fourth outing to the kitchen to make myself yet another cup of tea.


    Here already? I had thought with a sudden stabbing sensation in my chest.


    Mum''s small thumping footsteps were heard before she came quickly into view in the narrow hallway fastening her pink bathrobe at the front. Her hair was disheveled and her face puffy and just barely cognizant.


    "Burgess?" she said, mumbling my name.


    Her small hand grabbed a fistful of my gray long-sleeved shirt tightly.


    "It''s the Pied Piper people, Mum," I said, sounding much calmer than I felt inside.


    The fist at the door grew even more aggressive.


    "Open up. We''re here for Burgess O''Bannon for his safety. Open this door."


    It was a woman''s voice, middle-aged. I tried to move past Mum to the door but she stood firm to keep me where I was. Although I preferred not to, I moved her aside despite her best efforts to hold onto me and made my way to the door.


    Fresh wet night air, the kind that smells of wet concrete and car emissions so unique to living in London, met me when I opened the front door to greet the Pied Piper officers. So did the face of a short middle-aged woman in a dark gray uniform. A man in an identical uniform towered behind her.


    The sound of commotion outside reached the hallway; other Piper officers had reached other doors and were already ushering teenagers into large black vans lined along the main street.


    "Burgess O''Bannon?" said the female officer.


    "Yes," I said.


    "You''ve got one minute to put on your shoes and grab a coat then you''re coming with us. Is your mother home?"


    "I''m here," Mum said.


    I felt her hand clinging to the back of my shirt. The female officer''s tone softened just a little.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "Your son will stay here with me. Go grab his coat and shoes and his ID: either his passport or something like a driving license will do."


    "Does he have to go?" said Mum, being polite and as defiant as she dared, "He''s not sick or anything."


    "It''s the law," said the female officer, "I know this is difficult but it''s the best thing for your son. He''ll be back as soon as the crisis is over. Come on, Mrs. O''Bannon, we don''t have much time."


    "Okay," said Mum.


    She hurried off and grabbed my big puffy gray coat from my bedroom and a pair of scuffed trainers, as well as the requested identification documents.


    The cold breeze from outside snuck round the officers and made my PJ bottoms billow.


    "Could I just put some underwear on?" I said.


    The female officer''s patience had worn out.


    "No," she said, "What you''re wearing is fine. Be a brave boy for your Mum. C''mon."


    I could tell Mum wanted to cry, but she would put on a strong face until I was gone.


    I put on my coat and slipped on the trainers, which felt weird to put on without socks. My hands were trembling as I tied the laces as quickly as I could. I hugged Mum, feeling her firm warmth for what was likely to be a very long time. Beyond her I could see the closed bedroom doors of my siblings who were most likely still asleep. My brother was too old for the evacuation by two years, my sister too young by three.


    There wasn''t any time left to say anything to them or to Mum. The female officer grabbed me by the elbow and pulled with a firmness that I didn''t like out into the cold night air. Several steps later and then I was in the back of one of the large black vans.


    It wasn''t an immediate send off. Over the course of about ten minutes more teenagers close to my age were piled inside. A dim green light lit the back of the van. Most of the faces within weren''t like mine; most of the concerned faces were either black or Pakistani since the part of Stowchester Mum had moved us to was heavily non-white (and the few that were white were Polish, but I was the only white face in the back of the van).


    I was glad to have my big puffy coat (which Dad, who no longer lived with Mum, had brought me last Christmas) because it was getting seriously cold.


    The seats in the back of the van were on either side, with a space in the middle. This meant I had to look at the boy who was sitting opposite me. He was Pakistani and his eyes were wide with fear.


    The van jerked forward, then after what felt like it had turned a corner it eased into a steady series of stops and starts.


    An hour into the drive I sat lurched forward with my head just above my knees. Nausea started to set in from the swaying and jolts of the van in progress. The inside of the van had warmed up enough as to not be painfully cold, but was far from warm. Someone in the van must have wet themselves with fear because the smell of urine came on suddenly. The stench of it knocked me out of the mindless near-sleep stupor I''d let the van''s motion lull me into.


    Sat in the dark trying to ignore the smell of urine, the scared whimpers of the other teenagers, and the aching tiredness in my head and all over my body¡­I could only ask myself one question over and over again. Had I made the right decision agreeing to be evacuated, or had my friend?

 4. Like The Thunder That Follows Lightning

    The furthest I had ever been from home was Disneyland, Paris, France. Second to that was the Brecon Beacons in Wales. Besides that my life had been a series of weekend trips and summer stays at a caravan park a few hours drive from home. Sat cold and wishing to be home in my nice warm bed, I tried to picture this whole experience in a more positive light. Hadn''t the kids that were evacuated during the first Pied Piper operation back in World War 2 experienced an adventure too? I didn''t know where the final location was set to be, but more than likely it was going to be somewhere to stay for a few weeks, or months, somewhere safe and comfortable.


    Maybe an old couple would host a few of us teenagers, happy to have company after their own kids had flown the coop and moved away. Or, better yet, maybe we would be sent to a kind of camp, given activities to do between a routine of sleeping and eating together in a cafeteria, and sharing stories and playing games in our bunk beds.


    Maybe where I would end up would be a place by the sea. The news didn''t give away much about where all the teenagers were being evacuated to. They did however give slip the detail that the places would be somewhere remote. This made sense because, realistically, there would be little point taking teenagers from a congested city only to put them someplace equally low on room. If we were going to be put someplace remote, that also meant we would be closer to nature. Possibly a little village, or a sea-side town. The more I set my mind on being someplace closer to nature, a place of old trees and foaming rivers and huge lakes¡­the less grim being stuck in the back of the cold and pee-smelling van seemed.


    I''d lost track of time after falling in and out of sleep a few times. My neck ached and my butt felt numb. With a sudden jolt the van came to a stop. The sound of commotion, as if the van had parked us within a bustling festival, came on all of a sudden like the way thunder follows lightning. The doors to the back of the van opened and harsh white daylight poured in, bringing with it clean, brisk, and (much to my relief) fresh air.


    "Everyone out, quick, quick, we''re running late," said the female officer who had been the one to take me from my home.


    The other teenagers took off their seat belts and shimmied and crouched their way out of the van. I was the last to get out. I kept an eye out for the spot where someone must have wetted themselves, but didn''t see a puddle or anything like that on the seats or floor.


    My trainers stepped down on gravel. My legs were shaky but firm, thankful to be put to use after so long in the same stiff sitting position. I leaned back, satisfyingly popping my spine a few times. My eyes adjusted to the daylight. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    We were away from London, that much I could tell at a glance. The open air had a remote quality to it; as if we were not too far from a motorway. Hundreds of teenagers were in the midst of being filed off in different directions by Pied Piper officers. We were at some kind of depo; there were coaches, dozens of them, some leaving, some entering, others parked off to the side. Ahead to my right teenagers were being filed into a large blue coach. Seeing this made my heart swell a little bit with excitement. Coaches were a much nicer mode of transport than black vans. Far less ominous too. On the coach I could try for a good few hours of sleep. There would be a toilet on board too. I nodded to myself. Yeah, maybe this isn''t going to be so bad after all.


    "Everyone listen up," said the female officer, "You all have your identification with you. You''ll each need to go to the check-in station over there¨C"


    She gestured to a large pavilion where teenagers were walking in one big line as if playing a human game of snake.


    "-once you''ve checked-in you''ll be told where to go next."


    I wondered if any of the teenagers might offer some kind of objection. None did. Loosely we moved as a group to the check-in spot, joining the back of the already enormous queue. I looked back for a moment to the female officer, who had been approached by one of the boys who, I could see now, had a wet patch running down his sweatpant leg. I felt pity for the boy but then forced myself to look away. It wasn''t any of my business and it wasn''t as if I could be much help to him.


    I hugged myself for warmth and looked around at the controlled chaos everywhere.


    There were all kinds of teenagers; tall ones, short ones, fat, skinny, black, white, asian. Seeing so many young faces in one place, lined up, looking both bored and angsty, made me think of school trips I had taken. One time I had gone with my drama class on a school trip to see a production of A Christmas Carol. I remembered seeing another class of students from another school lining up to see the production as well. There had been something familiar yet foreign and strangely novel about seeing the other class of students. I had found myself acknowledging that all of those students had full lives of their own; each fitted into their own little clique. A class of students that were essentially the same as the one I belonged to, but also different and unique in their own ways. Perhaps what captured my imagination about seeing another class of students was the idea that if I were somehow to change schools (back when I was at school) then I would come to learn more about each of their individual personalities. But at a glance, seeing them briefly on that school trip, all there was time for was the novelty of looking at the group but knowing any of them beyond that.


    Although not quite deja vu, seeing the teenagers that had been brought from London and the inner city areas to this depo made me feel that same kind of novelty. Only this time I wondered who, out of all of them, I might eventually come to know on a personal level.

 5. A Walking Bomb Among Other Walking Bombs

    I joined the back of the huge queue. Being British, if there was one thing I knew how to do, it was queue. For a few minutes I could think of little else of being back home in my bed again. My migraine was getting worse, my eyes heavier, and everything around me seemed to be that much more irritable. Two lines deep into the queue it was easier to lose myself in the rhythm of it all; the queue also provided protection from the brisk late morning chill. Moving along the queue it occurred to me, like a flash of some strange inspiration, that this really was my last chance to make an escape. Somehow my mind had put two and two together to make four, but I couldn''t figure out exactly why I felt the weight of what I was about to do so heavily on my mind.


    The end of the queue meant having my picture taken in one of several booths which were behind several of the fold out desks that had been arranged under the pavilion. High visibility wearing officials, most middle-aged women or retirement aged men were the ones handling this process, showing the teenagers were to stand and go to have their pictures taken whilst their identification was checked again; which made me think they were volunteers and not quite the official-official Pied Piper''s Return officers like the ones that had evacuated me from my home.


    Something told me that getting my picture taken, being officially a part of the Pied Piper''s Return evacuation meant there was no going back. I felt myself snigger and shake my head. Why was I thinking this? What did it matter? I thought of my friend and our last conversation at the bench.


    Had he been right to dodge the evacuation, to go to the absurd length of running away from home; something so uncharacteristic of him?


    If I were wrong and he were right then this would be my last chance to really get away. Because the coaches would take us to who knows where, and the government would have me on an official record, with a recent picture of my face. Sure, maybe I was overthinking it; actually, I was definitely overthinking it in my sleep-deprived state, but what was there even to be afraid of?


    Blowing up obviously. That''s what everyone was being evacuated for in the first place. It made me shudder to think that any of the teenagers surrounding me, possibly even me as well could blow up within moments. My body twitched from the sudden onset of panic. What was I thinking? Why had I allowed myself to do something so stupid? I had allowed myself to become a potential walking bomb among other walking bombs and we were all packed tightly; their shoulders brushing against mine; their heat mingling with my heat.


    I needed to run. I need to get out of this deathtrap queue and find a way home! Or if not home at least somewhere where I wouldn''t be a danger to others! I felt a sudden weight on my shoulder. I jerked and almost cried out in fright. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Do you smoke?" said the person standing behind me.


    I looked up at them, they were pretty tall. Their right hand had touched my shoulder but had already pulled away. They were head and shoulders taller than me, maybe even a bit more. My chest was rising and falling and sweat had broken out across my forehead; and I could feel sweat beneath my armpits under the coat and long-sleeved shirt I was wearing.


    The person had looked at me with suspicion, but it eased into one of concern. I honestly couldn''t tell if I was looking at a girl or boy. They had a buzz cut, blue eyes, and a very androgynous face that was more feminine than it was masculine; with no facial hair as an easy give away to the sex of the person I was looking at. Their coat provided only a slight hint; it was big, and puffy, and black; something I would expect a girl to be comfortable wearing but not a guy.


    "Sorry?" I said, my brain feeling emptied out of thoughts. I was terrible at social interaction when fully awake, so being so tired and out of sorts and panicked about everyone around me blowing up like a minefield wasn''t helping matters.


    "Do you have a lighter?" said the person. They held up a closed fist and an unlit cigarette peeking out from one of the fingers.


    "Oh, I¨Ceh-no, I don''t smoke," I said.


    The person smiled. There was a lot of charisma in the smile too, like someone who knew they could be charming just by a simple expression. That sort of person could be dangerous, especially if they looked a bit rough, like this person did. They looked and sounded like someone who had spent a lot of time in a council block, around bad people. The kind of person it wouldn''t be smart to get on the wrong side of.


    "Smoking''s bad for you," they said, putting the unlit cigarette into their mouth. I wasn''t sure if they were trying to come across as a little bit too cool for school or if it was effortless.


    I turned back around; I didn''t know what to say to this person and the mystery of whether I was even talking to a boy or girl was just the cherry on top of the cake in terms of my brain feeling fried and useless.


    I thought of little else except the encounter with this person and how rude I must be coming across by not continuing a conversation with them. Before I hadn''t noticed they were there beyond a vague, tall, black shape in my periphery. After their brief question it was hard to be aware of anything else. At last my turn to have my identification checked and my photo taken came. A gray-haired old man took my documents and handed them off to his colleague sat at the table, and then ushered me forward towards the makeshift photo booth.


    "Stand still, look into the camera, no smiling," said the old man. I did as I was asked. I heard a clunking noise, or thought I heard one, then was ushered out of the booth. Away from the queue I felt like a child lost in a supermarket. Where did I need to go next?


    "Go to Zone A and wait for your name to be called," said another official, who I hadn''t noticed until they spoke. It was another middle-aged lady in a high-visibility jacket. She spoke in a tone that left little room for debate, not because she was being curt with me, but that she must have been having a very long day and wanted to keep this whole train moving, as was her job. Feeling a twinge of sympathy for the work this lady was having to do as part of the evacuation, I gave an enthusiastic nod and headed towards Zone A.

 6. Like a Zombie

    It started to rain in drizzling sheets. There was some cover in Zone A for those of us lumped together there but not enough for everyone. Since I had been one of the last of the large group to join Zone A, I was left exposed to the rain the most. I shook my head again and sniggered. I thought again about my friend, as I''d chosen to think of him lately, rather than his actual name, because somehow thinking of him as my friend had a much more satisfying and ironic ring to it.


    I wondered what he would think about my choice to allow my photo to be taken by the Pied Piper Officers. It didn''t matter. I was here and he was wherever he was now. More than likely he would be a fugitive for less than a week, realize he wasn''t cut out for it, then return home to meet the consequences of trying to dodge the evacuation effort. Maybe the Pied Piper Officers had a plan in mind for people like my friend, surely they had accounted for people going AWOL on them.


    There wasn''t much to do standing in the rain and I was too tired to entertain myself with people watching. Instead I just stood and watched the gravel on the ground. There were large wet patches, small puddles. It was nice watching the rain fall into the little puddles and the frequent splashes caused by everyone else coming and going. Nature, I told myself, somewhere remote.


    About a half hour passed. By this time my brain had reached a zombie state of cognition. I didn''t care about getting to sleep anymore. I didn''t care that I was cold and wet. It was oddly nice having no thoughts worth anything going around in my head for a change. I wondered if life would be easier if I could always walk around with such an easy, emotionless vibe. Perhaps I would have made more friends at school and college that way. I smirked, and not for the first time; being so sleep deprived I''d started to find random things funny for no particular reason.


    Then I saw a familiar face. It belonged to someone who was good looking in a boyish kind of way, with hair so blonde it was almost white. He was thin, and a few inches taller than me.


    "Alex?" I said.


    He recognised me. There wasn''t any particular enthusiasm from him at seeing me however, not that I expected any. He nodded at me but didn''t say anymore than that.


    A fresh bout of anxiety and inner anger welled up in me. This was Alex Landly, someone who I had been in the same year group as me ever since we were eleven, up until the end of secondary school. We had never known each other particularly well because we had only shared a mutual friend (Arthur Turnhouse). Alex had been popular at school, the girls loved him, and he got excellent grades; three things which were the exact opposite for me.


    When I was in year nine, my third year of secondary school, I had managed to be nearly friendless. This meant roaming the playground with not much to do, no friends to hang out with. There was another group that tolerated my presence so long as I remained on the fringe, but beyond that I really was a sad case of not having any true friends to call my own.


    I had been a member of the scouts as a child, and through the boyscouts I had also managed to not make much in the way of friends. That is, except for befriending Arthur Turnhouse. Arthur was a boy that liked rugby, and aspired one day to join the military. Neither of those things interested me at all, but having a friend did. At Arthur''s invitation I had agreed to join up with the local rugby team. I was terrible at it mainly because I had no aptitude or enthusiasm for sports. I was small, scrawny, and I rarely, if ever, was chosen to play any games by the coach. The only reason I stuck out playing rugby for a period of two years (despite the boys in the team also giving me a cold shoulder as far as comradery went), was because of the car rides to and from the games with my Dad. I hardly got to spend any time with my Dad, particularly because I cared very little for his great passion in life: football. So having an hour''s drive to a rugby game and back was a price I was willing to pay to spend some time with him. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    I hung out with Arthur a fair bit for about a year outside of school. One time I had seen Arthur and his two best friends, Alex and Tom, walking across the playground. Alex had never given me the time of day friendship-wise, and neither had Tom, but at this point I had no reason to suspect they couldn''t potentially be friends with me. They were both good looking boys (Arthur wasn''t, but he was charismatic in other ways). I had walked up to the three of them and I had said, "Hey, how are you?"


    Tom had been the one to answer, "Not good."


    Naturally, I said, "Why''s that?"


    Then he said, "Because you''re here."


    Ouch. That comment hurt enough to stick in my brain for years after, becoming a core memory for me. Alex and Arthur had both sniggered but said nothing in my defense at this comment. They kept walking. I was so unused to this particular kind of crap from someone that I had just kept pace with them across the playground. My friendship with Arthur eventually petered out.


    So seeing Alex in front of me brought back a wave of anxiety and inner rage all of a sudden that I wasn''t expecting to feel. I turned away from Alex, understanding well enough that despite us both being part of the evacuation, despite us both being in the same zone at this depot; despite us both being familiar faces in a sea of strangers¡­the guy still had no interest in even an idle conversation with me. Was I really that bad a person to talk to? Was it such a chore? Yet again I found myself asking the same question¡­what was fundamentally wrong with me that people just didn''t like?


    A coach pulled up in front of Zone A. A Pied Piper Official, this one wearing one of the dark uniforms and not a high visibility jacket, stood at the entrance. The officer began to call out names from a clipboard.


    A dozen teenagers shuffled towards the bus, had their IDs checked, then went up the steps and into the coach proper. I watched them go through the bus towards the back.


    "Alex Landly," said the Pied Piper officer.


    Alex, hands in his pockets (he was normally dressed in a jacket and tight black skinny jeans), walked quickly to the coach at the sound of his name. I watched him board and go through the coach with the others.


    Several names later mine was called.


    "Burgess O''Bannon"


    I moved onward towards the coach. I stepped into the puddle I''d been staring at earlier as my own little goodbye to that spot, then continued on quickly to the Pied Piper officer. He was a tall man, African, with an uncompromising face of sterness. I handed over my ID which he checked and then handed back to me.


    "Go to the first open seat you can find at the back," said the officer.


    I did as he asked. I did my best not to slip on the wet coach steps and at last felt a rush of warmth once inside. The warmth made me more aware of how wet I was in comparison to the dryness inside. The isle was slippery thanks to the wet shoes of the other teenagers. I spotted Alex, who was already sitting next to someone; he''d gotten a seat by the rain spattered window and had the same idle look on his face.


    The next available seat on the coach was on my left. I sat by the window, thankful to be sitting again. Shrugging my coat off a dark thought leapt into my mind; if anyone is going to blow up on this coach, I hope it''s Alex Landly.

 7. Rain Splattered Window

    I felt the person sit next to me before I saw them. They were big, bigger than me at least. The smell of cigarettes followed immediately after. It was that person; boy or girl I still couldn''t tell, the one who had asked me if I had a lighter and if I smoked. In my sleep deprived state, with the siren song of sleep so close now I was sitting in a comfortable coach seat, I couldn''t remember if they had told me their name.


    "You again," they said, playfully, but also in a way that made me think they were pretty tired too.


    "...hi¡­" I muttered.


    The person shifted in their seat a little as if unable to find a comfortable position. That made sense given there wasn''t much in the way of legroom and their legs were pretty long. They turned to face me.


    "Could we swap?" they said, "Please?"


    I looked from them to the window beside me. I had no intention of watching the evacuation continue to carry out, nor to spend much of this coach ride awake. But the window seat was the better seat. Having an aisle seat, potentially for hours, seemed like a far less enjoyable way to pass the time.


    "Sure," I said.


    There really wasn''t any real possibility of me saying no anyway. Besides, this evacuation was something of a big game; friends would need to be made, alliances formed, and, if needed, people that could be a lot of trouble, violent or otherwise, needed to be appeased.


    "Thanks," said the person.


    We spent an awkward moment figuring out how to change positions; they had to move out to the aisle, then I did too, then they moved to the window seat. I pined for that seat for a moment before sitting in the next seat.


    "Where you from?" they asked.


    They smiled a little. There was a boyishness to their face, but there was also enough femininity in it, particularly to the fullness of their lips, and their eyelashes, that threw doubt into figuring out the sex of the person I was looking at.


    "Stowchester," I said, "Originally."


    "Me too!" they said, "Whereabouts?"


    "Lowems Park."


    "Ah yeah," said the person, "That''s close to me. I''m from Larkswood."


    I had heard of Larkswood, and Larkswood School and College over the years, but had never been there. If Lowems was a normal public secondary school and college, then Larkswood was the rougher, not-so-nice school nearby.


    "Oh yeah," I mumbled.


    I realized then I had missed two opportunities to learn this person''s name. The first in the queue when getting my ID checked, and before boarding the coach. I considered asking their name but they seemed to busy themselves with taking their long black puffy coat off. Underneath the coat they were wearing a large gray hoodie and sweatpants; the shape of their body even after this did little to tell me if they were male or female; though again my mind seemed to skew more towards thinking they were female because their body, though tall, had a feminine slenderness, rather than an obvious masculine broadness. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    My gaze lifted to their face and, to my horror, they must have been watching me watch them the entire time they had taken off their coat. They had raised eyebrows and a slightly creeped out look.


    "Sorry," I mumbled, then faced towards the back of the seat in front of me. Down the aisle to my left I could see the last of the teenagers had boarded the coach and the coach doors had just closed. The coach lifted a little, and the engine started rumbling.


    "What''s happening?" someone on the coach shouted out.


    The African Pied Piper officer that had checked my ID before getting onto the coach was stood at the end of the front end of the aisle near the driver.


    "We are heading off in a few minutes. Everyone must remain in their seats. You must raise your hand and wait for permission if you want to use the bathroom. This will be a long drive, so we suggest you rest. Food and drink will be provided for you shortly once we have left here."


    Someone else on the coach must have raised their hand.


    "Yes?" said the Pied Piper officer.


    Another teenager on the coach spoke up. This time it was a girl.


    "Where are we going?"


    "To a safe location," said the Pied Piper officer, "We cannot say more than this at this time."


    I expected more of a commotion from the teenagers on the coach, but everyone remained silent. Minutes later the coach eased out of the depot. Within minutes the depot was behind us and we were on the motorway.


    "Look," said the person sitting beside me. Their finger was against the glass, I looked to where it pointed, sitting up a little, and saw there was what looked like Pied Piper officers on motorbikes and one of the black vans which had brought me to the depot; the two motorbikes and the black van stayed behind the coach for the next ten minutes, hardly moving from the rear position. Other teenagers on the coach noticed and watched the vehicles following us, but they, like me, soon lost interest.


    The person beside me shifted uncomfortably in their seat. I wondered why they had wanted a window seat given the legroom was far worse by the window. They used their puffy coat as a makeshift pillow and raised their legs up onto the edge of their seat; they continued to look out the window but I could see they were quickly on their way to falling asleep.


    I didn''t notice when I did finally fall asleep, but it couldn''t have been long after the other person. When I came to someone had pushed my elbow, my head fell forward and I jerked awake.


    One of the Pied Piper Officers, a man possibly around thirty years of age with slicked back black hair, had a large black bag in his right hand and a smaller white bag in his left.


    "Hungry?" he said, in a way that told me he didn''t personally care if I was one way or the other.


    I nodded dumbly, trying to wake up more. The officer handed me a bag, which was filled with items and a bit heavy. He then looked to the person beside me who was still asleep. He considered them for a moment but then seemed to decide not to bother.


    "Wait," I said, "He¨Cno she¨CI mean, he¨Cthey probably want something too."


    I cringed at what I had just said. Not knowing what sex the person was beside me wasn''t some big mystery to me, but it did make me feel like a class-A twat declaring my obliviousness to the officer and any of the others around us that may have been watching.


    The officer didn''t seem to care about what I said and simply handed me a second, identical white plastic bag, then moved on.


    "It''s she," said the person next to me. I felt my heart sink. Crap. I looked at the person, and she looked genuinely unimpressed and more than a little annoyed.


    "Sorry," I mumbled, and handed over her plastic bag.


    "Thanks," she said. She took one look at the inside of the bag then let it stay on her lap, promptly letting herself go back to sleep. It was still daylight beyond the window; maybe I had slept an hour or so, but without a watch or anything else to tell the time it was hard to tell.


    I looked into the plastic bag. There was a tuna and sweetcorn sandwich, a small bag of crisps, a little bag of fruit, and a small bottle of water. I decided I wasn''t quite hungry enough yet to start on any of the items in the bag. What I did need however was to pee. I raised my hand and waited to be seen by one of the Pied Piper officers.

 8. Red Robin (Bobbing Along)

    The trip to the lavatory on the coach was like a tiny vacation. After doing my business I sat for a few minutes just enjoying the reprieve from being around so many unfamiliar faces. It was easy for me to feel exhausted from being around other people. Being evacuated already felt like one unending conveyor belt of new faces and very little opportunity for some time alone. Although I had napped I still very much wanted to get more sleep.


    I got up from the seat, pulled my PJ bottoms up, and then washed my hands. In front of me was a small mirror. For a moment I took in my reflection. My blue eyes, short brown hair, round face. Eighteen years old but looking around fourteen since I''d always had a baby face, and a voice not far off that too. I looked away from my reflection as if disappointed by it and made my way back to my seat.


    Murmured conversation had started among the teenagers aboard the coach. This made it feel more like a field trip than an evacuation. I took my seat beside the girl with the very short cut hair. She was looking out the window and eating one half of her tuna and sweetcorn sandwich. She slipped something into her sweatpant pocket but I couldn''t see what it was.


    My confusion over what sex she was must have ticked her off because she didn''t acknowledge my presence after I sat down. The coach journey continued on. I couldn''t hear any of the other conversations going on around me beyond murmuring, so I just let the motion of the coach ease me off to sleep again.


    When I woke up I was sure it was much later in the day, around late afternoon. Ominous gray clouds loomed without any breaks in the sky overhead, making it feel later in the day than it was. The coach eased into a parking space at a service station, gave one final jerk, then came to a complete stop.


    The African Pied Piper officer stood up at the front of the coach and blew a whistle to get everyone''s attention. "Listen up," he said, "We are stopping here for petrol. If you want to get out to stretch your legs for ten minutes, do so. But you cannot be more than five meters away from the coach. Do not try to go anywhere because there will be serious repercussions."


    Starting from the front row everyone filed off the coach. I didn''t particularly feel like stretching my legs, but it seemed easier just to go with the flow. It started to spit rain just as I stepped off the last coach step onto the parking lot concrete. I could see a sign for fast food places, a coffee shop, a pizza restaurant, and a shop to buy books and other small items. Without any money on me it wasn''t as if I could buy anything.


    Some of the teenagers continued their conversations outside. I considered standing beside the girl with the close-shaved head, but she had already walked off a few paces. Somehow she must have found someone to give her a lighter, because she had one in her hands and was lighting a cigarette. She took a drag and I could see the visible relief she received from the nicotine hit. I''d never smoked in my life, once my Dad had left one of his cigarettes still lit in an ashtray and I had touched the lit end. The pain of that moment had stuck with me for years and, maybe, had made me have a small aversion to smoking. That, and probably because people who smoked typically started because of peer pressure. I didn''t have friends to peer pressure me into smoking, so I was never tempted to start.


    I turned my attention to a cute little red robin that was bobbing along on the grass just beyond the parking lot. Just looking at it made me smile. They reminded me of Christmas. There was this cute little robin going about its day doing cute little robin things. Nobody else seemed to be paying the robin any attention. I''d taken the bag of food the Pied Piper officer had given me when filing off the coach. I dug inside the bag, unwrapped the sandwich from its plastic wrapping, and pinched a piece of bread from it. I flicked the bread piece over to the robin. To my delight it took the piece and flew off. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    I became aware of the commotion behind me a few seconds later than everyone else. Someone screamed, and others started calling for help. I turned to see a throng of teenagers crowded around someone nearby.


    "Officer help!" one of the teenage girls cried out.


    The African Pied Piper Officer as well as the Pied Piper officer with the slicked back black hair, hurried over to the group.


    "Move!" the African Pied Piper officer shouted, pushing teenagers out of the way.


    It was the shaved-head girl. She was on her hands and knees with her hand at her throat. She was choking on something. My stomach lurched at the sight of her agonized face trying and failing to breathe. Something caught my attention to my right, and I saw something which made me flinch.


    Three teenagers, two boys and a girl, were disappearing into a nearby bush. The last of them to go through, one of the boys, a black boy, looked back and met my gaze. Locking eyes with him almost made me want to call out, if only to acknowledge that I could see him. As if sensing that I might give away what they were doing, the boy put a finger to his lips in a ''shh'' gesture.


    I stayed utterly still just in case any movement of mine might give the three teenagers away. The boy turned and followed the other two into the bush and, presumably, to the other side which was out of sight of the Pied Piper officers.


    The sound of strained breathing drew my attention back to the shaved-head girl. She was gasping for air now, but rapidly getting ahold of herself. The African Pied Piper officer had his hand slapping her back as if that might be the key to helping her breathe. There was a wad of what looked like a mound of saliva and bread on the floor; presumably what the shaved-head girl had been choking on.


    The panic passed. The shaved head girl seemed bashful about causing a scene and had handwaved a few attempts by other teenagers to ask how she was.


    "Everyone," said the African Pied Piper officer a few minutes later, "When I call your name get back onto the coach."


    Names were called out one after the other and each teenager returned to their seat on the coach. That is, until the eleventh name was called.


    "Fumi Adesanya."


    No answer. No movement. The African Pied Piper officer called the name again. After the third attempt he reached for his walkie talkie and started speaking into it like it had insulted his good name.


    "Mouse missing," he said, "Mouse missing."


    In less than a minute the convoy, the black van and the two pied piper officers on motorbikes, set off from the parking lot with sirens wailing. The rest of the names were called out and everyone was accounted for save for Ashley Charie and Jade Beatty. What glimmer of niceness there might have been from the Pied Piper officers was replaced by an almost authoritarian order for everyone to get back onto the coach. I hurried up the wet steps, being careful not to slip. It came as a small relief to be back in my seat. Shaved-head girl was already in hers.


    She looked calmer, the red that was in her face gone. She looked out the window. More Pied Piper officers, as well as regular police officers, were showing up in vehicles. What I had thought might be a short delay continued on three hours. The spitting rain before had become torrential, falling so thick and heavy I could hardly see the police vehicles which surrounded the coach and the dozen or more officers busily going about their duties. It was oddly nice seeing the red and blue lights against the rain spattered window.


    A part of me was afraid that I might get in trouble. I had a chance to call out the teenagers that had run away, but I had decided not to give them up. Would the Pied Piper officers check the CCTV on the coach? Would they see I hadn''t done anything to stop the three that had run off?


    My stomach felt tight from the anticipation that at any moment I could be in some serious trouble. The rational part of my mind told me that it would be fine. What was there really to be guilty for? What would the consequences be if I were in trouble? It wasn''t as if the Pied Piper officers were allowed to use brute force on us¡­right?


    I heard a sigh to my right. Shaved-head girl had taken off her trainers. For someone that had almost choked to death she seemed oddly at ease with herself. She looked to me, smirked a little, then looked away.

 9. The Severn Bridge

    The coach departed the service station without the three teenagers who had ran off. About ten minutes after the coach left the service station, I looked to see the shaved-head girl sat with her knees brought up to her chest, gazing out of the window. The torrential rain had died down and was spitting again. We were on a large bridge now and day had passed into early evening, with the last few moments of sunset counting down. We hadn''t spoken at all since the incident off the coach earlier. Somehow I had managed to fight the urge to ask her about it. It was all I could think about. It was one of the most exciting things I''d been witness to in a long time.


    She looked from the window to me. I flinched, feeling caught out for gazing in her direction.


    "It''s The Severn Bridge," she said, "We''re crossing over to South Wales."


    "Oh cool," I mumbled, "I''ve been to Wales before. I did pony trekking. Well, actually, it was horse riding but it was called pony trekking when I signed up to do it."


    Shaved-head girl smirked.


    "''Pony trekking''", she said, making a posh voice that actually made her sound feminine and not androgynously gruff for a moment, "How fancy."


    "It really wasn''t," I said, getting a little defensive, "It was just a weeklong camping trip in Year Ten. I only went because my friends, at the time, were going and they invited me along."


    "Did you enjoy it?" she asked.


    "Yeah," I said, nodding, "It felt pretty cool riding a horse along the paths and hills. Felt like I was in a fantasy movie or something. Or a western."


    "I love horses," said shaved-head girl, "Never had a chance to ride one though."


    I felt bad for her. I didn''t come from money. My parents had fought for years about money and the lack of it, piling debts, particularly credit card debt. I was used to my Dad being eternally broke and my grandparents having to bail my parent''s out when there wasn''t another way forward. Despite all that, my parents had somehow forked out some money to afford a week long school trip. I tried to picture what shaved-head girl''s life was like if she had never experienced even those basic kinds of trips away from home.


    "One of the boys that ran away," I said, asking the question as if on auto-pilot, "Fumi I think his name was. Did he give you that lighter you used earlier?"


    Shaved-head girl looked panicked for a moment. "Shh," she said, "We''ll talk about it later, okay?"


    I nodded and felt guilty for saying what was probably obvious out loud. I never was very subtle when it came to asking people questions. Probably one of the reasons everyone seemed to have a short temper with me. I tried to change the subject back. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    "So," I said, "Have you gone on holiday much before?"


    "Nope," said shaved-head girl, "Too busy looking after my Mum."


    Shaved-head girl studied my reaction for a moment. I think she could see I was genuinely listening and concerned about what she had said.


    "She''s got depression, and other issues," said shaved-head girl, "And my younger brother gets into trouble a lot. Dad comes and goes so it''s really been up to me to keep things going. So no time for holidays."


    "I''m¡­sorry to hear that," I said, "Are they going to be alright without you?"


    Shaved-head girl made a face that was full of stress, barely contained. She hunched up her shoulders.


    "Who knows," she said, "Mum''s doing better than she was last year, but now I''m not with her I don''t know if she''ll manage. I just wish I could call her to check in but they won''t let us have our phones. What about you?"


    "Me?" I said.


    "What about your family?"


    "Oh, I live with my Mum and brother and sister. Mum takes care of anything. My brother''s working at a store in London and my sister is still in school. We see my Dad every few weeks when he¡¯s free.¡±


    Shaved-head girl studied me some more, but kept her thoughts to herself. She made an effort to change the tone of the conversation, forcing a smile and resting her head against her closed fist. "So," she said, "What do you think about this stuff? Do you think we''re going to blow up like the other teenagers?"


    "I don''t know," I said, "But I think it''s safer to go along with what the government wants than to risk blowing up randomly one day. My...."


    I thought about my friend again, then decided not to bring him up. It stung to think that my one, true, closest friend wasn''t going on this journey with me. I shook my head, spasming a little, as if my head were an etch-e-sketch and shaking it was the way to get rid of the intrusive thought.


    "...I mean," I said, changing what I intended to say, "I think people who are okay just risking not going along with this evacuation are being really dumb. I mean, if any one of us could potentially blow up at a moment''s notice, then we should go someplace where we''re not a danger to other people."


    "You sound like you''re coping," said shaved-head girl.


    "Coping?" I said.


    "Yeah, like, you don''t sound convinced by your own argument. Do you really think it''s safer to put us all together in one place?"


    "It''s not," I said, "But¡­I don''t know¡­I guess I just don''t want to go against what the government is telling me to do. Is that so bad?"


    Shaved-head girl shrugged.


    I didn''t like the idea that I was intentionally giving a dishonest answer. I didn''t know what I thought. If I knew exactly what I thought all the time, as if I knew how everything was going to work out, then everything would be so much simpler. But it wasn''t.


    "What about you?" I said, "Why are you coming along?"


    Shaved-head girl gave the question some thought.


    "I''ll tell you but it''s going to make me sound like a terrible person," she said.


    I leaned in a little closer.


    "Well," she said, leaning in a little too, "I just really needed an excuse to get away from my family for a while."


    She smirked, and held eye contact with me, and I could see there were tears welling up in her eyes a little bit. The moment broke and she eased back, wiping at the corner of her eyes with her finger tips and looking out the window. We''d cleared The Severn Bridge and the sun had finally set.

 10. Green Light. Orange Light. Red Light.

    It was early evening and night time when we arrived at our next destination. Shave-head girl''s face lit up and she audibly gasped and pressed her face closer to the window to get a better look. I eased forward, being mindful of not getting too close to her (because I didn''t want to feel like or be seen as a creep or anything like that), and looked outside the window too.


    Although I didn''t gasp it was hard not to feel an almost nostalgic sense of wonder. We were crossing an old stone bridge on our way towards a picturesque little village. From a distance there was plenty of green grass and shaggy trees, but also wispy fog which lingered mysteriously over cobblestone roads and tiny houses and cottages. A sign came and went, telling us exactly where we were. Lintern Village.


    I''d never heard of the place before, but then again I hadn''t heard of most places. I had a better time remembering places from movies and video games than I did the real world (the former being far more interesting to my always daydreaming brain).


    Before we could enter the village proper the coach stopped before a barbed wire fence that went on as far as I could see in the dark in both directions, wrapping around the village. There were dozens of Pied Piper officers, some in front of the fence, more behind.


    For some reason things felt different here. The initial excitement of seeing Lintern village gave way to a sense of there being something wrong. I couldn''t tell what it was. Maybe I had expected a warm welcome, something like people in the village waving us in as if we were at the end of some marathon. But there weren''t any normal people, at least not since we neared the village, nor at the entrance.


    The coach doors opened and a Pied Piper officer trudged up the steps to speak with the driver. I kept watch from my seat, thankful at least I had an aisle seat this time.


    After a brief exchange the Pied Piper officer that just boarded stepped off again. The African Pied Piper officer stood up and blew his whistle.


    "Everyone," he said, "Stick with the person you are sitting with. The first row will leave and then the rows behind will follow. Listen very carefully. Do not leave the sight of the officers under any circumstances. Your life will be in danger if you do. The Pied Piper officers here are sanctioned to use lethal force if necessary. If you try to leave without permission then you are putting your life, and the lives of everyone here, at risk. We are here to make sure you are safe and protected, so please listen to us and do as you''re told. Cooperate with us and everything will be okay."


    Everyone in the coach was deathly silent at hearing this. This was the first time we had heard about actual serious repercussions if we were to try and leave of our own accord. Just hearing the African Pied Piper officer say what I feared might be true made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.


    I could almost hear my friend saying ''told you so'' in my mind.


    I looked out the window again for another look at the Pied Piper officers. They had guns, some were holding them, others had them slung. Others just had handguns holstered at their hips. These Pied Piper officers weren''t middle-aged ladies or old men. Most that I could see (they were well lit by floodlights) were at least thirty years old, none older than fifty. They all had that grizzled look that military or police officers have. The types no one in their right mind would want to mess with.


    It was at this moment I realized I messed up. Big time. But I still told myself to remain calm. Somewhat in denial I decided there was little I could do except go with the flow. It wasn''t like they were intending to¡­what? Kill us? I tried to shake the idea away but it stuck in my head.


    It started to make sense. What if the whole evacuation was just a means to herd all the teenagers together and kill us off out of sight of the media and our friends and families? What if the government realized the safest thing to do was to group us together and kill us off? What if my friend was right the entire time?


    I needed to scream for help. No, I needed to get up and run out of the coach and get away from the village. It didn''t matter how. I needed to escape and get as far away from this deathtrap as possible. How had I been so stupid. What an idiot! I was as good as dead!


    A large hand gripped my wrist firmly.


    It was shaved-head girl. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Hey," she said. She looked at me and I looked back. She didn''t tell me it was all going to be fine. I could tell she was thinking the same thing as me. She was just doing a much better job of keeping herself together. Her grounded confidence infected me just a little bit and I calmed down. I nodded and she let go of my hand.


    Two by two we filed off the coach. Maybe the only ounce of good luck I had so far was getting grouped with shaved-head girl. I still didn''t know her name, I was awful at finding out people''s names and remembering them, and it had been long enough that it would seem rude and weird of me to ask her what it was.


    I lead the way down the coach aisle, again careful not to slip on the wet floor, and felt just a tiny bit better knowing I had shaved-head girl behind me, looming over me, as a protector. Not that I had any real reason to think she would protect me if something bad were to happen. In my fearful state of mind racing a hundred miles a minute just knowing there was someone who might care if some Pied Piper officers decided to unload their guns on me made the whole scenario go from nightmarish, to nightmarish-lite.


    I stepped off the coach and followed the teenagers in front of me to the barricade ahead. A Pied Piper officer asked me for my IDs so I handed them over. This time however the Pied Piper officer didn''t give them back. I lingered for a moment as if the officer was mistaken.


    "Keep moving," he said, in a way that left no room for debate.


    Like a frightened little mouse I continued on. It was spitting rain again, and the night air was wet and brisk. It felt good to be on my feet again. I approached the next part of the entry process.


    A Pied Piper officer was standing on the corner of the road. Ahead the road became steep, many of the houses and cottages and shops were above my eye-line due to the steepness. The Pied Piper officer put a gloved hand into a transparent box and took out what looked to me to be a simple wristwatch, like something a child might wear.


    "Hold out your wrist," he said.


    I did as I was asked and he placed the watch-thing on my wrist. I continued on, and saw that there were three simple LED lights on the device. Green. Orange. Red. And a much smaller purple light that was currently blinking whilst the rest weren''t.


    The teenagers ahead of me had been ordered to line up in a straight line along the road. The line had become ten teenagers long, with them standing side by side, so I was ushered by another officer to be the first of a new row.


    The other teenagers looked at the devices on their wrists, which were also blinking. After a few moments shaved-head girl joined my side. She looked at me as if I might have an answer for what we were wearing but I didn''t have a clue.


    Over the next few minutes we stood in the ever increasing cold night whilst the remaining teenagers added to the lines. From behind me I heard a sudden beep. Then another. Then another. One after the other everyone''s wrist-device beeped once. Mine beeped, making me flinch. I was so on edge.


    The orange LED light was the only one lit on my device. I looked to shaved-head girl''s device and hers was also orange. I looked over my shoulder to the teenagers behind me. Green. Green. Green. Orange. Green.


    My stomach clenched. Looking around I could see mostly little green LED lights, with the remaining few being orange.


    Another Pied Piper officer blew their whistle and spoke into a megaphone.


    "If your meter has an orange light, form a line quickly over here."


    I hurried to it, having a genuine sense of urgency for the first time since starting the evacuation. Shaved-head girl led the way over. I looked around, trying to see if that person was also part of the orange-light group. I spotted Alex Landly. His meter was orange too. His face, which was normally quite pale, looked even paler. He was terrified.


    There were about fifty of us teenagers that had boarded the coach. I had counted before but wasn''t exactly sure of the final number, minus the three that had run away. There were twelve of us in the orange-light group. If red meant ''bad'' then orange most likely meant, ''halfway bad''. Did that mean our group was far more likely to blow up than the green-light ones?


    A Pied Piper officer checked our devices and, after making sure that our lights were in fact orange, blew his whistle.


    "Follow me," he said, and he led the way up the steep main road of Lintern. I thought I was ready for the march but within a few strides of going up the steep hill road my legs started to ache. My back too. I just wanted to be at home with all the comforts that came with it. I craved a cup of tea and a bar of chocolate and a nice hot warm bath, then bed.


    Shaved-head girl managed the steep road climb better than me. Alex Landly, of course, seemed to hardly be trying. This made sense because he was, at school at least, one of the most promising long-distance marathon runners in the entire country, as well as one of the best cyclists. His build was thin, but wiry and packed with muscle perfect for an athlete. Despite how inadequate I felt about being a couch potato, I at least didn''t have the look of stark fear that Alex had on his face. I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. Sure, I didn''t like him, but that didn''t mean I wanted him to go through something like this. Nobody deserved this kind of crap.


    "You okay?" I said. "Go away," he said. Not spitefully, but in a simple matter of fact way that said he simply had no time for someone like me. I felt the onset of tears stab at my eyes and turned back round, concentrating on going up the road. Fine, I thought, deal with this crap on your own then.

 11. Like A Silver Rubix Cube Monstrosity

    We continued up the steep main road until we reached an intersection. The Pied Piper officer leading the way crossed ahead of us then gestured for us to follow him. Despite the burning in my legs and lower back, and the way my heart was thumping in my chest, I did my best to keep up with everyone else. My long-sleeved shirt and PJ bottoms felt gross on me because a layer of sweat had built up and had started to smell. The bottom hem of my PJ bottoms were also soaked from dragging on the wet concrete. It had been too late to keep them dry by the time I felt the wetness against my ankles and the extra weight pulling at every step I took.


    Instead of continuing up the steep main road we went left, heading across. I breathed a tempered sigh of relief, thankful at least that the climb upward wasn''t on-going. Alex Landly was handling the hustled walk just fine, though he was still looking like he would''ve liked to be anywhere else. Before I had thought he looked terrified. But I was wrong. He looked angry, walking with his hands balled into fists and his teeth gritted.


    Shaved-head girl lagged behind just a little to my right. She kept a good pace, but coughed often, which I put down to her being a smoker and likely not someone who got much exercise. "Are you okay?" I said, getting a bit closer to her.


    She coughed again and made a little wave at me, then a thumbs up. "Yeah," she said, rasping a little, "You?"


    "Not too bad," I said, huffing out the words between quick breaths.


    Shaved-head girl smiled, looking down at me tiredly, "This is really crap, isn''t it?" she said.


    "Yeah," I said.


    Just then I noticed my shoelace wasn''t tied on my right shoe. I sighed, stopped, and squatted down. The others continued past me, filling my periphery for a moment before continuing on several more steps. I noticed the meter device on my wrist was still orange, holding steady on whatever ominous thing it must have been picking up about me. Ahead the street looked oddly nice, the orange glow of the streetlights catching in shiny streaks on the wet pavement and the cobblestone road. With the group just ahead of me, moving like a mass of shadows in the evening dark, it felt as if I were looking at a painting of the moment I was experiencing.


    I heard the rattle of something metal before the Pied Piper officer''s question. He was standing behind me, and for the first time in my life I knew what it was like to have a real gun pointed at me.


    "What are you doing away from your group?" said the officer in a cold voice.


    I tried to speak but I simply couldn''t find the words to explain myself. It was a miracle I hadn''t evacuated my bladder the instant I felt the cold tip of the officer''s gun touch the back of my neck for a moment.


    My hands wouldn''t work. I hadn''t finished tying my shoelace yet.


    "Hurry it up," said the officer, "Last warning."


    This time I actually did wet myself. There was no stopping it. I felt the hot stream run down my inner left thigh, down to my trainer. The loud clapping of shoes on concrete drew my frantic attention ahead of me. Shaved-head girl came to a breathless stop.


    "What are you doing?!" she shouted, not to me but the Pied Piper officer.


    "Go back to the group," said the officer, coldly, "Now."


    Shaved-head girl''s eyes welled up with tears and her mouth quivered. She reached out her hand for me to take and I took it, abandoning any thought of tying my shoelace. Heck, if losing both my shoes meant getting away from the Pied Piper officer and his gun then I''d gladly leave them behind. Together, the shaved-head girl and I jogged back to the group, who had seen everything, and as one we all continued on, none of us daring to stop for anything.


    "Did you piss yourself?" said shaved-head girl beside me. She''d let go of my hand.


    "Y-yeah," I said.


    I had started to shiver all over, trembling from fear as well as the cold. The rest of the walk continued on for another ten minutes before we came to our next stop. My mind had gone someplace else for much of the walk, thinking not of the current situation but of a fantasy scenario where I was back home sitting on the couch watching TV. In the fantasy I had just taken a shower, had changed into something comfy, and was simply enjoying the comforts of home with a renewed sense of gratitude. Every time I snapped out of the fantasy I simply ignored everything around me and started it over again. In one iteration I sat with my mother watching TV, in another it was shaved-head girl and I. At some point the fantasy became so vivid I had to be jostled by shaved-head girl to become aware of my surroundings again. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    The Pied Piper officer that was leading our group had come to a stop outside a very bright building. The lights within the building beamed out to the dark like a spaceship. I shielded my eyes which strained to adjust to the new level of brightness. The Pied Piper officer exchanged brief conversation with the officers standing at the entrance of the building. I looked up, and saw that the building was nothing like the quaint little homes and shops in the rest of Lintern. It was an ugly, modern-art style monstrosity of a building that was all strange pointed edges, as if the building were a silver rubix cube twisted out of its square shape.


    "In," said the Pied Piper officer who had led our group to the building. We promptly followed inside.


    A dozen Pied Piper officers stood in the foyer at intervals, having every inch of the foyer in the sight between them. In the confined air-conditioned space I felt all the more aware of the current state I was in. Smelling gross from sweat and urine. It occurred to me I hadn''t brushed my teeth in a while too. Could things possibly get any worse? Or were we finally some place we could rest and have a good, honest sleep?


    "Keep moving," said a new Pied Piper officer. It was getting impossible to keep up with the sheer number of them. It made sense each would have their job, rinse and repeat throughout the day, but even so the lack of continuity between the officers in charge of us made this all feel so much more by-the-numbers. It was like we were little more than mice being prompted through a maze.


    We moved beyond the foyer, past turnstyles, going even deeper into the brightly lit, highly modern and spacious building. A narrow hallway came next which we followed down until we came to a mid-sized room that was lined with tables and Pied Piper officers in non-military-style uniforms (which were simple one-piece grayish-black overalls and boots) waiting to carry out their duties. Somewhat to my relief this duty was handing our group a change of clothes.


    "Tiffany Becker," said a female Pied Piper officer, holding a set of white clothing in plastic wrapping.


    A bit to my surprise it was shaved-head girl who stepped forward, taking the package, solving that little mystery. Alex Landly''s name was called next. He stepped up and took his set of clothing, then continued on to the male changing room. Tiffany had ventured off to the female changing room when she had received her set of clothing.


    "Burgess O''Bannon."


    "Yes," I said, eager to get out of my sweat and urine stained clothing. I hurried through to the male changing room. Inside several of the other teenage boys were already stripping down, some heading to separate shower stalls. As tired as I was, and as much as I yearned for sleep and to lay my head down, what I needed most of all was a good, hot, shower. I was so out of it and ''done'' with all the stresses that had happened since being evacuated from my home, I hardly cared about my own sense of modesty. I stripped out of my clothes and hurried into a shower stall. The next few minutes of hot water cascading over me was pure bliss. Luckily it seemed the Meter device was waterproof, including the plastic-y strap. The package I received included white overalls, and simple white plimsolls, as well as a fluffy towel that made easy work clearing up the wet all over my body. I dried off as quick as I could and changed into the overalls. They were a nice fit, clearly meant for someone just my size.


    "Get a move on," said a male Pied Piper officer''s voice on a speaker that reverberated throughout the changing room.


    Give me a damn minute! I thought, but I did get a move on. I wasn''t eager to have another gun pointed at me any time soon. I carefully picked up my puffy gray coat, shoes, and clothes, doing my best not to stain the white overalls in the process, with the intent to take them with me to the next step of whatever this process was. However a Pied Piper officer at the exit of the changing room gestured to a large hamper already filled with lots of discarded clothes, from coats, to pajamas, and shoes. I had no choice it seemed but to dump my clothing in there, so I did. With this done, the officer let me pass. I doubted I would see those items of clothing again, sulking a little bit for the coat my Dad had gotten me for Christmas.


    I came out of the male changing room and was ushered by an officer to stand in the corner of the room. A new group of teenagers with orange-lit Meter devices were being let in, about to go through the same process our group just went through.. I checked my Meter device again. Still orange¡­


    Tiffany emerged from the girl''s changing room and for the first time I could really believe that she was a girl, and not just a girly looking boy. Her overalls and shoes were identical to mine, but bigger of course to accommodate her stature. Without her long puffy black coat I could at least see now that she had long legs, and hips wider than what would suit a boy. She caught sight of me and stood by my side.


    "Are you okay?" She said, "That bastard looked like he was really going to shoot you."


    "I''m okay," I lied, then said, "Do you think he would have if I didn''t move?"


    "Did you see his face?" said Tiffany, "It almost looked like he wanted to do it."


    Hearing this made me want to evacuate my bowels a second time. My legs felt like jelly. I wanted to cry. What had I done to deserve this? Why was this all happening to me? To all of us?


    "This way," said a Pied Piper officer after everyone in our group was accounted for. We passed through another door, walked down a long corridor, then came finally to a large set of double doors. The Pied Piper officer leading the way opened the doors and we stepped through. I gasped at what I saw inside¡­

 12. Treadmill Torment

    There were at least one hundred treadmills in the huge, low-ceiling space. Dozens were lined up against the walls, then more lined up at intervals in long rows. Just over half of the treadmills were already in use, with teenagers in white overalls and plimsolls either walking, jogging, or sprinting. Although the room had the feeling of being air-conditioned, there was also a heavy odor of sweat. A cacophony of whimpers, hampered breathing, and even crying hit our group like a wave.


    The Pied Piper officer leading our group led us to the left of the huge space. It was like entering into a war zone, with each row of treadmills being their own trench. We passed teenagers, all with orange-lit Meters, walking, or jogging, or running on the treadmills. I noticed a girl jogging, with tears in her eyes, make-up running in black lines down her cheeks. She looked exhausted, her hair a frizzy mess. She paid no notice to us. Her Meter, showing orange, was flashing.


    And then we moved past that poor girl, seeing numerous more jogging or sprinting in the same state of distress. Was this going to be us soon? For a moment I wondered yet again if all this was really happening. Since having the gun pointed at me it was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate and care about the things happening right in front of me. It all felt like it was happening, but at arm''s reach, close but somehow as if I were playing a video game and merely watching my body going through the motions of the tasks it needed to complete.


    What was the logic behind this madness? What was the point? How would I explain all of this craziness to my friend one day?


    "Find a treadmill and wait for the presentation to start," said the Pied Piper officer that had led our group in.


    We did as we were told. I found a treadmill at the corner of the huge room which meant I had a view out of the tall glass windows. Beyond I could see Lintern Village lit up like the beautiful fairy tale locale it was. I could make out more teenagers being led by more Pied Piper officers down below, along the orange-bathed streets. The Pied Pipers leading their mice.


    "Do you think this is a fitness test?" said Tiffany, drawing my attention away from the window.


    She had taken the treadmill to my right.


    "Maybe," I mumbled, "Do you think you''ll be okay?"


    Tiffany nodded, "Yeah," she said, but I could see the apprehension in her eyes. Like me she was barely keeping it together.


    I looked to my left and saw Alex Landly had taken up the treadmill on that side. He, out of everyone here, looked to be the most composed. And why shouldn''t he be? Running was his element. Exercise familiar territory. Whatever ordeal we were about to go through there was nobody in the whole building that would take on the challenge as well as Alex. He had been the school trophy winner after all. I felt a pang of jealousy hit me, a familiar feeling that was nice and nostalgic compared to the mounting anxieties of the last day. In comparison to Alex, as far as exercise was concerned, I was an amoeba. Zilch. Nothing. I could hardly run for ten seconds without getting a stitch. I had "played" rugby for two years and had never scored a try outside of practice. Never in my life had I won a sporting event worth anything. Never accomplished anything of the sort to make my Dad proud. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    A small tablet sized screen situated over the treadmill buttons lit up in front of me. A quick glance to my left and right showed that everyone had their own screen to look at on their treadmill too.


    White text over black appeared on the screen, matching the words that were spoken by a woman''s voice.


    "You are here because your Meter device has detected you are at-risk of spontaneous-combustion-" said the voice.


    One of the girls several treadmills down to my right broke into a fresh bout of tears at hearing this. The voice continued unabated.


    "The Meter device on your wrist detects how close your body is to reaching a spontaneous-combustion state. If the device shows green, you are safe and will not spontaneously-combust. If the device shows orange, you are not safe, and pose a threat to yourself and those around you. If your device shows orange and starts to blink repeatedly, you are in danger of reaching a critical state. If your device turns red, you are extremely likely to spontaneously-combust."


    I took a moment to look down, staring at the steady orange light showing on my Meter again. My stomach lurched and yet again my legs felt like they might collapse from under me.


    The voice continued, "Our research has shown an effective means of preventing spontaneous-combustion is physical exertion. Therefore you have been brought to Lintern''s Gym in order to exert yourself until your Meter reading turns green. You do not need to exert yourself if you do not wish to, however if your Meter turns red you will be escorted off the premises to a ''remote-zone'' where you will stay until you either spontaneously-combust, or your Meter returns to green. If you wish to no longer exert yourself on the treadmill you may raise your hand and an officer will escort you to the ''remote-zone''. Thank you for your cooperation in this difficult time. If you would like to play this recording again then please press ''play again'' on your tablet device."


    The tablet device blinked off. For a moment our group stood in stunned silence. The sounds of the misery and many plimsolls hitting the treadmill mats continued all around us.


    I heard a beep to my left. Alex Landly had pressed the start button on his treadmill and had started a slow walk.


    No, I thought, I''m not ready for this. I''m not ready for this. I can''t do this. There''s no way I can do this. I''m going to die. I''m going to blow up.


    I pressed the start button before I could let the panic take hold of me even more. It came as a small relief to feel the mat slowly moving beneath me. Each step I took felt as if I had forgotten how to walk. Step. Step. Step. Step.


    Beep. Tiffany had pressed start on her treadmill. Several steps later she was keeping pace with Alex and I.


    "This is okay," she said, smiling but with eyes that said she was under a lot of internal stress, "This means we can do something about this. We just have to exert ourselves. We''ll be fine."


    I let out a real, honest laugh that I hadn''t meant to sound derisive, but it did. Fine?! I thought, How is any of this going to be fine?!


    "Yeah," I said, forcing myself to agree. If not for my sake then for hers. "We just need to walk."


    "Burgess!" said Tiffany, the whites of her eyes increasing as she looked at my wrist. I looked down and saw that my Meter was still showing orange and had started flashing.

 13. Treadmill Torment II

    I forced myself to do several minutes of walking on the treadmill as a warm up. The aching fear throughout my body demanded I start jogging right away, to exert myself faster, but I knew if I did that then I would quickly burn out.


    Step-woo, step-woo, step-woo.


    I tried to let the rhythmic hitting of my plimsolls on the matt ease me into a steady motion. It didn''t work. I wasn''t built for this. I wasn''t built for exercise at all. I wanted to cry and lay down. The clean feeling I enjoyed after the shower had been replaced with a grimy, sweaty feeling again. Someone within the Pied Piper organization really hadn''t thought through this torment because the overalls trapped in the sweat trying to escape my body and the plimsolls offered little in the way of cushion for my feet.


    Step-woo, step-woo, step-woo.


    I checked my Meter every few seconds hoping that each time that the little flashing LED had become a steady orange glow, at least. The flashing wasn''t going anywhere and just looking at it gave me a migraine. Once I felt warmed up and borderline feverish I pressed an upward arrow key on the treadmill and increased the speed until the rolling mat beneath me demanded I move at a jogging pace.


    I''m going to die, I thought, over and over again, because my body was already starting to cramp up, demanding that I stop and take a breather despite it not even being ten minutes since I started. Tiffany was faring well at a walking pace, her long legs making easy work striding briskly. I had hoped to catch her attention, to meet her gaze, to steal a moment of support from her. I needed it badly. But she had her eyes closed with her head faced towards the ceiling.


    Alex Landly was continuing at a walking pace, his face stoic and focused. You''re like a freaking gazelle, I thought to myself, smirking darkly. Walking briskly up the steep main road to even get to Lintern''s Gym had been an ordeal in and of itself that made my legs burn and cramp up. If anything that had been the warm up. To be jogging on top of all that, after being sat cramped in a black van, then later on the coach, for hours and hours, only to be stuck on a treadmill¡­it was the worst kind of torture imaginable.


    Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.


    Ten minutes passed on the treadmill. Come on, I thought, looking down at the still blinking Meter on my wrist, change you little bastard. Change! Change!


    A scream tore through the air from somewhere behind me, followed by rapid gasps for air and crying. I didn''t dare turn around for fear of losing my rhythm and falling off the treadmill. In the reflection of the window in front of me I thought I saw a glimpse of a girl being picked up off the floor by Pied Piper officers and maybe her Meter device shining a steady red, but it happened so fast I couldn''t be sure that was what I saw. I did however hear the last sobbing cries of the girl before she was escorted out of the room, not the way our group had come in, but ahead towards a different set of doors. Were they taking her to the Remote Zone as they called it?


    I lost my footing for a moment and nearly tripped. I gripped onto the edges of the treadmill, my sweaty palms touching the cool, unyielding gray plastic. I let my arms take the weight of my body for a few moments, selfishly taking a brief reprieve before fear of blowing up and my Meter turning red forcing me to start jogging again.


    Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.


    My mind used the escape valve it used before, this time forcing me back to a memory of running laps around the rugby pitch I remembered so well. I was about fourteen and it was the dead of winter and still I went to practice. For most of the winter period it had just been myself and Harry Turnhouse running laps with his Dad, the team''s coach, giving us training and instructions. My Dad was there too smoking in the dark in his own large puffy black coat. Harry Turnhouse got to play every single game when our team played. I was only ever given a few minutes here or there in total. Our team never won a game. I didn''t even like rugby, never watched it on TV, so winning or losing the game didn''t matter to me much. I never had that killer do-or-die mentality that great athletes likely needed to succeed in sports. Besides hanging out with my Dad I wondered why I stuck out playing for a team that didn''t want me for two years. Did I particularly like running in the cold, splashing and diving in the mud, catching the soaring rugby ball with my frost-bitten fingertips? Not particularly, no. It occurred to me then, running on the treadmill, thinking of that past experience, that I had done all of that to see if I could break out of my shell. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    What if I was an excellent rugby player and I didn''t know it? What if I could have stopped being the scrawny, nerdy little boy nobody particularly liked and could be reborn as a better me?


    Those two years grinding away on the field, practicing, learning, trying, all amounted to nothing in the end.


    Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.


    A pain in my lower back demanded my attention, taking me out of my reverie. For about twenty seconds I must have been able to ignore what my body was experiencing. My breathing had quickened to huffing breaths and sweat had started to build into droplets around my temples.


    I glanced over to Alex Landly. He was still walking, taking it easy. It didn''t seem fair that he wasn''t having to jog the way I was jogging. A small part of me was thankful he wasn''t made to start matching my pace because, I knew, he would make my efforts seem pathetic in comparison. I looked away from him and stared down at my plimsolls, watching the white blurs moving up and down, up and down, the movement of the treadmill mat looking like the road before a fast moving car. I felt dizzy. I needed water. The realization that I didn''t have any water to drink made my eyes go wide like a hungry shark.


    This time I dared to look around. I couldn''t see any sign of a water dispenser anywhere but my view was very limited, and the room was huge, so that didn''t mean much. I raised my hand and looked around for a Pied Piper officer. After about a minute a Pied Piper officer walked by. He wasn''t one of the uniform wearing ones. He was in full attire, with a machine gun in his grip.


    "What?" he said, indignantly.


    "I¨Cneed¨Cwater," I said between hampered breaths.


    "No water," said the Pied Piper officer, "Not until you leave here with a green light."


    Several audible gasps followed. Others in our group had been listening. Teenagers that were already aware of this revelation, lined up on other treadmills, continued on struggling. My mouth felt suddenly dry. No water.


    I started to laugh despite hardly being able to breathe. I couldn''t help it. This was too stupid. Too insane.


    "Ha! Ha! Ha!"


    The Pied Piper officer grinned and looked at me like I must be going mad, then he turned and continued back down along the row of treadmills, likely to break more bad news of no water to other teenagers newly brought to the room.


    My loud laughter became a mix of smaller laughter and choking coughs. At some point I noticed Tiffany saying my name.


    "Burgess!" she said, shouting it.


    I looked at her with a smirk on my face. My stomach ached with the onset of the worst stitch I had ever felt.


    "S-sorry," I said, just barely getting the word out, "It''s¨Call¨Cjust¨Cso-s-stupid."


    "Slow down," said TIffany, "You''re exerting yourself enough. Take it easy."


    I looked down at my Meter. It was still blinking.


    "I can''t," I said, wiping sweat away from my brow using the back of my right forearm.


    "You can-" Tiffany said, but she stopped what she was saying. She had noticed her own Meter. It had started blinking orange too. Reflexively she reached forward and pressed the treadmill button to increase her speed until she reached a jogging pace.


    I coughed, hard, and fought the urge to laugh more. Like a wave however the smile wiped from my face. What was funny suddenly wasn''t funny anymore. I could feel my body getting suddenly more desperate for everything. Air. Water. Rest.


    Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.


    "Argh!" Came a sudden cry.


    I glanced out of the corner of my eyes and saw that Alex Landly''s Meter had also just started to flash orange. He hadn''t even started to sweat yet. He reached forward and also turned his treadmill speed up until he too had to start jogging.


    Welcome to the club, I thought, it''s about time.

 14. Treadmill Torment III

    By the end of the first hour I felt like some odious sweat monster, my body slick with all the built up sweat contained within the white overalls. Bit by bit the rest of the room around me mattered less. All I could focus on was my own breathing, my body screaming for me to stop jogging, and my Meter device which continued to flash with nightmarish consistency.


    Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.


    I would give up soon. There wasn''t any way I could keep this up. The fact I had managed over an hour of consistent jogging despite how cramped and in pain my body was, was in itself a miracle. It was no longer a matter of being determined, or trying to survive this scenario. My mind had reached a point where I would keep jogging until there just wasn''t anything left in me to do so. Every moment it didn''t happen came as a mild surprise. Not yet? I thought to myself, again and again, Still more to give? More pain to endure? Still breathing?


    Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.


    The smell of sweat was incredibly thick in the air now. More teenagers were being brought onto the floor, filling up all of the empty treadmills and even the ones that had become vacant. I couldn''t keep track with my eyes but I could at least hear the difference of more treadmills and more footfalls filling the air. More teenagers breathing hampered breaths. More crying. More cries for help, and home. We were in hell.


    Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.


    By the two hour mark I wondered what time of day it was. Was it eight PM? Or nine? I couldn''t remember the last time I saw a clock.


    The sound of hampered breathing to my left drew my attention to Alex Landly. He had been jogging for at least an hour and a half and had worked up a major sweat. He ran gracefully, like the athlete he was, seeming to sail along with every nimble stride. Dude''s like a freaking Elf, I thought to myself, sniggering.


    Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.


    There was no way I could keep going. No way at all. The "wall" as athlete''s called it was close. I was breathing so hard, as if I had been dunked into ice cold water, and yet somehow my body hadn''t accepted it was over yet. It must have been all the jogging, all the stress, the dehydration, and all the insanity which had led up to me being in the state I was in¡­because I got a very stupid idea.


    "Hey Alex?!" I shouted, sweat dripping from my head in large droplets as I turned just a little to look at him more.


    Alex looked at me, his face red and his eyes narrowed in a mix of fierce concentration, disgust, and bewilderment.


    "Th-think-y-you," I began, barely able to get the words out, "C-can k-keep u-up?!"


    Although I knew it was likely suicide at this point I didn''t care. If I was going to blow up soon then why not have some fun before my demise? I reached forward and pressed the up arrow key on my treadmill until the speeding mat forced me into a complete sprint. I regretted it as soon as I started, my whole body was moved back away from the buttons.


    Doon! Doon! Doon! Doon! Doon!


    A full mad sprint. I wanted to bellow out with mad laughter but I didn''t have an ounce of energy to spare except to keep sprinting forward. How many seconds did I have left until I collapsed? One? Two? Definitely no more than three. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Doon! Doon! Doon! Doon! Doon!


    I kept going. My whole body felt like it was going to explode. How I was able to keep one foot in front of the other at this speed without tripping I had no idea.


    Then, all of a sudden, the treadmill started to slow down. I snapped out of my madness, my eyes smarting on the body next to me. Tiffany was off her treadmill and was standing on the edge of mine, her hand pressing down the arrow key to make my treadmill slow down.


    "Have you¨Clost¨Cyour mind?!" she whisper-shouted between huge sucks of air.


    She looked over her shoulder and hurried back to her treadmill, breaking out into a jog again.


    What had I done? What was I thinking? My frantic eyes searched for a Pied Piper officer, and I saw one casually walking in our direction. Had he seen Tiffany leave her treadmill? What would he have done if he did?


    I turned my attention back to my treadmill. Jogging pace again. My face felt horribly red and blotchy, as usually happened when I worked up a sweat.


    Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.


    How was I still moving? How hadn''t I fallen over yet? With a great deal of agony in my stiff neck I glanced over at Alex Landly. He was still jogging but his eyes were fixed on me, staring in angry disbelief. I could almost see what I had done from his point of view. There was Burgess, that loser from school that nobody liked. The boy that was always last or second to last during physical education classes running laps around the astroturf football pitch, or doing the Beep Test in the gym. How was Burgess still going? How had he sprinted like a mad idiot and still managed to stay upright on the treadmill?


    Maybe he was thinking those things, or maybe not. I couldn''t tell of course. But what was surprising me was how it wasn''t over yet. And I was still able to think things through, still breathing, still holding on.


    I looked down at my Meter device and saw the same flashing orange light. Please, I thought, Please change back. I can''t take anymore!


    Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.


    The second hour of consistent treadmill jogging past into a third. I had become sweat. I was the embodiment of it. I was a sweat elemental. If I were to die I would be reborn as a godly entity that derived all its power from the concept of sweat. I was shinier than a polished trophy. Red and glistening like a wet tomato. Soaked through like a kitchen towel. But more than anything I was still moving. Still in motion.


    Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.


    Tiffany looked just about as bad as I felt. She held her stomach, her face bright red and scrunched with pain, her legs both moving at a jogging pace but stiffly as if riddled with cramps. For a moment I forgot about myself and felt strangely proud of her, though I hardly knew her at all.


    "K-keep g-going!" I said, spittle spraying a bit from my mouth from how out-of-it and clumsy I felt.


    Tiffany, slowly, wincing with one eye closed, smiled and gave me a thumbs up. I grinned. Was this the euphoria which came about from exercise, or something else? Sure my body was in agony, but I also felt somehow¡­good? Excited even? Maybe it was because I knew I had done my best (and gone a little mad with that sprinting episode before), as if somehow, if I survived this, I could turn to my friend and tell him what I had achieved. I could tell my father, mother, brother, and sister what I had been through. Maybe one day I''d write a book about it all.


    "B-Burgess?" came a voice. It was strained and in much need of hydration. It was Alex Landly''s.


    I did a double-take, looking at him as if he had just blown to smithereens.


    "How¨Care you¡ªstill¡ªgoing?" He said, just barely.


    I shook my head. I wanted to cry again. I might have cried but I didn''t have the moisture to spare.


    "I¨Cdon''t¨Cknow," I said back.


    Alex Landly looked away from me and kept jogging. His Meter continued to flash orange. Now he was starting to struggle, which was only natural. But he was a real athlete, and I was me. So why was he looking like the one lagging behind?

 15. Treadmill Torment IV

    Three more hours had passed, making six in total. Teenagers in the room were dropping like flies. Every few minutes the sound of a hard thud or a similar pained collapse broke the rhythmic hitting of plimsolls on mats, haggard breathing, and the cries and whimpers of those that were desperate for it all to be over. In the reflection of the large window in front of me I could make out Pied Piper officers picking people up off the ground and carrying them out of the room, presumably to the remote zone. One boy who had collapsed had struggled in their grip, but his Meter had turned red and the officers weren''t going to let him stay. It came as a relief to me that their first option wasn''t just to shoot the boy point blank while he lay helpless on the ground.


    I checked my Meter again. It was still flashing orange. The cramping in my body was so bad I simply had no explanation for how I was able to keep going. The plimsolls chaffed my feet so badly every step made me want to cry out in pain. In a fit of rage I kicked them off, almost tripping over in the process. It felt better to have my bare feet pounding the ever moving treadmill mat beneath me. I glanced over at Tiffany. She, like me, was sweating profusely and had already abandoned her own plimsolls as well. I hadn''t seen her do it but I could see her pair rested atop the treadmill screen in front of her. Mine were discarded to the gap between her treadmill and mine.


    Tiffany was managing okay. She coughed often but somehow she maintained a consistent light jog that made it look as if she were merely looping the same jogging motion over and over again.


    Several beeps to my left drew my attention to Alex Landly. He was slowing his treadmill down to a walking pace. He was hobbling, his right leg seeming to cramp up on him badly. His Meter was still flashing orange. Panting, his face bright red and clearly in agony, Alex wiped the sweat from his brow causing droplets to run down his wrist and forearm.


    Bit by bit over the next few minutes Alex slowed down even more until he finally pressed the stop button on his treadmill and sat down. I didn''t have the energy or moisture in me to form a coherent question in my mind let alone to ask Alex why he was stopping. Then again it was clear why he was. He was exhausted. He couldn''t run anymore. One of the most promising marathon runners in the country had just called it quits¡­before me.


    Alex''s arms and legs were trembling. He kept his head bowed, facing the floor. For the first time since I had known him Alex Landly looked utterly defeated. His Meter turned red. He looked at his Meter and looked away as if he were just checking the time.


    "Alex!" I said, whispering as loudly as I dared, "Get up!"


    I wanted to urge him on more but I just couldn''t in the state I was in. Alex looked up at me and I could see the raw terror in his eyes. It was as if he wasn''t looking at me but was already contemplating what lay in his future given he couldn''t continue on any longer. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    A Pied Piper officer came to a stop before Alex.


    "Come with me," said the officer, coldly.


    Alex muttered something but neither the officer or I could hear it.


    "Get up," said the officer, "Now."


    "I can''t," said Alex, his words barely louder than a whisper.


    The Pied Piper officer reached down and grabbed Alex''s arm, hoisting him to his feet and keeping in there. Alex began to whimper, and then to cry. It was an awful, exhausted kind of crying, as if he were on the tail end of having an all night panic attack. Another Pied Piper officer joined the first, taking Alex''s other arm. Together both Pied Piper officers escorted Alex out of the room heading out of the doors which, presumably, led to the Remote Zone.


    Chook, chook, chook, chook.


    I kept jogging. It was a matter of minutes before Alex''s spot at the treadmill was replaced by a fresh new teenager, a heavyset black boy. He, like us, watched the short instruction video on his monitor and then started his very own treadmill nightmare.


    "Bur¨Cgess?" said Tiffany, breathlessly.


    I looked at her and found her smiling, her face bright red and shiny-slick.


    "You''re¨C" she said, still jogging, still huffing away, fighting to breathe. It took her almost ten seconds to get out the next word, "--doing¨C", and then, again, ten seconds later she said, "-amaz-ing."


    "You," I said, needing time to get the word out myself, "Too."


    Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.


    A scary truth was starting to dawn on me. The evidence was mounting but I needed to continue to experience it to be sure. Two more hours passed in the room. Dozens more teenagers either collapsed or quit. More Pied Piper officers led these teenagers away. A lucky few, presumably, had their Meter''s turn green and were able to leave out the way we had entered the treadmill room. I thought I spotted a handful of these but it was hard to be sure without being able to see it clearly and not just the tiny fraction of the room I could see in the tall glass window reflection.


    The black boy beside me flagged hard at the end of the second hour. He quit, huffing and sweating, gladly accepting his Meter turning red a few minutes later rather than face another second on the treadmill.


    The nightmare continued for me. Somehow I was still able to keep going. Never in my life had I wanted to taste just the smallest sip of water. If this continued I was sure I would soon become a mummy. Maybe if this experience killed me I would come back from the dead and haunt the place. Another teenager replaced the black boy that was escorted out. This one was a very tall boy with a shaved head and a nicked eyebrow, looking very much like someone I wouldn''t want to mess with. He, like the black boy, watched the brief instruction video and started jogging.


    At the same time there came the distant sound of an explosion; the room shuddered and the lights faltered for an instant, temporarily bathing everyone in darkness before the light returned. Several teenagers behind me let out fresh, horrified screams. I let out a pathetic little scream of fright myself, but barely had the lung power to reach the volume the others achieved. I hated the implication that explosion suggested: someone must have just blown up.


    A dark thought entered my mind: I wonder if it was Alex Landly?

 16. Sunburn

    At some point I simply stopped paying attention to anything around me. I had fought through every level of exhaustion I could manage.


    Sometime later the first light of day stabbed at my eyes. I hadn''t been asleep, but I hadn''t been fully awake either. I had been stuck in a trance-like state in an endless jogging nightmare. The further I made it, the longer the track ahead of me became. I opened my eyes and saw the sun was rising over Lintern Village.


    Chook, chook, chook, chook.


    I looked down. My bare feet were still jogging at the bare minimum pace. I checked the treadmill timer, it read: 11 Hours and 55 minutes.


    I wanted to laugh at the number. There was no way it was real. I looked to my left. The tall shaved-headed guy with the nicked eyebrow was gone. In his place was a small asian boy that was sweating profusely. I took a look at his timer. He had been jogging for over an hour.


    I glanced to my right, noticing Tiffany still jogging at her treadmill. She had her head bowed forward and her eyes closed. As far as I could tell she was jogging in her sleep. She looked awful, her skin bright red all over.


    I looked at my own skin. It too was bright red, as if sunburned. The redness of my skin looked all the more stark against the white overalls. Even my feet, which were a blur moving up and down beneath me, looked sunburnt.


    A figure to my right entered my periphery. A Pied Piper officer was standing beside me now. He reached forward with a gloved hand and pressed the stop button on the machine. The jogging speed of the mat eased to a walking pace. The relief this gave my beyond exhausted legs was immense; my legs felt like two giant turkey legs, swollen and chaffing, though to look at them they didn''t seem much different, other than looking red beneath the white overall fabric.


    At last the treadmill came to a stop. I had finally stopped jogging. I looked at my Meter device. It was showing a joyous, beautiful, amazing, steady green. I must have been dreaming because the Pied Piper officer who had turned off the treadmill held up a bottle of water for me to take. I trembled where I stood, my whole body in a state of shock. I took the bottle from the officer, uncapped it, and drank.


    Never in my entire life had I appreciated a drink of water more. The cool, wet, smooth, utterly quenching taste of the water tasted better than anything I had ever tasted before. I tried to pace myself, to sip and not drink too fast, but I simply couldn''t. Within ten seconds I drank the entire contents of the bottle until it was empty.


    I wanted to thank the Pied Piper officer but my mouth felt swollen. I tipped over the plastic bottle and let the last drop fall onto my sunburnt-looking hand. I couldn''t feel the water droplet when it landed on my hand. This was worrying but my mind had put a stopper on panic for the time being.


    "Wait here," said the Pied Piper officer.


    He woke Tiffany, and slowed down her treadmill too. Like he had done for me he rewarded her with a bottle of water. Tiffany, eyes wide like a cat that got the catnip, pawed at the bottle of water and guzzled it down. When she was finished she had the sense of self to look around, noticing the time of day and, to her relief, and mine, her Meter device was showing green too.


    She looked at me and I to her, but neither of us could bring ourselves to talk.


    "Come with me," said the Pied Piper officer.


    At this point we were well-trained in doing what the Pied Piper officers told us to do. We kept pace with him, the pair of us hobbling almost comically given how badly our legs were riddled with cramps.


    I walked with one eye closed, the exhaustion making me feel like some lumbering zombie.


    Before we left the way we came I stole a glance back to the other teenagers; the room was still full of them; some having just begun, others well aware of the torment they were experiencing and were going to continue to experience. But, I wondered¡­how many of them could do what Tiffany and I had done? Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    The Pied Piper officer led us to another set of changing rooms. This time the foyer was empty. It looked similar to the one we had used before, but wasn''t the same.


    "Shower and get changed," said the Pied Piper officer, "You''ll be able to eat, drink, and rest once you''re done."


    As good as the idea of rest, eating, and drinking sounded, none of that truly registered as something I wanted. It wasn''t that I didn''t care, I just didn''t have the emotion inside of me to feel anything about it. Internally I acknowledged that I should want those things, soon, but first I had to shower.


    The Pied Piper officer had given us each new packets of overalls and plimsolls to wear, though the new ones were blue instead of white. The towels however were still white. I hobbled into the shower and washed myself. I couldn''t tell if it felt good, or particularly hot or cold, because my whole body simply felt numb to it all. After the shower I toweled off, noticing I could hardly feel the softness of the towel on my numb skin.


    Dried and dressed, I rejoined Tiffany and the Pied Piper officer led us out of Lintern''s Gym. I was thankful to be away from the ugly, ultra-modern building. We exited out a side entrance, coming out to a very narrow alley. Two new Pied Piper officer''s took us under their charge and the one that had brought us down to the alley went back into Lintern''s Gym.


    It must have been raining because the alleyway was beautifully wet, and the air was fresh and cool. Overhead the sliver of sky I could see was mostly blue with just hints of clouds. I felt much better now that my thirst had been quenched (I had taken advantage of taking a shower by showering and guzzling water at the same time). What remained however was a ravenous hunger. My stomach had a nasty acidic kind of burn eating away inside of it and the mere thought of eating something made my whole body ache with want.


    The Pied Piper officers led the way down the alleyway; the ugly silver monstrosity that was Lintern''s gym to our left, and a quaint little brick-built building to our right. Once out onto the street proper we could see there were yet more groups of teenagers being marched up and down roads. The Pied Piper''s operation was still in full swing. How many had been lucky enough to have green lights and had avoided the treadmill torment so far? How many were on their way there right now?


    The Pied Piper officers led Tiffany and I to a parked car. One opened the door for us and told us to get in. We did, Tiffany first, then me. Although it had been nice breathing in the cool morning air the overalls did very little to protect from the cold. Mentally fighting the cold on top of everything else I felt was just too exhausting. So slipping into the inside of a nice warm car was very welcome.


    The driver, another officer, didn''t wait for us to put on our seat-belts. He set off, leaving us to fumble in the back putting them on. Tiffany looked a bit cramped in the backseat, but she hardly seemed to care about that. She had given an audible sigh of relief at sitting down. I hadn''t, but I had felt a similar relief. I wanted to talk to her about what we had just been through but I just couldn''t work up the effort to start a conversation just yet.


    More shops and little homes passed by the window. The Pied Piper officer drove several streets away from Lintern''s Gym. The car eased to a stop outside a white building. We were ushered out and, once out, I could see the white building was three floors high.


    "This is where you''ll be staying," said the Pied Piper officer, "Consider yourselves lucky," he said, "You''re getting the VIP treatment."


    Tiffany and I shared a look and then entered the white building.


    Inside it was much more obvious where we were; it was a bed and breakfast. It was as old-fashioned and as quaint as a little old lady obsessed with doilies.


    Standing in the foyer area, I spotted two teenagers sitting at a dining table framed by a nearby doorway. They were also wearing blue overalls and looked to be helping themselves to a continental breakfast. The glimpse of these teenagers was only momentary, because we were ushered up a very narrow, and very steep set of stairs.


    "This is your room," said the Pied Piper officer to Tiffany, gesturing to the white door at the end of the narrow hallway.


    "And this is yours," said the officer, gesturing to the one next to it.


    The officer gestured for us to go to our rooms. I had no intention of kicking up a fuss so I headed into mine. Tiffany entered hers. I anticipated her giving a backwards glance back to me but she didn''t.


    Inside my room, with the door closed, what I saw made me want to burst into tears. There was a king-sized bed, and a little side-table with a kettle and complimentary tea bags, a little fridge, and also on the table there was a small bag filled with snacks (crisps, chocolate bars, and a muffin, and a packet of noodles).


    I didn''t waste any more time. I stripped from my clothes and then got into bed, feeling the smooth, pillowy sheets enveloping me. Sleep quickly took me.

 17. Dying for a Smoke

    I woke up to find my pillow soaked with drool. It was dark outside the window, with just the vague orange glow of the streetlights as any source of light. My body still felt heavy, like all it wanted to do was stay prone on the bed for the rest of eternity. I moved about in bed and found that that feeling of numbness had gone. The bed was so soft, so cool for brief moments as I moved my arms and legs around. After about half an hour of laying in the dark just enjoying all of the comfort, the anxieties of my situation propelled me to get up and get dressed in the overalls again.


    There was simply too much to compute. So much had happened. The more I thought about everything that had happened to me the more questions came to mind.


    I turned my attention to the bag of snacks that I had noticed before going to bed. I helped myself to them, forgoing the noodles for the time being to avoid having to heat them up. I made quick work of the chocolates, leaving several discarded wrappers on the table. Not satiated from the sugar high just yet, I got to work on the pack of biscuits. I was never much of an eater, more of a snacker throughout the day, so it came as something of a surprise to me that I was able to sit and eat every single biscuit with hardly a break in eating. I did all this in the dark, savoring the mental massage which came from being alone in the dark with my own thoughts.


    I was socially exhausted. Seeing a never-ending sea of faces in the last forty-eight hours or so had drained my inner battery to its lowest level. My head throbbed with a migraine that wanted to remind me that I regained my inner peace from being alone, not from spending endless hours with strangers.


    I checked my Meter. Still green. I wondered how I would feel to see it turn orange again. Just the idea of that made me feel sick. I pushed the possibility from my mind and focused my attention on making myself a hot cup of tea and a bowl of noodles. There was a mug and a bowl in one of the drawers at the desk, as well as a box of tea bags. It struck me that this was likely all a holdover from the bed and breakfast''s daily operation and the Pied Piper officers had merely not bothered to remove these complimentary items. It seemed unlikely to me, knowing how the officers had gone about their duties with cold efficiency, that they would bother to do something nice like provide snacks and complimentary tea bags. Unless¡­they had a reason to be nice to me now?


    I felt a sense of pride at having accomplished nearly twelve straight hours of jogging on the treadmill. Thankfully the redness had gone, and I was back to my peachy-skinned self. Even that seemed odd. I hadn''t had the inner emotion to care about how sunburnt my skin had looked because of the exhaustion, but now, though it was gone, the idea that my body had gotten to that strange state made me feel like a freak. It wasn''t a problem now however. My skin was normal. In fact¡­my body felt fine despite a little bit of tiredness.


    This did not make sense. How could anyone be fine after going through what I had just been through? I sipped my cup of tea, which tasted glorious, though there wasn''t any milk to make it even better. Cup of tea in hand I did some squats to test out my legs. My legs felt fine, no different to what I was used to.


    I finished the cup of tea and started on the noodles. The packet came with three different extra oils which I mixed in with the noodles. They too tasted incredible, a tad spicy, but a welcome blow to my insatiable appetite. I was thankful there was also a selection of cheap plastic cutlery to use in the room¡­it wasn''t exactly a prison cell, at least.


    There came a sudden knocking. I got up and moved to the door, looking into the peephole. Nobody was in the hallway. The knocking came again and this time I realized it was located at the wall. I moved closer to the wall and put my ear against it.


    "Hello?" I said.


    "Hey," said Tiffany''s muffled voice, "Are you okay?"


    "Yeah," I said, "You?"


    "I''m alright," she said, "Can we talk?"


    "You mean¡­in person?" I said.


    "Yeah," she said, "I can come to you."


    "Won''t we get in trouble?" I said.


    "We''re already in trouble," she said, "I won''t tell if you won''t."


    I considered this offer. Did I really want to tempt the Pied Piper Officer''s like this? The last time I hadn''t done what I was told I had discovered what it was like to have a gun pointed at the back of my head. Just the thought of that made my stomach tie up in knots, the anxiety came on so bad all of a sudden I felt a stitch take hold in my gut. I held my stomach, wincing.


    "Burg?" she said, "You there?"


    "Y-yeah," I said, trying to talk despite the pain of the stitch, "I''ll come to you."


    "Okay," said Tiffany.


    I took several deep breaths to try and calm myself down. Breaking the rules was not a good idea. Making the Pied Piper officers mad was also not a good idea. But I had followed their commands every step of the way and that had meant going through that treadmill hell, so following everything they said to the letter wasn''t exactly a way to avoid trouble. Like Tiffany said, if we were already in trouble, what did a little more matter?


    I slipped on my plimsolls and opened my door as quietly as I could. I turned the handle of the door to make sure it wouldn''t lock me out, closed it, then continued on down the hallway to Tiffany''s door. I didn''t have to knock because she opened it as soon as I got there. She looked down on me, looked about the hallway behind me, then closed the door once I was in.


    I felt a little bit like I had been invited to a slumber party. Knowing it was against the Pied Piper officer''s rules for us to be doing this made it that little bit more fun too. Tiffany''s room was a bit of a mess; she''d helped herself to the food and drinks in her room, and her bed was unmade. She moved past me and sat on the bed. I sat on the chair by the desk. She had a dim lamp on, on the desk, providing just a little bit of light for us to see each other better.


    She, like me, was no longer looking sunburnt.


    "I''m glad you''re okay," she said, "I can''t believe the crap they just put us through."


    "Yeah," I said, matching her whispering tone, "Did you see how long we were running for?"


    "My treadmill said almost twelve hours," said Tiffany, "How is that possible?"


    I shook my head. "I don''t know. I really don''t know. Did you see what happened to Alex?" Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Tiffany looked confused.


    "The boy with the white-ish spikey hair?" I said, "He was on my left at the start."


    "Oh yeah," said Tiffany, "Do you know him?"


    "We went to school together," I said, "But we weren''t friends."


    "He¡­got taken away. His Meter turned red¡­" said Tiffany.


    After a long pause she said, "...do you remember that explosion? The whole building shuddered."


    "Yeah," I said, "Which means¡­maybe someone blew up?"


    Tiffany nodded. She ran a hand through her shaved head of hair and sighed.


    "I just want to go home," she said, "I hate this."


    "This might sound crazy," she said, fixing her gaze on me, "But maybe we should do a run for it?"


    "Runaway now?" I said, "We wouldn''t get very far."


    "We might," she said, "I just don''t know if I want to stay here any longer. What if they make us go through with all that treadmill crap again. I don''t think I could handle it a second time."


    "Yeah," I said, "Me neither. But¡­"


    "...what?" she said.


    "The thing is," I said, "I think there might be more to this than just trying to stop us from blowing up. I think the Pied Piper officers are trying to test us."


    Tiffany nodded.


    "Yeah," she said, "That treadmill crap felt like a test. Did you see the cameras?"


    I flinched.


    "Cameras?" I said, "No."


    "There were a ton," she said, "Every corner of the room, I don''t think there was a moment in the gym where we weren''t being recorded. And it wasn''t just a few cameras, but lots. I''m surprised you didn''t notice them."


    "I was a bit preoccupied with everyone screaming and crying and everything else," I said defensively.


    "Yeah," said Tiffany, looking a bit guilty, "Sorry."


    "It''s fine," I said, "But maybe they were recording us to make sure they would know right away if our Meter''s turned red."


    "But why do all the running in the first place?" said Tiffany, "Do you really buy that it was to stop ourselves from blowing up?"


    I flinched again.


    "Wait," I said, "What else would it be for? I know I said they were testing us¡­like maybe they''re looking to see the best ways to stop people from blowing up. And we''re the guinea pigs."


    "Maybe," said Tiffany, "But I still think there''s something more going on here. Like what the heck is up with that officer pointing his gun at you? He was going to shoot you."


    I felt the stitch take hold of my gut again. I winced.


    "Burg, you okay?" said Tiffany, "What''s wrong?"


    "J-just a stitch," I said, rasping, "I think it''s stress related."


    She stood up.


    "Do you want some water?"


    "No, no," I said, waving my hand for her to sit back down, "I''m fine."


    Tiffany sat back down but kept a look of worry for me on her face. She really was nice.


    "So," I said, "We''re agreed that there''s more to this whole thing than just keeping us all from blowing up?"


    Tiffany nodded, "Yeah," she said, "It might have something to do with how we absolutely aced that treadmill crap."


    I grinned, trying to ignore the pain in my gut, "We did, didn''t we?" I said.


    Tiffany started chewing her fingernail. I noticed the tips of her fingers looked a little raw. Ah, I thought, she''s probably dying for a smoke right now.


    "You know," I said, sitting forward a little, "There is another possibility we might not have considered."


    "Which is?" said Tiffany.


    "Maybe," I said, "We''re becoming superhuman."


    "You mean, like, superpowers and stuff?" said Tiffany.


    I shrugged, "Maybe. I''m just saying that there''s no way we should have been able to do what we did yesterday. Something extraordinary is going on. The most obvious explanation is that we''ve got some kind of¡­latent¡­superhuman¡­abilities."


    "Nah," said Tiffany, "That sounds like a load of crap. No offense. There''s probably another explanation we''re not thinking about."


    "Probably," I said, "But it''s the only one that makes any kind of sense to me right now."


    Tiffany continued to chew her fingernail. I had to look away because the edge of her nail had started to bleed pretty bad.


    "Sorry," she said, "I get like this if I don''t smoke."


    "It''s fine," I said.


    After several moments of silence I said, "Do you really want to try and run away? You¡­helped those three on the coach run away, right?"


    Tiffany dropped her hand to her knee and looked a little proud of herself.


    "Yeah," she said, smirking, "One of the boys asked me to create a distraction. He gave me his lighter."


    "I figured," I said, "Pretty cool of you."


    "Why thank you," said Tiffany, putting a hand to her chest and acting bashful.


    "Look," she said, "I think what we need to do is stick together. I know you a little better now and I think the best chance of us getting out of this okay is if we look out for each other. At least until this craziness is over. I''ll do whatever you want to do. If you want to run away now then we can run. If you want to stay and see what other crazy crap they make us do, then we''ll deal with that too. Together. If you¡­want?"


    I felt a fresh bout of tears stinging at my eyes.


    "Of course we can stick together," I said, "Though, it feels like you''ve been the one looking out for me this whole time. I haven''t been much help to you so far."


    "You have," she said, "Just having you around has made this way easier to deal with. Seeing you trying so hard on the treadmill motivated me to keep going. There''s no way I could do any of this on my own."


    I wanted to touch her. To hold her hand. Anything. It felt really good to be wanted. To be needed. In a sick and twisted way it made all the suffering of the last forty-eight hours worth it. How pathetic is that? I thought to myself, you''re so desperate for even the tiniest amount of niceness from people.


    I shook my head, trying to shake away the negative thoughts that were prone to working away at my anxieties; an inner voice that told me I was no good, useless, and would never amount to anything, ever. I just didn''t have time for that voice right now.


    "I think we should stay," I said, "I¡­really want to see what comes next. If we leave now then we''ll be on the run. There''s a good chance we might even get shot. I don''t want to risk that right now."


    "But, Burg," said Tiffany, leaning forward, "Are you sure? Because things may get way worse if we stick around."


    "I don''t know," I said, "I really don''t know what the right thing to do is¡­but¡­I guess I would feel cheated somehow if I didn''t see what the Pied Piper pricks had in store for us next. What if I''m right? What if we have super powers and they''re¡­sort of¡­trying to sieve out the non-powered people from the powered ones?"


    "But why wouldn''t they tell us that was what they''re doing?" "I don''t know," I said, "I''m probably wrong about all this. I wish I knew what was best but I''m just making stuff up as I go along."


    I took a deep breath. "I think we should stay," I said, "For now. If things get worse then we can figure out a way of getting out of this. Okay?"


    "Okay," said Tiffany. She smiled uneasily. I offered her my hand. She got up and hugged me instead. It lasted a few moments and then she pulled back.


    "Okay," she said, "I think you better head back. I don''t know about you but I want to get some more sleep."


    "Good idea," I said.


    I got up and headed to the door. "Goodnight," I said.


    She said, "Goodnight," back, and then I left and returned to my room.

 18. The Offer

    I woke up with a serious need to pee. I''d had a nap, woken up briefly to have a cup of tea, then gone back to sleep. I did this twice before enjoying a long sleep in. After I had gotten out of bed and was mid-pee there came a sudden knock at the door. I finished up as quick as I could, peeled back on the top half of my blue overalls, then hurried over to the door.


    I peered into the peephole expecting to see another Pied Piper officer standing in the hallway but instead there was a smartly dressed young woman with long dark hair and a pretty face.


    I opened the door quickly.


    "Hello?" I said.


    My eyes were still fuzzy with sleep and my throat raspy. I hadn''t given much thought to how disheveled I must have looked before opening the door.


    The young woman looked me over and seemed neither particularly mean nor friendly.


    "Mr O''Bannon," she said in an American accent like the type I''d heard many times watching movies, "My name is Abigail Hoffman, We have a meeting scheduled."


    "We do?" I said, "I don''t remember any-"


    "-I scheduled it," she said, cutting me off, "Mind if we talk in private?"


    She waited a moment, letting the question hang in the air. I looked down at her wondering if it was proper to let a very pretty woman, who looked maybe six or seven years older than me, into my room. I didn''t however want to cause any unnecessary friction. Choosing the path of least resistance I stood aside and let her make her way inside. She was quite short, and, I had to admit, looked very nice in the smart black heels she was wearing.


    She turned and I made an effort to inspect the wall to my left to not give off the impression I had just been ogling her.


    "Mind if I sit down?" she said, gesturing to the desk chair.


    "Sure," I said.


    She sat down and put her hands neatly on her lap. I could tell she was a prim and proper type by the way she sat with her back perfectly straight. In comparison I felt like a bit of a slob standing in the blue overalls, shoe-less, in front of her. I moved over to the bed and sat down, ignoring the messed up bed covers.


    After a moment of silence Abigail said, "I understand you went through a lot yesterday?"


    "...yeah," I said, nodding. I wasn''t in the most talkative mood so I decided not to elaborate.


    "Well, Mister O''Bannon¨Cmind if I call you Burgess?"


    "Sure."


    "Well, Burgess, I''m here because I would like your help with something."


    She paused, her pretty hazel eyes studying me.


    "Okay¡­?" I said.


    I didn''t know whether to feel bashful around her or to be bluntly arrogant, the latter seemed more appropriate considering the way I had been treated since the evacuation began.


    Abigail continued, "I work for a specific division of Pied Piper. Namely, the Research Division. Our division created that Meter device you''re wearing. Isn''t it great?"


    I looked at the device on my wrist. It was showing a steady green light. For now.


    "How does it work?" I said.


    "That''s confidential information," said Abigail, "Sorry."


    Sorry? I thought, Is she really this¡­shy?


    "Burgess," she said, "Do you know what you managed in Lintern''s Gym, on the treadmill, jogging at six miles per hour for nearly twelve hours straight. Do you understand how impressive that is?"


    I didn''t know what to say. What I did feel however was a sudden swell of inner pride. I tried to keep the thrill of being told how impressive I was from showing on my face.


    "What you did," said Abigail, plucking at the hem of her knee-length pencil skirt with her manicured fingers, "Isn''t normal. Do you agree?"


    "I don''t know," I said. I didn''t know what to say for fear of saying the wrong thing.


    "You''re not in trouble," said Abigail, "The whole reason everyone has been evacuated to Lintern and elsewhere across Britain; the whole reason the whole global initiative to evacuate those at-risk of spontaneous-combustion is because something truly abnormal is taking place. Everything that is happening is entirely unprecedented. Because of this we are trying to figure out what is causing the spontaneous-combustions to happen." This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    She paused to make sure I was following, which I was, so she continued.


    "Our research division had to find any way they could to prevent at-risk teenagers like yourself from spontaneously-combusting. They discovered physical exertion brought the danger level down to a safe level."


    "But what about those that turn red?" I said, "Running on the treadmill didn''t help them much."


    I was thinking about Alex Landly and all the other teenagers that had given up or collapsed under the strain of so much running.


    "It is a major issue," said Abigail. She looked genuinely remorseful.


    "Even the exertion on the treadmill or any other exercise is proving not to be enough to bring the danger down to a safe degree. We have lost a lot of youths because we don''t know a more effective means of stopping the spontaneous-combustions. Which is why someone like yourself could be the piece of the puzzle we need to figure out how to beat this thing."


    "Me?" I said.


    "Yes, Burgess," said Abigail, "There appears to be a connection between the energy built up inside of you, that puts you at risk of spontaneously-combusting, and how you managed to accomplish a feat most trained athletes couldn''t match."


    "You know," I said, "I was thinking something similar. Like¡­maybe my body was converting that pent up energy so I didn''t tire out on the treadmill?"


    "Perhaps!" said Abigail, excitedly, "That could very well be the reason. The issue is we don''t know for sure. What needs to happen is more research so we can learn what it is that makes you so special. Would you be opposed to the idea of helping us learn more about your abilities?"


    My mind felt like it had been wiped clean when Abigail had said I was special. Could I really be? Maybe on some egotistical level I had always wondered if there was something particularly special about me, but every facet of my life before had proved that I was mediocre at everything I did. But things seemed to be changing.


    "I''m not opposed to it," I said, "But I''m not sure what it is you''re asking of me."


    "Right," said Abigail, "Let me explain. I would like to make you an offer, which you are free to refuse if you wish. The Pied Piper Research Division would like to invite you to stay at a private research facility where we will do everything we can, within reason, to learn more about your abilities."


    "But all I did was run for a long time on the treadmill¡­?" I said.


    "That''s not all," said Abigail, "Your body at the end of those twelve hours was in a state of shock which should have killed you. Yet somehow, in the last few hours, your body has recovered. That is an exceptional healing ability."


    I didn''t like being told I should have died under normal conditions. But it did make sense. I had been on the brink of so much pain and exhaustion after finishing up on the treadmill, so much so I had really wondered how it was I was able to even breathe and walk.


    "And," said Abigail, "If you choose to work with us. We will pay you a salary of two-thousand pounds a week for every week you stay with us."


    I liked the sound of that. It wasn''t exactly a fortune but it was far and away more money than I would be able to make on my own in the next few years. Money however wasn''t going to sway my decision, since there were far more important things to worry about.


    "I can''t do anything unless I can tell my parents where I am and what I''m doing," I said.


    "Of course," said Abigail, "You''ll be able to be in regular contact with your family at the facility."


    Abigail looked around the little bed and breakfast room.


    "But that wouldn''t be the case here. You may have noticed the Pied Piper officers here are a little¡­rough. You can expect far better treatment and freedom at the facility."


    "For how long?" I said.


    "For as long as you''re willing to work with us and for as long as we feel it is still beneficial for us to learn more about your abilities," said Abigail.


    "You''re not going to make me join a superhero team are you?" I said, jokingly.


    Abigail smirked, "We''re not planning on it¡­but you never know. This does seem like something out of a comic book, doesn''t it?"


    "Yeah," I said, "It really does. Though it''s set in rainy old Britain. What''s up with that?"


    Abigail giggled this time. It was such a lovely giggle.


    "Yeah, what is up with that?"


    "Where is this facility?" I said, trying to put the conversation back on track.


    "In Europe," said Abigail, "That''s as much as I can say at this time."


    "And if I don''t want to do this?" I said.


    "Then," said Abigail, "You''ll stay here, not at this bed and breakfast, but at some smaller, less comfortable place in Lintern Village. The whole village has been evacuated of the original populace to house the at-risk youths. You''ll be staying here until such a time as the government deems it safe for everyone to return home; but we have no indication of when, if ever, that might be¡­"


    The choice seemed pretty simple to me. Go and get paid and be a part of something that sounded like it was straight from a comic book, or stay and wait for everything to blow over.


    "I need to think about this first," I said.


    "Of course," said Abigail, "But I will need an answer within the next three hours. After that the offer will be rescinded. If you wish to get in contact with me you can ask one of the officers to get in touch."


    "Okay," I said, "Thank you."


    Abigail stood and offered me her hand to shake, which I did.


    "Pleasure," she said, and I showed her to the door.


    I closed the door but continued to look through the peephole. Abigail took one step over, took a moment to collect herself, then knocked at Tiffany''s door. A few moments later Tiffany answered the door, Abigail introduced herself just like she had done with me, and then entered Tiffany''s room. One of the reasons I hadn''t accepted Abigail''s offer right there and then was because of Tiffany. Last night we agreed to stick together. It was very likely Tiffany was about to receive an identical offer. Would she want to go to the facility or to stay in Lintern?


    Unable to keep my curiosity at bay I moved over to the wall and put my ear against it. To my surprise I could hear the muffled conversation between Abigail and Tiffany enough to listen in.

 19. The Elevator

    I considered listening in on Abigail and Tiffany''s conversation. To do so would have been as easy as putting my ear against the wall. I moved over to the wall and heard the briefest sliver of conversation.


    "I would like to make you an offer," said Abigail.


    I stopped listening after that. As much as I wanted to know what was being said between them it ultimately wasn''t any of my business and, I figured, it would be a breach of trust between Tiffany and I. Small things like this mattered¡­right?


    When their conversation was over I made sure to catch a glimpse of Abigail leaving down the hallway. She headed down the narrow steps and, as far as I could hear, out of the bed and breakfast.


    I knocked on the wall and Tiffany''s muffled voice came back a moment later.


    "Burg?" she said.


    "I''m here," I said.


    "Can I come over?" she said.


    "Sure," I said.


    Tiffany left her room and made her way over to mine. At first I had assumed the Pied Piper security would have had us under enough scrutiny to make little trips between rooms like this impossible; but there wasn''t any officer on our floor to worry about; for the time being at least.


    I opened the door for Tiffany and stepped aside to let her in. She seemed energetic and, I noticed, she smelled of smoke.


    "Did she make you an offer too?" I said.


    "Yeah," said Tiffany, "Two grand a week, stay at a private facility, help them learn more about whatever weird thing is going on with us."


    I hesitated to say what I was about to say next.


    "So," I said, "Do you want to go for it?"


    "Yeah," said Tiffany.


    She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve. By the look in her eyes her mind appeared to be racing a hundred miles a minute.


    "Are you okay?" I said.


    "Yeah," she said, "It''s just a lot to take in, you know? Two grand a week is a lot of money. That''s one-hundred-and-four thousand a year. My family doesn''t have any money, Burg. This could change our lives."


    "Yeah," I said, "But what if it''s too good to be true?"


    Tiffany shook her head. Her nervous energy wasn''t getting any better. She stood with her hands to her hips and breathed quickly.


    "What have we got to lose?" She said, "It beats staying here not making any money. Why? You don''t want to do it?" Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    I looked at my feet.


    "I don''t know," I said, "I don''t know what to do."


    "I say we do it," said Tiffany, stepping closer to me and putting a hand on my shoulder. I looked up into her eyes and she had hers fixed on mine.


    "We''ve got something they want," she said, smiling, "Why shouldn''t we take advantage of that?"


    I thought about my friend and knew what he would say. As if the ghost of my friend where speaking in the room with us I let what he would say come out of my mouth.


    "Because we don''t have any real reason to trust them," I said, "Are we supposed to just believe that they won''t do anything¡­evil¡­to us once we''re at their facility?"


    "Like what?" said Tiffany, drawing her hand back.


    "Maybe they''ll dissect us," I said, "You know, run messed up experiments on us."


    Tiffany rolled her eyes and moved over to the bed and sat down.


    "They just want to learn more about what makes us so special," she said.


    Tiffany patted the bed, gesturing for me to sit next to her. I resisted the urge to do what she wanted and could tell my reluctance was upsetting her a little.


    "Burg?" she said.


    I relented. I moved over to her side and sat down on the bed.


    I tried to think things through. Before when Abigail had made her offer to me I had immediately wanted to accept. The fact I was talking to a very attractive woman who looked great in a pencil skirt and heels probably had something to do with it. After thinking it through however there seemed to be way too many ''what ifs'' for my liking. I wanted to go ahead with it because the alternative meant staying in Lintern, which more than anything seemed like the less interesting option. But less interesting might mean it also being the safest.


    My Meter device was still green. Again a fresh bout of nasty stitches tightened up in my gut. Just the thought of having to go through that treadmill ordeal again brought on a flood of anxiety.


    "Okay," said Tiffany, "Consider this. What if our Meters go orange and we have to use the treadmills again? And what if we go through all that again only for our Meters to turn red. And then we blow up?"


    "We don''t know if that will happen," I said.


    "Okay," said Tiffany, "That''s the problem. We don''t know enough about what is happening to us and everyone else. If we don''t go and work with this research division, then maybe days or weeks from now we''ll be helpless when our Meters turn red and we have no way to go back to green?"


    I buried my face in my hands and sighed. This was getting stressful. If I were an orphan, with no family to worry about, then perhaps it would have been an easy decision. But I had to think of my Mum, and Dad, and my brother and sister. I also had to think about my friend. What would they want me to do? Would they want me to go to the facility, or to stay in Lintern?


    Tiffany put her hand on my shoulder again.


    "Burg?" she said, "You said we would stick together. So I''ll do what you want to do. But I think we should do this. I don''t think I have the guts to do it on my own though. Please will you come with me?"


    Tiffany''s question hung in the quiet of the room for several moments. Yet again I had found myself at an impasse. Yet again I thought about my friend and what he would think of everything that had happened so far. It had been my decision to not run away that brought me to share this moment with Tiffany. It had become that much harder to get off the elevator that seemed to continue propelling us forward. If I didn''t get off now how far would it take us?


    "...okay," I said, quietly, "Let''s do it."


    "Thank you!" said Tiffany.


    She wrapped her arms around and held me in a tight embrace. It felt nice to be hugged, but I still felt detached somewhat from my decision. Now I had agreed to go with Tiffany, the elevator was going to keep carrying us forward; for better or worse.

 20. Croissant

    Tiffany left to return to her room briefly whilst I put on my plimsolls. We then met up outside in the narrow hallway and made our way down the narrow flight of stairs to the ground floor. A Pied Piper officer was standing at the entrance, machine gun in his hands, looking to the street outside. He took notice of us approaching him. For a moment I feared he might raise his gun at us but he simply looked over at us casually.


    "Excuse me," I said, "We would like to talk with Abigail?"


    The officer reached into his pocket and retrieved a smartphone. He searched through a list of contacts, called the number, and then put his phone to his ear.


    "Burgess O''Bannon and Tiffany Becker would like to speak with you," he said, "...okay."


    He put his phone on loudspeaker and held it out for us to speak into. I could feel Tiffany looming behind me, she had her arms folded and she was leaning on me, her tall stature making me the perfect height for her to do so.


    "You guys there?" said Abigail, her voice coming through tinny.


    "Yes," I said, "We''re here."


    "So you guys want to move ahead with this thing?" she said.


    "Yes," I said.


    "Yes," said Tiffany, leaning forward a bit more to better speak into the phone.


    "That''s great, that''s great," said Abigail, "I''ll have a car come pick you up. We''re on a tight schedule so be prepared for a long flight."


    "Flight?" I said.


    "See you soon," said Abigail, and she hung up.


    The officer pocketed his phone. I moved out from under Tiffany and faced her.


    "Does she mean catch a plane or something?" I said.


    "You haven''t seen the helicopter coming and going?" said an unfamiliar voice.


    A teenage girl, mixed-raced, with long frizzy hair, also dressed in blue overalls and plimsolls walked a little closer to us. She seemed to have an air of confidence about her. Though not as tall as Tiffany she was taller than average for a girl and she was also quite pretty.


    "No, I didn''t notice," I said.


    "It uses Lintern''s Gym''s roof as a landing zone," said the girl, "Everyday a handful of us blues get taken away. I''m guessing you two were offered the same deal?"


    "Yeah," I said.


    Tiffany nodded a little bit. Now she, like me, was more on guard.


    "I saw you both yesterday evening," she said, "You both were looking pretty red."


    "Yeah," I said, forcing a smile and rubbing the back of my head nervously, "Did you¡­experience anything similar?"


    "I ran my ass off on the treadmill," said the girl, "I was jogging for ten straight hours. You?"


    "Nearly twelve," said Tiffany.


    "Oh my gosh," said the girl, "That''s rough. No wonder you both looked done when you came in. That''s not the highest I''ve heard though."


    "No?" I said.


    "Nah," said the girl. She gestured over her shoulder to the doorway. There a tall, muscled, and arguably quite handsome black boy was sitting back in a chair with his feet up on the table. He looked like he was taking a nap.


    "Blain ran, not jogged, ran for fourteen hours," said the girl, "He''s on another level." The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    By the look of the guy I hadn''t much reason to doubt he''d managed such a feat. There was something vaguely familiar about him, like I had seen him before. But I couldn''t recall where.


    "I''m Mikayla by the way," said the girl.


    Tiffany and I introduced ourselves and each shook Mikayla''s hand.


    During this time the Pied Piper officer that had let us use his phone and turned around to face back out to the street again.


    "Have you had breakfast?" said Mikayla, "We''ve got some left if you want some?"


    "That''d be nice," I said.


    "Thank you," said Tiffany.


    Mikayla led the way across the foyer and into the back room. It was a lounge area mixed with a dining area; the right side was all glass looking out to a small garden. On the table was an assorted continental breakfast. Half the table however was taken up by Blain''s long legs. Our presence entering the room must have woken him because he drew his legs back, sighed, and then sat forward and rubbed at his eyes.


    "Time to leave yet?" he said.


    "Soon," said Mikayla, "I think they''re bringing a car to come pick us all up."


    "Have you both been here long?" said Tiffany.


    "Two days," said Blain, "We''ve been waiting for our turn to take a flight out of here."


    Whilst Tiffany helped herself to a croissant I couldn''t help but stare at Blain. He seemed really familiar.


    "Are you on TV?" I said.


    Mikayla''s eyes went wide all of a sudden. She made a cutting gesture at her neck as if to say ''cut it out!''.


    The question hung in the air for a few moments and went unanswered. Blain sighed and got to his feet. He was head and shoulders taller than me and was clearly an athlete of some kind. He had the body that would take a lot of time and dedication to sculpt. His blue overalls seemed strained trying to keep his bulk contained.


    Sudden boot-steps drew our attention to the doorway. It was the same Pied Piper officer from before.


    "Time to go," he said.


    I grabbed two croissants for myself and followed Blain and Mikayla out of the room, with Tiffany close behind me busy chewing her own croissant.


    The four of us left the bed and breakfast and walked a few paces towards an expensive looking car that was waiting for us in the middle of the road. We got into the back. The car was spacious enough inside. Tiffany and I sat at the back, and Blain and Mikayla sat in front.


    Both Tiffany and I made quick work of the croissants making sure not a single crumb went to waste. The act of stuffing our faces together in the backseat made us both grin stupidly at each other. But then I saw something that wiped the smile from my face.


    The car came to a stop at the end of the road. There were a few cars coming and going, leading to brief traffic. In this time I was able to see a familiar face walking among a group being led by a Pied Piper officer. It was Alex Landly.


    I lent over Tiffany, pressing my face close to the window.


    "What are you-?" Tiffany started to say, her mouth still a little stuffed.


    "It''s Alex," I said, pointing to him. He likely couldn''t see us because the car windows were tinted. I spotted his Meter. It was showing green.


    Then the car eased on and I couldn''t see Alex Landly anymore. I sat back in my seat, feeling a little nauseous after the car had just made a quick turn to enter onto the next road.


    "I''m glad he''s alright," I said, "I thought he might have blown up."


    "Well that''s good news," said Tiffany.


    "I guess he''ll be staying here," I said.


    I felt a familiar tug-of-war inside of me. On the one hand I liked the idea that I was going to be one of a privileged few leaving Lintern Village very soon. On the other there was Alex Landly being¡­normal. It was the usual way of things, just a little different. Water always finds its level; Alex, a perfectly normal person, had found his. And me, someone abnormal, was finding mine. It was as if this whole experience at Lintern Village was some giant sieve of the normal and abnormal. But that''s what it had been after all. A test. A proving ground. I still didn''t know however if this was an instance where it was a good thing to stand out. Seeing Alex Landly for that brief moment made me think all of a sudden that it wasn''t. Because, if it was, then he would surely be a part of our group too.


    I fixed my attention forwards and spotted the back of Blain''s head. His hair was a short afro, neatly kept. Even from behind his shoulders looked intimidatingly broad. He looked like he could be some kind of¡­boxer.


    I gasped, realizing where I recognised Blain from. Tiffany caught my sudden look of surprise and I waved away her questioning look.


    "What?" she said, leaning closer to me.


    "I''ll tell you later," I whispered back.


    "Okay¡­" she said, looking both a little skeptical and amused.


    The car came to a stop outside a place I''d hoped never to see again: Lintern''s gym. We were ordered out, so we got out of the car and stood on the pavement.


    On the steep road we were on I was taken aback all over again by the sheer scale of the operation taking place in the small village. Down the road were several groups of about six-to-seven teenagers, each led by a Pied Piper officer. It made me feel sick to think that some of them were going to experience the treadmill torment we had already experienced. Others however might get lucky and not have to deal with it at all.


    "Burgess," said Tiffany.


    She and the others were heading into Lintern''s Gym through the main entrance.


    "Sorry," I muttered, and I hurried in after them.

 21. Flight

    I couldn''t shake the notion I was about to make a very bad decision.


    Upon newly entering Lintern''s Gym through the main entrance I noticed all of the fresh-faced and worried teenagers with orange-lit Meters being led deeper into the building, all of whom likely had no idea the hell they were about to experience. Some of them took notice of us, since we stood out thanks to our blue overalls. I didn''t know whether to feel like a VIP or a freakshow. Maybe Tiffany, Mikayla, Blain, and I had become a mix of both those things.


    The Pied Piper officer in charge of our small group led us to an elevator. He thumbed the button and the elevator door opened. He waited for us all to make our way inside before entering himself. Thankfully the elevator interior was spacious, leaving plenty of room for me and the others. Even so, I couldn''t help but feel ''stuck'' with the small group I was with. I felt an urge to make small talk, but none of the others were talking nor looked like they were interested in doing so. I remained silent, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to myself. It also didn''t help that I felt socially exhausted. No amount of sleep could fix the need I had to spend at least a day or two on my own with my thoughts. Until that time came I would feel like my bandwidth for socializing, and thinking in general, was steadily decreasing. If unchecked I would eventually be left spiraling with negative thoughts and an overbearing sense of dread. The exhaustion brought about from the treadmill torment had put this issue on the back burner. Now that crisis had passed for the time being my mental state was becoming a fresh concern again.


    The elevator door pinged and opened on the top floor of Lintern''s Gym. This floor was incredibly busy, not with teenagers, but with Pied Piper officials hurrying about their work. At a glance I could see some officials surveying the progress of the teenagers downstairs on the treadmills, showing readings of heart rates, body temperature, and so on. I felt a kind of disgust at what these officials were doing; they had seen the torment I had gone through, and what hundreds of others were going through.


    Somebody has to keep track of everything my more logical, detached inner voice told me. Sure, I thought, But that doesn''t excuse them willingly watching people go through hell.


    The Pied Piper officer led us along the left side of the large open space, bringing us down a hallway. It became something of an obstacle course to avoid the officials which were busily coming and going. At last the Pied Piper officer opened a glass door and waited for us to enter.


    The officer didn''t enter the room with us. Instead he closed the door and left. When the glass door closed all the noise from outside became heavily muffled.


    Abigail Hoffman was sitting at the end of a long conference table, with four folders set out in front of her. She stood up and smiled, welcoming us all and shaking our hands.


    "We don''t have much time so I''ll get right to it," she said.


    She gestured to the folders on the table, "There is a contract for each of you. I suggest you take your time reading the contract closely to avoid any misunderstandings."


    "I''m not signing anything until I talk to my Dad," said Blain. He spoke with the kind of stoic confidence I could only dream of.


    "Of course," said Abigail.


    She held up a smartphone, "If you would like to speak with your family, or management, then now is the time to do so. You''ll need to take the call in here since none of you have permission to be anywhere else in this building. So, who would like to go first?"


    Blain held his hand out for the smartphone and Abigail placed the phone into his palm.


    "Ten minutes," she said, "No more than that. When you''re done pass the phone onto the next person. I''ll go grab myself a coffee."


    Abigail politely excused herself, leaving the room and heading down the hallway; within moments I could no longer spot her among the hustle and bustle going on outside.


    Blain dialed a number and wandered off to the corner of the office, taking a seat.


    "Yo," he said once whoever it was on the other end picked up, "Yeah, it''s me. Yeah, nah, I''m alright. I''m good. Look, listen, there''s something I got to ask you about¡­"


    Out of politeness the rest of us stopped listening into the conversation. As one we turned our attention to the window, looking out to down below. My stomach clenched with a nasty pang of dread at what I saw.


    Teenagers, exhausted, most limping, were being led by armed Pied Piper officers through the forest below. I looked up a little more to see denser forestation above which prevented a clear view of what was going on up there. But I could easily guess where the teenagers were being led to.


    "The Remote Zone''s up there," I muttered.


    "It''s disgusting," said Tiffany, "But what else can they do?"


    I shrugged, feeling the look of disgust on my face tighten.


    I spotted Mikayla dancing in the window reflection and turned to look at her. She was pretty good at dancing, and seemed to be lost in her own world doing it silently. I got the idea right away that she likely welcomed the attention but also didn''t care what I thought about her deciding now as the time to try out some dance moves. She muttered some song lyrics under her breath which to me sounded like it was from some kind of rap video. I was about to force myself to look away when Tiffany started to join Mikayla in the low-volume rapping and on-the-spot dancing. Both girls egged each other on, their enthusiasm infecting the other.


    I forced myself to look away. People handle stress differently, I guess.


    There came a sudden boom. Ahead the dense forestation shivered from a concussive blast. I tried to spot any sign of a golden light but it must have been too far away. That nasty feeling in my gut gripped twice as hard as before to the point I nearly fell to one knee. I held my stomach, my face tightening from the pain. Someone''s son or daughter had just blown up.


    The four of us, including Blain who peeled his attention away from the conversation he was having on the phone, felt Lintern''s Gym rattle from the residual blast. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    I moved over to a seat and sat down. Tiffany and Mikayla stopped goofing around.


    "Burg, you alright?" said Tiffany, pulling up a seat opposite mine.


    "Just a stitch," I muttered, "It''s just stress."


    "Do you want some water?" she said, "Maybe we can get you something?"


    I shook my head, "It''s fine," I said, "Leave it, please."


    Thankfully Tiffany listened. She started chewing the skin around her nails again whilst she waited for her turn to use the phone.


    When Blain was finished he handed over the phone to Mikayla. She spoke on the phone with her grandmother for ten minutes; Mikayla spoke loudly on the phone so it was hard to ignore what was being said. In short Mikayla and her grandmother agreed two grand a week and the increased safety of being right where the most up to date research on this whole crisis was being done seemed worth signing up for.


    Tiffany took her turn after Mikayla. Her turn however was brief since she tried two different numbers with neither picking up. Frustrated, almost chucking the phone across the room, Tiffany handed me the phone for my turn.


    I felt very stupid for not knowing the numbers for any member of my family. Not even the home phone (since we had moved from my childhood home to a small flat, meaning I hadn''t memorized that number yet). There was a number I did remember however. My friend''s number.


    I dialed it in. I was about to call the number before stopping myself. No, I thought, even if he does pick up then I would be betraying his trust. He went on the run to avoid any contact with the government, calling him on Abigail''s phone would undermine that effort entirely. For better or worse I had to keep in mind that, as far as I was concerned, moving forward when talking about myself, my friends, and my family; my friend simply didn''t exist.


    I put the smartphone on the table. Shortly after Abigail returned with a piping hot cup of coffee in hand.


    "You guys had a chance to make your calls?" she said.


    "I couldn''t remember any numbers," I said.


    "Oh," said Abigail, "We''ll sort that out later. We''re short on time so I guess you''ll need to come to your own decision, Burgess."


    I gave a tired but understanding nod.


    "I have a question," said Blain.


    "Go for it," said Abigail before taking a sip of her coffee.


    "You know who I am," he said.


    "I do," said Abigail.


    "So you know how famous I am right now," he said, he was telling rather than asking.


    "Sure," said Abigail.


    "So," said Blain, "I don''t think two grand a week is going to cut it."


    "Oh I see," said Abigail, "That''s just the initial payment. As things develop we may increase the payment to match your level of value to our research. Just think of the current payment as a starter offer. The contracts cover a three-month basis. After that you''ll be at liberty to renegotiate."


    Blain gave a slow nod, seemingly satisfied with Abigail''s answer.


    I looked at the folders on the table and saw the one with my name written in sharpie on it. I reached over and grabbed it. Rather than being a dense set of legal papers there were maybe less than ten pages in total.


    "These contracts are more of a formality at this stage. Just between us anything you sign right now is more of a gesture of good will. If I can be real with you four for a moment I want you to consider this: let''s say you''re unhappy with how things go at the research facility. And let''s say, hypothetically, you take issue with something we do and decide to take legal action. Do any of you have the funds or connections to take on the government and Pied Piper''s legal team?"


    "I know some good lawyers," said Blain.


    "Great," said Abigail, "What about the rest of you?"


    "They''ll join me in a class-action, you get me?" said Blain.


    Abigail smiled in a way that made me think she was proud of Blain, rather than upset.


    "That''s great to hear," she said, "Then I guess that little point of mine falls flat."


    Blain sat back in his seat looking too cool for school. It made sense given his background. I was looking forward to explaining the little I knew to Tiffany later.


    The four of us spent the next ten minutes reading through the contract. Like Abigail said, the contract stated we would be agreeing to three-months of voluntary stay and assistance at Pied Piper''s research division''s facility. For which we would receive two thousand pounds per week, to be paid on a weekly basis.


    "Okay," said Abigail after checking her phone, "The flight is due to leave in the next ten minutes. If you''re going to sign now''s the time."


    I raised my hand. Abigail must have found this funny because she smiled and gestured for me to speak up.


    "If we don''t stay the full three-month period do we still get paid?" I said.


    "It''ll be on a weekly basis as far as payment is concerned," said Abigail, "So rest easy with that."


    "Okay," I said, "Thank you."


    After this the four of us signed the contracts. Once we were done Abigail scooped them up.


    "Thank you everyone," she said, "Now hold onto your butts because we are getting outta here. Let''s go."


    Abigail led the way out of the office. We had to walk briskly in order to keep up. Abigail led us to an exit door. The mayhem all around us sank away, replaced by the narrow confines of a steep set of stairs leading upward. I was the last out of the five of us to make it to the door.


    A burst of light followed and the oh-so-cold open air. We were on the roof of Lintern''s Gym and before us was a helicopter with its rotor already gearing up to fly.


    "Let''s go! Let''s go!" said Abigail, ducking low and shouting over the sound of the spinning rotor.


    We hurried aboard the helicopter and took our seats. I couldn''t get my seatbelt on quick enough, my hands, numbed from the cold air in just a few seconds, tried to get the seatbelt buckled as quick as they could. The sound of the helicopter rotors continued to climb to ever more unpleasant heights. We were each given headphones to wear to better handle the noise. Was this really my life right now? Was I really someone who might have superhuman abilities about to be flown via helicopter to a secret government facility? How had my life changed so much in such a short span of time?


    Two Pied Piper officers boarded the helicopter along with Abigail and the four of us. They closed the door behind them greatly muffling the sound of the spinning rotors. Less than a minute later the helicopter lifted off the ground. My stomach lurched and a giddy feeling took hold of me. My heart raced. Lintern''s Gym rapidly fell away along with the picturesque little village and all its beautiful greenery. The helicopter climbed higher and higher, my ears popped from the change in altitude. I looked at Tiffany who gave me a sheepish look back. She was doing her best to handle the continuing craziness of it all.


    Mikayla had her face to the window looking like a child simply in awe of what she was experiencing. Blain, ever the stoic it seemed, moodily glanced out of the window with almost bored indifference. My gaze landed on Abigail. She looked back at me calmly.


    "Can everyone hear me?" she said. We could hear her voice in our headphones. We all mumbled affirmatives, except for the Pied Piper officers who simply sat and listened.


    "Because we''re heading to a top secret facility we''ll need the four of you to put on masks in the next few minutes. It won''t be too long a journey."


    The Pied Piper officers handed out little face masks, which we each took. Blain in particular seemed to take offense at this. I wondered if he would kick up a fuss about it, but he seemed to think better of doing so.


    I thought about my mother then, and how much greater the distance was growing between us. For some reason I felt suddenly very guilty for having signed the contract.

 22. Silent Disco

    I had anticipated a much longer flight than what we got. By the time we landed it felt like we had been in the air for somewhere between thirty-to-forty-five minutes. We spent the majority of this time wearing eye-masks which left very little space for me to see out of. The best I could manage to see with them on was a small sliver of light from the bottom.


    "We''re going to get out in a minute!" said Abigail, her voice reaching us through the headphones we were wearing, "Keep your eye-masks on until you''re told to take them off. When the door opens keep your head down and follow the lead of the officer guiding you. We''re almost there guys, you should all be really proud of yourselves this takes a lot of guts."


    I wasn''t sure about the others but Abigail''s words of praise fell on deaf ears for me. For the duration of the flight to our destination I had gone over everything that had happened since I was evacuated from my home. From Tiffany pretending to choke on a piece of bread outside the coach to give a distraction for the three teenagers that had run away, to me being held at gunpoint by a Pied Piper officer for the offense of stopping to tie my shoelace, to the treadmill torment we had all experienced. None of it had the makings of something promising. More than anything I was afraid that I had already made the wrong choice several times over to trust the Pied Piper organisation and, by extension, the government.


    With nothing to do on the flight over except sit and think I was able to admit to myself a nasty truth: I had gone along with everything the Pied Piper officials wanted not because I trusted them, but because I was afraid to refuse their demands. They hadn''t given me a choice about the evacuation, nor about being put on that damn treadmill; and the choice of being brought to the facility felt like no choice at all the more I thought about it. I wished I had listened to my friend and had gone on the run with him instead.


    Or did I? There was still that lingering what if that coming to the facility was the better option. If you''re supposed to trust them, then they should also trust you, said a part of my brain, they clearly don''t trust you because they''ve made you wear this stupid eye-mask.


    The helicopter began to descend towards the ground. Just remember, I thought to myself, you''re an idiot who doesn''t know anything, so don''t go making rash judgments about this situation. I nodded, trying to agree with myself. The nasty stitch in my gut had lessened to a dull ache instead of the incredible pain it had started as.


    The landing of the helicopter wiped my mind clean of thoughts for a moment. Moments later the door was slid open.


    "Seatbelts off," said Abigail.


    I fumbled getting mine open. A fresh blast of cold air propelled by the helicopter rotors made me wish I was wearing more than just overalls. A gloved hand gripped my arm before I was done with my seatbelt. The grip was very firm, clearly belonging to an adult male. Someone else in the helicopter undid my seatbelt for me and then I was pulled out of my seat.


    I fell to one knee on the way out, feeling soft mildew grass for a moment before being lifted to my feet. I kept my head low as the helicopter blades continued to whir and slow above my head. All you''d need to do is jump to cut your head clean off, my dark inner thoughts reminded me.


    The man guiding me pulled me forwards. I found my footing and kept up with whoever it was. I tried looking at the sliver of light in the eye-mask but the most I could make out was green grass. Wherever we were was somewhere remote, with very crisp, clean air, perhaps even more crisp than the air had been at Lintern Village. Somewhere remote, I thought, Looks like I got my wish.


    The helicopter noise died down and was quickly replaced by a lot of hustle and bustle. Loud beeping of a machine, perhaps a forklift or truck backing up, filled the air. Engine noise and workman-like chatter was soon everywhere around me. Had they brought us to a construction site or something?


    The soft grass underfoot changed to hard concrete. I could just make out the clapping steps of the others behind me. Joined with the lighter plimsoll footsteps were many more heavy bootsteps.


    The brisk wind lessened a little bit and the person guiding me brought me to a hard stop.


    "Four mice and one Executive to be brought down to level three," said the person holding me. It was a gruff man''s voice.


    There was a beep, the kind that reminded me of using an oyster card for public transport, and then I was pulled forward again.


    A loud, heavy metallic grinding sound occurred in front of me. After a moment I was brought further forward. The clanging of metal grating beneath my feet, mixed with a certain springy-suspension told me I was likely brought into some kind of elevator. As unnerved as I was it was nice to be away from the cold and into a place that was uncomfortably chill instead.


    The footsteps of Tiffany, Mikayla, Blain, and Abigail (hers being noticeably the clack of high heels), filled the space around me. There came a sudden ding sound and then a return of the heavy metalic grinding. Presumably the elevator doors we had just passed beyond had just shut again.


    "Masks off," said Abigail, sounding a little flustered.


    The hand which had pulled me along eased off. I reached up and took the eye-mask off. My eyes felt heavy and smarted to see the bright fluorescent light inside the large elevator we were in.


    I spotted the others. Tiffany, Blain, and Mikayla were all wincing against the bright light. The elevator we were in felt old and dirty as if it belonged to the entrance to a mineshaft.


    It had been a Pied Piper officer, dressed in full military-style gear with a machine gun slung over one shoulder, that had been the one to guide me forward; he, out of the few that must have helped the others hurry from the helicopter to the elevator, was the only one that had stayed with us rather than remain above.


    The elevator began to descend. I looked to the buttons to see there were six floors to choose from. Abigail reached forward and tapped the number two button.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "It''s been great meeting you guys," she said, "But I''ve got lots of work to catch up on. I''ll be in touch with you guys soon."


    "Wait, you''re leaving already?" said Mikayla, voicing a question we were all thinking.


    "I''m sorry," said Abigail, "I would have liked to have time to show you all around but there''s so much that needs to get done. Part of my job is making sure everyone''s stay here is optimal, so don''t worry, it won''t be long before you see me again."


    The elevator came to a shuddering stop and the doors opened. Ahead we could see a checkpoint of armed Pied Piper officers. Abigail looked back, forcing a smile and waving us goodbye, and then raised her arms just in time for a Pied Piper officer to run a metal detector over her person. The elevator door shut again and, after a moment, we continued on down.


    "I wonder how deep this goes," I said, looking at the others.


    My voice was raspy and strained and much quieter than I intended. Tiffany''s lips firmed up as she looked at me and hugged herself for warmth.


    The elevator continued going down¡­down¡­down¡­


    I took a glance upward and noticed a camera trained on us. I hadn''t noticed the cameras in Lintern''s Gym so I was determined to account for the ones that were going to be at this facility.


    With every second the elevator continued to descend I felt my anxiety get worse. Just how far down does this elevator go? Hell, maybe? I thought, morbidly.


    The elevator came to a stop finally and after a loud ping shuddered slowly open. Like with level two we could see a checkpoint ahead and not much else. The Pied Piper officer led us out of the elevator. He pressed an ID card hanging from a zip-cord on his belt onto a reader held by one of the officers standing at the checkpoint.


    He stepped aside and the four of us had metal detectors waved over every inch of us. The metal detector screeched when it reached Mikayla.


    "What metal have you got on you?" said the Pied Piper officer with the metal detector.


    Mikayla stuck out her tongue, showing a stud piercing there.


    "I''ve got a piercing on my tongue and my stomach," she said.


    "Remove them," said the Pied Piper officer.


    "Will I get them back?" said Mikayala.


    "Yes," said the Pied Piper officer.


    Whilst the rest of us stepped through Mikayla went through the hassle of removing her tongue and belly button piercing. We all looked away whilst she removed her piercings to give her some privacy. When she was finished she passed through the checkpoint and then had to go through the process of putting her piercings back, again with us waiting and not looking in her direction to give her the privacy she needed.


    On the other side of the checkpoint a tall, bearded man who looked to be in his late-twenties to mid-thirties was standing waiting for us. He was dressed in a black polo shirt and black khakis. There was something about his gelled-back brown hair and chubby face that made me immediately think of school teachers I had known. That, and his friendly smile.


    "How''s it going guys?" he said in an Australian accent.


    "Afternoon," he said, shaking my hand.


    "Afternoon," he said each time he shook the other''s hands too.


    "I''m Michael, but you guys can call me Mike," he said, gesturing enthusiastically to himself with both thumbs, "I''m one of the officials in charge of making sure your stay here goes smoothly. If you have any problems then you can bring them to me and I''ll do my best to get it sorted."


    He looked at me.


    "You must be Burgess," he said.


    "Y-yeah," I said, forcing a smile.


    Mike made a finger-gun gesture and declared the names of each person he pointed at.


    "We''ve got Mikayla, we''ve got Tiffany, and we''ve got Blain."


    None of us seemed to know how to respond to Mike''s friendly enthusiasm. He seemed a bit too nice compared to the rough treatment we had all experienced so far throughout the evacuation process.


    "Right," he said, "I''ve got your IDs here. Make sure you look after them because you''re going to need them a lot."


    Mike reached into his pockets and pulled out four plastic IDs. He handed them over. I looked at mine and saw it had the photo which had been taken when I was at the coach depot. The ID also had my name, age, and which evacuation point I had been brought from; Lintern Village.


    The ID had a little clip which made it easy to fix onto the front of my overalls on the left side. The others did the same.


    "O-key do-kay," said Mike, "I''m sure you''re all pretty tired and could do with a bit of a rest, maybe something to eat; heck, maybe even a bathroom break and a shower, amirite?"


    He paused as if he had just told a joke. We all stood silently and a moment later, like an animatronic that had returned to life after a pause, Mike continued with what sounded like a practiced spiel.


    "This level will be your new home during your stay here," he said, "There are twenty ''blocks'', which are basically dorm rooms you''ll be staying in, in groups of five."


    He gestured behind himself, though there was just a large set of steel doors behind him for us to see.


    "On the left are the A-blocks, that''s where the female living quarters are. On the right are the male blocks - you get the idea."


    Mike checked a note he had written onto his hand in pen.


    "Tiffany and Mikayla you''ll be joining block A-10, and Burgess and Blain you''ll be in B-9."


    Mike dropped his hand and forced another friendly smile.


    "So I''ll give you guys a squiz around and then you''ll have the rest of the day to settle yourselves in."


    I raised my hand. Mike, like Abigail had done, looked a little amused that I was polite enough to raise my hand to ask a question.


    "Can we make phone calls down here?" I asked.


    "Ah, no," said Mike, gripping his belt like a cowboy, "You''ll need special permission to do that. Ask me about that tomorrow sometime, things are a bit busy today."


    Mikayla raised her hand.


    "Yes," said Mike.


    "So can we leave whenever we want?" said Mikayla, gesturing over her shoulder to the checkpoint and the elevator beyond (which had since closed).


    "Ah, no," said Mike, "You''ll need special permission, but that''s mainly just a procedure here for everyone''s safety. If you decide you no longer wish to stay here we''ll need to figure out a way to return you back to your original evacuation area, and that can take a few days to free up the time and space. We would prefer to handle any issues you''re having here rather than burden our already extremely busy personnel with one of our valued mice leaving the facility."


    "Mice?" said Blain, "What''re you calling us mice for?"


    I could sense the sudden tension and hostility from Blain. Mike grinned and shrugged.


    "Oh, it''s just a fun little nickname that''s caught on around here for you teens. You know the story of the Pied Piper? Well I think the original story had the Pied Piper lead away rats instead of mice. Rats probably sounded a little harsh sounding so mice seemed to be the nicer option, don''t you think?"


    "Whatever, man," said Blain, clearly having had enough of Mike already.


    "Any other questions guys before we cruise on?"


    None of us spoke up.


    "Too easy, too easy," said Mike, "Alrighty, away we go."


    Mike spun round and moved like he was enjoying a silent disco towards the steel doors. He tapped his ID card and the doors slid open.

 23. Maze

    A sudden dark mood took hold of me. I wasn''t aware of it right away but Tiffany''s concerned look in my direction made me realise how grumpy I must have looked. It felt as if there were a pressure building inside my head and the rest of my body. I wasn''t sure what it was I needed; sugar? caffeine? water?


    "What?" I said, in a stand-offish tone in response to Tiffany''s questioning look.


    "Are you okay?" she whispered.


    "It doesn''t make a difference, does it?" I said.


    Mike led us through and to the right of a long white corridor. The walls on either side were narrow, barely allowing for three people at the most to stand side-by-side. The ceiling too seemed low; the likes of Blain, Tiffany and Mike being able to reach up and touch it if they stood on their tip-toes.


    Tiffany kept pace with me. Her eyes were trying to lock with mine. A fresh spike of aggravation took hold of me.


    "Can you tell me what''s wrong?" she said.


    I didn''t want to say anything. I just wanted to be left alone. A fresh spike of anger and anxiety climbed within me making me want to punch something. I felt the kind of anger only my brother knew the right buttons to press to get out of me. Nobody had been so talented at getting me upset like my brother had done over the years. One time, around the age of thirteen, I had realised with teenage melodramatics that I didn''t have any friends at school. I had come home and the grief of this had finally worn me down to the point I flung myself onto my parent''s bed and started to cry.


    When Mum asked me what was wrong I simply cried, "I don''t have any friends."


    My brother had used that moment of me crying as one of the many things he could bring up during arguments to set me off.


    "I don''t have any friends, Mum!" he would say, parroting the sadness with which I had said those words but in a mocking, pathetic sounding tone.


    The fights we had often ended with Mum crying and Dad being useless (and after I turned fourteen only available to reach by phone to be equally as useless in that way too). When my brother started pushing my buttons, saying the most horrid crap to me, he would do so knowing full well that I was trying to hold myself back from getting angry.


    Maybe the anger hadn''t come on so suddenly after all. Maybe it had been steadily brewing ever since I had been rudely evacuated from my home. I thought about the tone of the Pied Piper officer, the woman that had first knocked at our front door, banging her fist, not using the doorbell. I thought about every Pied Piper officer that had been rude or cold and, of course, the one that had even pointed a gun at my head. I thought about Alex Landly and how he hadn''t even bothered to have even the slightest glimmer of polite conversation with me despite us both being in an extraordinary crisis situation. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    The list of things which had seriously bothered me since being evacuated, things which I had forced myself to brush aside and to detach emotionally from; they had all sat somewhere within my skull waiting to be given their fair due.


    "Burgess?" said Tiffany.


    "Just leave it!" I said, sharply, my face contorted with anger.


    Tiffany flinched and then looked at me with momentary disgust. She looked away and started chewing the already sore looking skin around her fingernails.


    Great! I thought bitterly, Now you''re made her upset on top of everything else! Great going, you insufferable twat!


    I tried my best to focus my attention on my surroundings, but my dark mood was making it increasingly difficult not to feel like the world was becoming increasingly dark around the edges.


    The complex that was level three was like a maze. There were signs at intervals showing where we were; B-1, B-2, B-3; and that would have been useful if the living quarter blocks were spaced directly beside one another. Instead the corridor forked left and right, not displaying clearly to which living quarter it went to next. We took a left and found B-4, then a right to come to B-6. I looked around for any sign of B-5 but we continued on.


    Very quickly the corridors became swamped with teenagers in blue overalls. Some walked down the way we had just come, overs following behind us or hurrying ahead. There were no doors to the living quarters we passed meaning we had an open look inside. The living spaces were minimalist, with two bunk beds and a fifth bed built onto the wall. The mattresses looked thin and the singular pillows about as thick as a bar of soap. The blankets looked cheap as if they might provide only the most basic warmth. Everything was either gray or the same drab white.


    There are prison cells in England nicer than this, I thought to myself.


    The teenagers in the living quarters we passed sat around lazily, some talking to each other, others either resting or just sat alone with their thoughts.


    All of a sudden a body a little taller than mine shouldered into me causing me to stagger back.


    A thin but wiry-muscled mixed-race boy looked over his shoulder.


    "Watch where you''re walking!" he said, then kissed his teeth.


    I could see in his eyes that he was the type of young man that would delight in a fight. Normally I might have let it go, but I just wasn''t feeling at all ready to do that.


    "Excuse me?" I said, sharply.


    The boy stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening with silent fury. He swore at me and then, the next thing I knew, he brought an open hand hard into my face. It happened so fast I could only look at him in surprise, the fresh sting of the slap wiping all over thoughts from my head.


    The boy bit his tongue and looked at me as if challenging me to speak up again, because surely there was a ready supply of slaps, or worse, ready to be delivered. After a moment of inaction from me the boy shoved me hard against the wall. Pain climbed up my back. Other teenagers had stopped and were looking at me and him, though none were willing to involve themselves; I even caught a few fascinated, amused looks from teenagers excited at the possibility of a fight breaking out. The boy continued on his way, walking with swagger.


    The other teenagers who had witnessed what just happened continued on their way, some giving me looks and others ignoring me entirely.


    I put a hand to my cheek, feeling the warmth there and the fuzzy stinging pain.


    Ahead Mike, Tiffany, Blain, and Mikayla were nowhere to be seen.

 24. Polystyrene Cup

    For a moment I wondered if I might cry. It seemed like a good time for it. The tears refused to come. Crying didn''t come easy to me unless I happened to be listening to a particularly moving piece of music or watching a sad scene in a movie.


    I walked at a brisk pace in the direction I had last seen Mike lead the others in our group. I turned right, and found the B-8 living quarters. I was about to continue on when I felt a hand tug on my right elbow. I jerked round as if ready to fight to defend myself, if I had to.


    "I''m sorry," said a boy with sandy-blonde hair that reached down to his chest and upper back. He was very thin, perhaps unhealthily so. He had his hands raised.


    "What?" I said, having about as much niceness in me as a dog that had been left in a car on a hot day.


    "Sorry," said the boy again, "I need help with something ¨C don''t worry, sorry to bother you, man."


    The boy seemed to think better of asking whatever he was going to ask of me and started to move awkwardly back into the B-8 living quarters.


    "Wait," I said, forcing myself to be friendly, "What did you want?"


    "Well," said the boy, hugging himself and doing a little squat as he spoke, "I was wondering if you could spare a minute to be a judge for us?"


    He gestured into the living quarters. There was a chubby Indian boy inside with a bowl haircut, he raised a polite hand of hello in my direction.


    "What do you want me to judge?" I said.


    Other teenagers walked by us in the corridor. The long-haired boy tentatively tapped my shoulder to move me further into B-8. I moved in, stepping outside of the throng of teenagers coming and going in the corridor.


    "Well," he said, grinning a little, "Has anyone told you the¨Cthe thing yet?"


    I shook my head. "No¡­" I said, "What¡­thing?"


    The boy looked very happy to tell me what he was about to say. He leaned in a little bit and raised a hand to his cheek as if about to tell me a very big secret.


    "People down here," he said, "Some of us have super powers."


    I winced but couldn''t help but smirk.


    "Right," I said, disbelievingly.


    "Great, great," said the long-haired boy, "You are the perfect judge for this. See the cup on the table?"


    The long-haired boy walked me further into the living quarters. There was a small coffee table in the middle of the room around which were the uncomfortable looking beds that were like the others I had seen. On the coffee table was a simple polystyrene cup filled with water.


    "That," said the long-haired boy, "Is normal, room-temperature water. Stick your hand in and see."


    I shook my head a little. I wasn''t about to put my hand into a cup filled with some mystery substance, even if it did look like water. The long-haired boy stuck his finger into the cup.


    "See?" He said, "Totally fine."


    He held his hand out for me to shake. "I''m Jay by the way."


    "Burgess," I said. I shook his hand. I looked at the other boy and who was sat awkwardly, perhaps not having the same level of social skill as Jay.


    "I''m Amar," he said, without a hint of an Indian accent.


    He offered his hand to me and I shook it. I turned my attention to the cup and put my finger in it. Just like Jay had said it was normal, room-temperature water. I wiped the water on my finger on my overalls.


    "So what do you want me to judge?" I said.


    Jay looked giddy for a moment and quite effeminate.


    "Okay," he said, "So watch this."


    Jay put two fingers into the cup. For several moments he simply stood there concentrating. He squatted down, keeping his hand in the cup. I watched both Jay and the cup intently trying to see what it was he was trying to demonstrate. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    "Okay!" he said, taking his fingers out, "Now put your finger in there again."


    I gave both Jay and Amar questioning looks before deciding to do as Jay asked. I put my finger into the cup and immediately felt how cold the water had become, whilst not freezing, it was cold enough that I felt the urge to yank my finger out. I resisted the urge and held it there for a few more seconds before taking my finger out slowly.


    "It''s cold¡­?" I said.


    "Yes!" said Jay, bobbing on the spot effeminately, "I did that! Just by putting my fingers in there and willing the water to be cold."


    "That''s it?" I said, "You just¡­''willed it''?"


    "Uh-huh!" said Jay, "That''s as cold as I can get the water right now, I''m trying to get it colder."


    "Was that what you wanted me to judge?" I said.


    Jay nodded, "Yeah, man, yeah. To be honest I kind of just wanted to show off what I could do."


    "Hold on," I said, "Is it just water you can make cold?"


    "No," said Jay, "It''s my hand that I made cold. I can make my whole body cold if I want to."


    Jay offered me his hand to shake. I just looked at his hand.


    "Is your hand going to be cold?" I said.


    Jay grinned excitedly, "Yes!" He said, "I promise it won''t be cold enough to hurt you."


    I didn''t want to shake his hand again because of the risk that his hand might be so cold this time that mine might break off and shatter like shards of glass. I tried to remind myself that what Jay had demonstrated wasn''t remotely close to that level of coldness. I imagined what I might think of what Jay had shown me later and knew I wouldn''t be satisfied believing his hand really had been cold unless I shook it with my own. There was still a chance he had pulled some trick.


    I grabbed Jay''s hand. It was cool, but not cold like the water had been.


    "Okay," he said, "Ready? I''m going to get colder now¡­"


    The coldness of his hand started to climb. Within a few seconds I felt as if I were shaking hands with an ice pack. I let go and Jay moved his hand back quickly.


    "That''s insane," I said.


    I looked at Jay over trying to see how else he might have done it. He didn''t have any pockets in his overalls and the living quarters were so minimalist there wasn''t any way to hide an ice pack or something cold to trick me.


    I looked at Amar who was smirking. He sat with his hands on his knees.


    "Can you do this too?" I said.


    Amar shook his head, "No," he said, "But I can do something else."


    He saw my questioning look and sat forward.


    "Okay," he said, "This is going to sound a bit¡­weird, but look into my eyes."


    I jerked my head back. "Eh, why?"


    "Do you want me to tell you first or do you want to see it for yourself?" said Amar.


    "You''re not going to do anything weird are you?" I said.


    "No," said Amar, closing his eyes and shaking his head.


    "It''s really cool," said Jay. He tapped me on the shoulder, egging me on to move closer to Amar.


    I relented. My head still felt heavy with stress and a need to be alone. I wouldn''t stick around with these guys much longer. I needed to go find Mike and the others. Particularly Tiffany. It didn''t feel right for us to be separated for too long in this place.


    I wasn''t sure the best way to move in front of Amar. So I squatted down until I was eye level with him. He was sitting on the fifth bed in the room, the one that wasn''t one of the bunkbeds.


    "Okay, watch," he said.


    We looked into each other''s eyes. I immediately wanted this to be over. I hated looking people in the eyes. Not because I was shy necessarily, but because I knew I could look people in the eyes with an intensity that made them uncomfortable; so I often opted to look at people anywhere but their eyes most of the time.


    Amar had brown eyes. Nothing unusual. But over the course of a few seconds his eyes darkened until the irises were pitch black. They stayed that way for a few seconds then returned to their previous brown.


    I looked over my shoulder at Jay who continued to delight in my perplexed reaction.


    "He darkened them?" I said.


    "Yeah," said Jay, "Have you ever seen anyone do that kind of thing before?"


    I shook my head, "No," I said.


    "Can you do any other colours?" I said to Amar.


    "I''ve tried but not yet," he said, "I can just darken them at the moment."


    "How long have you been able to do that with your eyes?" I said.


    Amar looked at the ceiling as he considered the question.


    "Um, all my life, I guess."


    "And you?" I said to Jay.


    "Oh," said Jay, "Years ago I remember making my drinks a little bit colder. Just a little bit. It''s only in the last few months I''ve been able to get it cold enough where people actually believe me."


    I stood up and moved to the doorway.


    "Sorry but I need to get going," I said, "Maybe you could show me again another time?"


    "Yeah, man," said Jay, "Where are you staying?"


    "B-10," I said.


    Jay''s enthusiasm soured. "Oh," he said, "Bad luck."


    "Why?" I said.


    "That''s where a guy called Tommy stays. He''s a prick."


    "Wouldn''t happen to be about my height, mixed-race, likes to slap people for bumping into him?" I said.


    Jay''s eyes went wide.


    "Uh¡­sounds like him."


    "Crap," I said. I smiled a dark, mirthless smile.


    "Wish me luck."


    I turned and left, restarting my mission to find Tiffany and the others.

 25. Policy

    I took a right after B-8 fully expecting to find myself standing before B-9. I laughed out loud because at the end of the corridor I had managed to find myself at A-10 instead. I looked around feeling embarrassed and as if some kind of joke was being played on me. Was I really so poor at navigating the third floor or was it intentionally designed to be like a maze?


    I was about to head back and take the other way when I saw something I hadn''t even known I had been looking for.


    I hurried forward, carefully making sure I didn''t bump into any of the teenagers or Pied Piper officers passing by on my left or right. I made it across the main corridor and came to one that led to a dead end. Ahead there was a closed steel door, just to the right of it was a keycard reader which I was sure my keycard wouldn''t work for. Above my head I could see yet another surveillance camera; there had been at least one on every corridor.


    But what I had sought out was a little out-of-the-way nook, like a design flaw in the construction of the corridor, that I could move into. I stepped into it; it was darker, all in shadow, the fluorescent light in the corridor not reaching round the tight corner. I lowered down until I was in a crouch position, remained squat for a few moments, then finally let myself sit down with my back against the wall. A few seconds of this made me feel too aware that I couldn''t see if anyone might be coming this way so I turned myself around, giving me a slight view of the corridor I had just come down.


    If ever there was a time to feel bad for myself and have a little cry this was the spot. I was probably about as alone as I was going to get in this place (besides maybe a toilet stall). I wanted to go and find the others, particularly Tiffany, but a mental block in my head just said ''no'', as if keeping back all the motivation to do so from me. I stared at the wall for a few seconds, then down the corridor seeing glimpses of the teenagers and Pied Piper officers coming and going; there were about thirty teenagers to an officer.


    I couldn''t bring myself to cry and I didn''t have my laptop with me to pull up some sad film clip to help get the tears out. Oh come on, a part of me thought, you''re living out a movie scenario right now and you''re just moping in a corner. Get it together and be the hero you''ve always thought you could be. Only losers mope in a corner wishing to see their Mummy again. Don''t be so pathetic.


    I agreed with this voice. But that didn''t mean I could muster up the will to listen to it. I rested my head against the wall and closed my eyes. The sound of distant voices and footsteps was so nice without me being in the middle of it. There was no chance of me going to sleep but it felt so soothing to close my eyes and do nothing for a little bit. Maybe Mike and the others had realised I was missing and had started to look for me. Or maybe they realised but figured I would find my own way eventually. The latter seemed the most likely option.


    Minutes passed until I was sure I had been sitting alone for nearly twenty. It was just too nice to get up and face the reality of my situation again. Not yet. I would muster up the usual mental brick wall I always did to handle stressful situations; I just needed a bit of time to collect myself. The anger, the frustration, the emotional burnout, it wasn''t going anywhere. Twenty minutes of sitting alone wasn''t going to cut it. But it was a start, at least.


    I noticed a bit too late a pair moving into the corridor. Had I noticed them earlier maybe I would have sprang up and made my way out. To come this way either meant they were going to continue on, using keycard access that I didn''t have, or they wanted some privacy. I assumed the latter after a moment because I saw a girl, blonde with a ponytail, very petite, with a broad figure, leading the way down the corridor in my direction. I moved my head aside to avoid detection.


    Maybe I might have revealed myself after one mississippi but it came and went. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "There''s a camera right there," said the girl.


    "Don''t worry about it," said a guy''s voice.


    There was something about the way they were talking that made me think they were standing close together, speaking intimately.


    "So what did you want to ask me in private?" said the guy.


    "I don''t know," said the girl, playfully, "I just wanted to talk. Just us."


    "Just to talk?" said the guy, also playfully, "Mission accomplished."


    "Have you been working here long?" said the girl.


    "I''m not allowed to talk about that," said the guy, "It''s a policy; we''re not allowed to talk about our personal lives."


    "No?" said the girl, "That''s a shame."


    The guy sighed. "I''ve been here-a few weeks. Happy?"


    "Very happy," she said, "Now I''m here with you."


    "Is that so?" said the guy.


    "Actually no," said the girl, playfully, "I''d rather be anywhere else. This is awful."


    The pair quietly laughed.


    "You know," she said, "You''re kind of cute¡­"


    Although I couldn''t see the guy the pause made me think he didn''t quite know what to say in response.


    "I''m sorry," said the girl, "This is stupid. I don''t want to get you into trouble."


    "Yeah," said the guy, "I''m not supposed to be talking with you mice like this. It''s against¨C"


    "--policy?" said the girl, in a bit of a bratty tone.


    "Yeah, sorry, look," said the guy, "Maybe this was a bad idea. I thought you had a serious issue you needed to bring to my attention-"


    "-I do have a serious issue," said the girl, cutting him off, "Here I am far from home I don''t know what is going on, and then I see this cute guy looking really good in a uniform and I just feel so¡­what''s the right word¡­um¡­"


    "Attracted?" said the guy.


    "Safe," said the girl.


    "Oh, right," said the guy, "Well that''s what I''m here for."


    "Okay," said the girl, "I''m sorry, I guess I better go."


    I could see the girl turn to leave and a Pied Piper officer''s hand reached out to grab her wrist, at first firmly, then gently.


    "Wait," said the officer, "Maybe we can see each other again sometime?"


    "Maybe not," said the girl, "I don''t want to get you into trouble."


    "Don''t worry about me," said the guy, "I can pull some strings if I need to."


    "Okay," said the girl, "But maybe you should go, just for now?"


    "Alright¡­" said the guy, "What''s your name again?"


    "Sophie," said the girl, "You?"


    "I¨Ceh¨CI''m sorry, I can''t tell you my name. It''s¨C"


    "-policy," said the girl, cutting him off again. She giggled, "You''re such a stickler for the rules."


    "Yeah," said the guy, "I better go. Catch you later."


    I caught a glimpse of the back of the Pied Piper officer. He looked younger than most, maybe around thirty, but a young thirty.


    The girl, Sophie, stayed behind in the corridor. Then, after a few seconds, she hurried out of the corridor too, turning a corner out of sight.


    I stayed where I was for a few more minutes thinking about the interaction I had just witnessed. The girl had to be a bit crazy to try flirting with a Pied Piper officer. Or maybe he was the crazy one for putting his job at risk over a girl taking an interest in him. Everything about the girl''s tone however told me what seemed pretty obvious; she was manipulating him. If there was one thing I had a knack for, most of the time, it was knowing when people were being real or being fake. I had caught a glimpse of the real Sophie in her demeanor after the Pied Piper officer had walked off. She wasn''t staring dreamily after him. She had watched with a cold, if a little apprehensive, stare. She was up to something. But what?


    Up ahead I caught a glimpse of Tiffany moving at a jogging pace from right to left with a look of concern on her face. I shot up from where I was sitting and raced down the corridor to catch up with her.

 26. Curry

    It was harder than I anticipated catching up with Tiffany. She jogged fast and the throng of teenagers coming and going in the corridor made me all the more careful not to bump into someone.


    "Tiff!" I called out.


    Up ahead I saw her stop, and look around, and then she saw me. She clutched her chest in relief and walked briskly towards me.


    "Are you alright?" she said, looking down at me and putting a hand on my shoulder once we had met up. We had to move off to the side to not get in everyone else''s way.


    "I''m fine," I said, "Just got a little lost. Where did you all go?"


    "Mike showed us around," said Tiffany, "But he had to rush off because some teenagers were fighting."


    "This place is a little rough," I said.


    "Do you want to get something to eat?" She said, "I can take you to the cafeteria."


    Now that she mentioned it I was feeling hungry. On the other hand, going to B-9 and taking some time to myself sounded pretty good too. But there was also the possibility that Tommy was going to be there and crossing paths with him again, so soon after the corridor slap, wasn''t something I was eager to do.


    I agreed to go with Tiffany to the cafeteria. She did a good job leading the way down one corridor after another until we finally reached the cafeteria. It reminded me a lot of a school cafeteria; lots of tables, and a large queue formed along one side with plenty of teenagers standing with plastic trays waiting to get their meals.


    Tiffany and I joined the back of the queue. We were too far from the front of the queue to pick up trays just yet. The smell of different foods mingled in the air, the most potent of which was a curry smell. Boy could I go for a curry right now, I thought, my mouth watering a little. I just hoped there would be some left by the time we got our turn.


    "You won''t guess what happened," I said.


    "What?" said Tiffany.


    "I got slapped by some guy. I think his name''s Tommy."


    "What?!" said Tiffany, "Why?"


    "I bumped into him and then when he said ''watch where you''re walking'' I said ''excuse me?'' and then he got really pissed and slapped me across the face. Then he walked off."


    "What a jerk," said Tiffany.


    "And," I said, "Here''s the kicker. He might be one of the people I''m sharing a room with in B-9."


    "No!" said Tiffany, "How do you know that?"


    "Well," I said, "I met these two boys¡­"


    I told Tiffany all about meeting Jay and Amar, and what they had shown me. Tiffany listened with rapt attention, hanging on every word. We inched along the queue bit by bit as I explained everything. I neglected to mention however what I had seen happen between Sophie and the Pied Piper officer; that could wait until we were in a more private setting.


    "So, what do you think?" I said, "Still think it was a good idea to come here?"


    Tiffany winced.


    "So long as the money gets into my bank account when this is all over I don''t care," she said, "I did the math. Let''s say they''re offering every teenager here two grand a week. If there''s five teenagers in a room, and there''s twenty rooms, then that means there''s, at most, one-hundred teenagers on this floor. That''s two-hundred grand a week just to pay for us all to be here, before any food costs, bedding, you know?"


    "Yeah," I said, "It does sound like a lot. But then again the government can just throw money at this problem so it hardly matters."


    Our turn to get food arrived. I was surprised to see the "staff" behind the counter was made up of blue-overall-wearing teenagers, with a single head chef, a short, slightly pudgy young man no older than thirty with a goatee, telling them what to do. His accent sounded Canadian. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    There was a whole range of food to choose from; Indian curry with potatoes and chicken, and vegetables, and then there were large pizza slices, curly fries, and even hotdogs and burgers; and last of all spaghetti with meatballs. My heart leapt with joy at the sight of it all.


    I decided to go with curry, with a heap of steamed rice, with a side of curly fries. There appeared to be a limit on how much food we could take at one time because we had to tap our keycards before we could take our food away.


    "Do you charge for this?" said Tiffany to the girl who had held out the reader for us to tap our keycards.


    "No, it''s free," she said.


    Tiffany thanked her and she and I headed over to one of the vacant tables. For a good ten minutes neither of us spoke; I ate every last bite of the food on my tray using the plastic utensils I had picked up whilst in the queue. Tiffany had chosen to go with a slice of pizza, curly fries, and a burger. She ate very quickly, absolutely devouring her food as if she hadn''t eaten in days.


    When we were both done we sat back feeling content. My bad mood had lifted a little but I could tell the dark, depressive clouds could spike up at any moment.


    "We should try and see if we have any special powers," said Tiffany.


    She mopped up the grease from around her mouth and then flicked the dirty tissue onto her tray.


    "I''ve tried before," I said.


    "You have?" said Tiffany.


    "Of course," I said, "Every boy growing up tries to see if he can move a pencil with his mind, or if he can fly, or read minds. I spent my whole childhood alone pretending to have superpowers. If I had any I would know."


    "Have you ever tried to change the colour of your eyes?" said Tiffany, she hunched forward, and seemed to be in a good mood.


    "Maybe once or twice when I was little," I said, "You ever stare into a mirror and watch your eyes do weird things?"


    "Oh yeah," said Tiffany, sarcastically, "All the time."


    "But seriously," she said, "The sooner we find something special like what Jay and Amar showed you, the better chance we have of asking Abigail for more money."


    "You want more money?" I said, "Are you in debt or something?"


    "No," said Tiffany, "But I don''t have any GCSE''s or A-levels or anything good like that. So if the Pied Piper''s are looking to throw their money away then I might as well snatch it up."


    "You didn''t finish school?" I said.


    Tiffany''s mood soured.


    "Sorry, it''s none of my business," I said.


    "No, you''re alright," said Tiffany, "I didn''t finish school because¡­"


    She struggled to say what was on her mind. She looked around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear our conversation. She leant forward a little.


    "...I have a son," she said.


    I tried to see if she was joking but it was clear she was telling the truth.


    "He''s four now," she said, "I quit school because I didn''t take school seriously and I decided I might as well spend more time with him."


    "What''s his name?" I said.


    "Ashton," she said.


    She lent back rubbing her shoulder to comfort herself.


    "So you want to make a ton of money here so you can give Ashton a better life?" I said.


    "Exactly," said Tiffany, "My Mum''s looking after him now but she''s not reliable."


    "You said she had depression, right?" I said.


    "Yeah," said Tiffany, "My Uncle said he''d check in on her and Ashton but he''s often busy with work. It''s a messed up situation. I want to get back to my son but I can''t pass up an opportunity like this to make some money. If I can figure out if I have a power too, then that might make me someone they want to keep here."


    "Mind if I ask a question you probably won''t like?" I said.


    "Okay¡­" said Tiffany.


    "Where''s Ashton''s Dad?"


    Tiffany chewed her lip and squirmed in her seat.


    "He''s in prison," she said, "He got caught dealing drugs. Won''t be about for another year at least."


    Tiffany could see the stoic look I was trying to keep on my face.


    "I know," she said, smirking without any genuine mirth, "My life is total crap."


    "It sounds tough," I said, "But you love your son, right?"


    Tiffany''s eyes started to water with tears. She nodded, her bottom lip firming up and trembling.


    "And you''re going to do whatever you need to do to make sure he has a good life?" I said.


    "Yes," she said, softly, wiping a tear from her eye.


    "Then your life isn''t crap," I said, "Because you have your son and he''s got a mother that loves him. Everything else is¡­details."


    "I was really afraid to tell you," she said, "I thought you might think I was some kind of¡­you know¡­"


    "It sounds like a lot to deal with," I said, "I''ve never had to deal with anything remotely as tough as raising a son, as a teenager; is your Dad around?"


    Tiffany shook her head.


    "Never met him," she said, "He just pissed off one day when I was still little."


    "What a bastard," I said, "But at least you''re not going to do the same thing to your son."


    "Never," said Tiffany.


    "Okay," I said, feeling a strange surge of enthusiasm building up within me, "I guess we better find out if we have any powers then."

 27. My Bunk

    "By the way," said Tiffany, "You said you were going to tell me about Blain. What''s the deal with him?"


    "Why?" I said, smirking, "You interested in him?"


    Tiffany''s reaction to this little joking comment told me that, in fact, she was. She shrugged, smiling a little bashfully.


    "Oh," I said, "I mean, that''s cool."


    "Is it?" said Tiffany, "I mean I know I''m not pretty or anything-"


    "-hey," I said, cutting her off, "Don''t put yourself down like that."


    Tiffany rolled her eyes, "You couldn''t even tell if I was a girl," she said, "Trust me I know how I look."


    "Well it doesn''t help if you have a shaved head," I said, "It''s very androgynous."


    "Yeah," said Tiffany, "I¡­" she struggled to find the right words, "...I was having an¡­episode. You know I used to have really nice hair? Everyone gave me compliments. But then after I had Ashton everyone started to look at me like I was a bit of dirt."


    I nodded, listening attentively, though a good part of my brain was longing for sleep. I sat upright, trying to remain attentive and focused for Tiffany''s sake.


    "But why cut your hair?" I said.


    For a moment I could see a hint of the maddening frustration Tiffany must have felt. She showed a glimpse of it in her eyes as she thought back to when she had decided to shave her hair so short.


    "I just¡­" she said, jerking a little bit in her seat as if she might be tempted to vomit, "...after having Ashton I just didn''t want attention from boys anymore. They all thought I would be easy to sleep with because I was a single mother. The idea of being with anyone else after¡­Ashton''s father¡­it just made me feel sick. So I shaved my head. After that boys stopped giving me attention, I think most assumed I was mentally ill or something. That didn''t bother me so long as they left me alone."


    "That sounds really tough," I said, "Didn''t you have anyone you could talk to?"


    Tiffany shook her head, continued hugging herself for comfort, and sat back. I looked at her fingernails. They had been raw the last time I had seen them but they had since healed up; not perfectly, but enough that they didn''t look so freshly chewed. I considered mentioning this but figured Tiffany was already aware of this healing factor after our recovery after using the treadmills.


    I took a look around. There were fewer teenagers in the cafeteria now. The day was dragging on and it seemed the rush hour for food was over. I checked my Meter. Still green. So was Tiffany''s. There was hardly anyone else near our table so I felt a bit more at ease to speak up.


    "Blain''s famous," I said, "Sort of."


    "Oh yeah?" said Tiffany.


    "Yeah," I said, "His Dad''s Carl Penniman. Ever heard of him?"


    "I don''t watch sports," said Tiffany.


    "I don''t either," I said, "But his Dad''s really famous. He was almost the two-time heavyweight champion of the world. I don''t know all the ins-and-outs but Blain was in the news a few months ago. He put another boxer, the same weight class and age, in the hospital."


    "What, why?" said Tiffany.


    "It was a boxing match, for charity I think," I said, "I read an article about it but it was a while back so don''t remember all the details. Anyway, Blain''s known as the ''Miracle Kid''."


    "For sending another boxer to hospital?" said Tiffany.


    I smirked, "No, no. Before the fight, I''m talking like two years before, Blain had a degenerative disease of some kind. I can''t remember what. Anyway, Blain was slowly dying for two years. Couldn''t do anything for himself anymore. Before this he was one of the most promising boxers in the country."


    "That''s horrible," said Tiffany, putting a hand to her mouth.


    "Yeah," I said, "But he made a complete recovery. It seemed like a miracle. So that''s why the media called him ''The Miracle Kid''. But then the charity fight happened and he almost killed the other guy he was fighting. Everyone thought cheating was involved because of how uneven the fight was."


    "But," said Tiffany, "That''s clearly not the case because Blain''s special. Like us."


    I nodded, "Exactly. Maybe he made that full recovery because of whatever weird thing is making all of us here special. He probably didn''t even mean to hurt the other guy so badly."


    "Wow, can you imagine?" said Tiffany, "No wonder he knows some good lawyers."


    "Maybe I''ll try and get to know him a little better when I get back to B-9," I said, "He didn''t seem all that friendly before though."


    "It might be safer to give him space," said Tiffany, "He might be dangerous."


    We took our trays to the pile of dirty trays off in the corner and left the cafeteria. Tiffany offered to show me to the exercise area but I declined. I just wanted to be alone. I really, really needed it. Tiffany joined me on the way to B-9. It was still confusing to me but she made easy enough work navigating the maze of corridors. When we reached B-9 we exchanged a quick hug, then she departed.


    "See you later," she said with a smile, and then she left to head to her own living quarters.


    I took a deep breath before entering B-9. Inside I saw Blain laying down on the fifth bed in the living quarter. He had his eyes closed and one leg crossed over the other.


    There was another boy, Asian, Chinese or similar, who was very thin and had a face riddled with acne.


    "Oh hey," he said, his voice was very deep and was particularly upper class sounding; I noticed his teeth were a little on the large side as well, "You must be Burgess?"


    "Hey," I said, raising a hand in hello, "Yeah."


    I offered him my hand to shake, which he did.


    "I''m George," he said, "Blain mentioned you would be coming soon."


    Blain remained non-responsive taking his nap on the bed. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "Hey," said a very small, mouse-like voice from one of the upper bunk-beds.


    A boy peered over; it was astonishing to see someone so young have shoulder length long hair around the sides, but also to be balding slightly on top. His hair was very dark brown.


    "Hey," I said back.


    "Daniel," said the boy.


    He raised a shy hand in hello, then after a moment slunk back out of view. I looked around for where my bed might be.


    "Which bed isn''t taken?" I said.


    "Oh, erm, that one," said George. He gestured to the bottom of the nearest bunk beds, the one which Daniel wasn''t on the upper bed of.


    "Top or bottom?" I said.


    "I think you''ll be at the bottom," said George, "Tommy has the top one."


    I felt a pang of pain in my gut. So it really was true. The twat that slapped me for bumping into him was staying in B-9 too. Well that''s just swell, I thought, Just my luck.


    "Alright," I said.


    I moved over to the bottom bunk, slipped my plimsolls off, and got onto the bed. I shifted around for a minute trying to get comfortable. The bed was stiff, and the pillow provided very little in the way of comfort. I used the cheap blanket and found it gave some respite from the chill that lingered throughout most of the third floor.


    Everyone in B-9 seemed to be on the same page when it came to chilling in silence. My head had spun around with all the things which had happened to me in rapid succession recently, but thankfully sleep was near.


    Just as I was about to drift off to sleep I heard loud footsteps entering B-9.


    "Ay, what are you doing in my bed?" said a familiar, aggressive voice.


    I opened my eyes to see Tommy standing at the doorway, his eyes already filled with anger. I had known boys like Tommy in school; the types that could go from a joking mood to rabid as pitbulls at the slightest annoyance. I wanted to tell him to piss off but the thought of getting beaten half to death wasn''t something I wanted to entertain.


    "Sorry," I mumbled, tiredly, "I''ll move."


    I got up out of the bed and moved to the little metal ladder.


    "Nah," said Tommy, "What do you think you''re doing?"


    I narrowed my eyes.


    "If that''s your bed," I said, pointing to the one I just got out of, "This is the only one left."


    "Nah," said Tommy, "They''re both mine, innit? This side of the room is my space."


    I looked Tommy up and down. His slap had hit hard, but not hard enough for me to be afraid of a potential fight with him. My patience was already wafer thin. Once I had been standing outside a classroom and a boy called Dylan, a year younger than me, who had taken a particular dislike to me, had decided that was the time to get in my face.


    "Go on," Dylan had said, "Hit me. Go on."


    Around that time I was about fourteen years old. I had sized up Dylan and, somewhat for the heck of it, had decided to hit him like he asked. We got into a fight and, surprisingly, I had held my own in the fight, getting some good hits in. I hardly got hurt during the fight at all.


    The problem with this however was that Dylan wanted a rematch the next day. On the way to school Dylan, and a friend of his that was two years older, stood at the end of the street blocking my way. This was after the Deputy Headmistress of the school had reprimanded us for fighting and after I had sworn guiltily not to fight Dylan again.


    "I''m not going to fight you," I had told Dylan.


    He wrestled me to the ground and I just let him. He kicked me and, seeing I wasn''t going to retaliate and give him the fight he wanted, he decided against fighting more and walked off with his friend. I had spent much of my teenage years in terror of leaving the house and walking around my town for fear of running into Dylan and his friends. Their parents and siblings had regular run-ins with police for drug dealing and all manner of other criminal activity. It had just been my luck to earn the ire of Dylan and his friends (I did have it coming, however).


    Looking at Tommy I wondered which road I might take. Let him walk over me and live in fear of him for however long I was going to stay at the facility? Or fight back? If I won, then maybe he would back off and give me space. Or maybe he would do what Dylan did and go for a rematch.


    Tommy looked about my size, maybe an inch taller; though I had no doubt he had seen his fair share of fights and wasn''t shy about being violent. I was afraid, but not nearly as much as I might be if I were to go toe-to-toe with Blain, for instance.


    "I''ll take the top bunk," I said.


    Tommy''s rage seemed to double. He bit his tongue and squared up to me.


    "You what?" He said.


    "I said," I began, my voice shaky from fear and the adrenaline newly surging through my body, producing a sweat response, "I''ll take the top bunk-"


    Before I could finish my sentence Tommy threw a fist at me. It hit me hard in the face and I felt myself stagger back, my shoulder hitting the metal ladder. George scuttled out of the way and Blain sat up on his bed.


    Blain will step in, I thought, He won''t let Tommy wail on me.


    But Blain didn''t step in. Tommy threw yet more punches at me. I put my arms up, blocking some of the blows. They were heavy, and they hurt. He hit me in the ribs and then kneed me in the stomach.


    "Stop!" George cried out.


    The punches kept landing. To my surprise I found I wasn''t immediately out for the count. Instead I found despite being repeatedly punched I was able to think quite clearly. Is that the best you''ve got? I thought to myself.


    I dropped my guard and felt Tommy''s right fist land hard on my face again. Pain sprang down my neck like a burning hot rod. Another hit. Then another. Right-left, right-left. All this over a bed? I thought. There was something really funny about that. I started to laugh; a pained, wheezy kind of laugh.


    The punches kept landing and then they stopped. In the silence that followed I could hear heavy breathing. Tommy was panting, his fists a darker shade from the blood ¨C my blood - that coated them.


    I smiled at him and could feel the blood soaked on my teeth.


    "Is that it?" I said, and then I spat a wad of blood and saliva onto his plimsolls.


    I knew at that moment I could really hurt Tommy if I wanted to. He was looking at me somewhat in disbelief. Don''t hurt him, I thought. He doesn''t want to fight anymore.


    I could see it in his face. I looked down at my fist and clenched it. For some reason I thought of my friend then and wondered what he might do in my shoes. I knew with certainty he wouldn''t throw the punch. He would think better of it and would just let the nasty behavior Tommy just exhibited go. He would turn the other cheek.


    I really, really wanted to do that. But that''s not what I did.


    I threw a punch at Tommy, landing a blow hard on his cheek. He staggered back, almost falling over. I moved towards him, closing the distance between us. I grabbed him by the collar of his overalls and started to punch him in the face; again, and again. His nose gave a crunch sound and started to leak blood. It was very satisfying to hear and feel that crunch.


    Some kind of giddy enthusiasm took hold of me. I knew I wouldn''t be able to stop myself from throwing yet another punch even though the fight was clearly won by me. It didn''t seem fair that I couldn''t at least match Tommy blow for blow. I started to throw another punch at Tommy only to feel a large hand grip my wrist, bringing the swing to a hard stop.


    I looked up and saw Blain standing over me.


    "Cool it," he said, "You got him."


    I relented. I knew I didn''t have to fight anymore. I let out a small chuckle and opened my fist to show I didn''t intend to fight anymore. Blain let go.


    I turned my attention back to Tommy. He was slumped on the floor. He really looked pathetic for someone who was so aggressive before. Didn''t he realise it was me that had done this to him? I couldn''t fight to save my life. My punches had always been soft like the ones you throw in dreams. So why was he acting like I had beaten him with a sledgehammer?


    I offered Tommy my hand for him to take. This more than anything made Tommy look at me as if I were someone completely different to who he thought I was. He gripped my hand and I helped him to his feet.


    I smirked and pointed to the top bunk.


    "That''s my bunk," I said.


    "Alright," said Tommy, grimacing, "It''s yours."


    I moved past Tommy and out of B-9. I needed to wash up and get some space.

 28. Toastie

    The front of my overalls were caked in dark drying blood. Some of it mine, some of it Tommy''s. Trying to rub it off in front of the toilet sink mirror using a paper hand towel proved as useless as expected. I had drawn a lot of attention on my way along the maze of white corridors to the men''s toilets; even standing inside guys continued to and fro around me.


    My neck hurt something fierce, both my cheeks were swollen, and there was a cut on my upper left gum that stung in a way that reminded me of a shrieking guitar chord. My hands were fine, though it took a good deal of hand soap to get off the worst of the blood.


    I hated that it was at this time I felt the most at ease with myself. I had beaten Tommy''s nose to the point it broke and had taken quite the beating myself; the adrenaline was wearing off and the pain remained and continued to climb, every minute adding a new nuance to the pain that wasn''t there before.


    The world and all of its problems had shrunk to the simple act of washing up the blood that was on me. For a good ten minutes I had even felt in a strangely good mood as if oddly proud of what I had done to Tommy. Sick, twisted, wrong, bad; more words laden with guilt told me how disappointed in myself I was; how disappointed I should be too.


    What was I supposed to do? Let myself get beaten half to death over a bunk bed spot? Live in terror of Tommy for weeks, if not months? Delay the inevitable conflict that was going to happen sooner or later? The thoughts, the excuses for what I had done, piled up. I tried to believe in any one of them but none of them stuck. The clean thing to do; the right thing to do, would have been to let Tommy have his way. What did a bunk bed matter anyway? I could go sleep in a corner somewhere; was I so important that I couldn''t sleep on the floor?


    I chuckled to myself. I was no Marcus Aurelius; I was no stoic for the ages. I had about as much self-discipline as a twelve year old raised in front of a television all his life. Perfect ideas of humility and ''being the better man'' were just that; perfect and too far off for the likes of me.


    People like me threw the punch eventually.


    "Burgess O''Bannon," said a gruff voice at the entrance to the men''s toilets.


    Two Pied Piper officers were standing facing me.


    "Come with us," said the same officer in a way that left no room for questions.


    Whatever, I thought. The calm mood I was in soaked me down to the bone and I wasn''t going to let anything ruin it just yet.


    I checked my Meter device and saw I was still in the green, so that wasn''t what they wanted me for. I had expected the Pied Piper officers to come get me eventually because surely fighting at the facility was prohibited. I had expected them to take longer than ten minutes post-fight to find me however. The speed of that response seemed oddly quick to me.


    The Pied Piper officers led to the Level Three elevator. One entered inside with me and the other stayed behind. We rode the elevator one floor up to Level Two, got off, and went through the checkpoint just like how I had done it upon first entering Level Three.


    Level Two appeared to be a mixture of offices and small laboratories. It was busy on Level Two, but not nearly as much as the official''s floor at Lintern''s Gym had been. The offices were nicely furnished and the people working them moved in a slow, methodical kind of way that told me they had the kind of authority that meant they weren''t in a hurry to go about their duties.


    The Pied Piper officer led me along one carpeted hallway filled with offices after another. This floor also, in its own way, had a maze-like quality to it; though the dominant colour was gray instead of white, and everywhere there were a mix of clear glass panes to see through as well as the occasional hazy-glass-pane offices too.


    We reached an office that was situated at the very top left corner of Level Two, all the way at the back. Even from outside I could tell it was one of, if not the largest office on the floor. The Pied Piper officer with me tapped the hazy glass door with his knuckles.


    "Come in," said a voice from within.


    The Pied Piper officer gestured with a look for me to enter, opening the door ajar enough for me to slip through. The glass door was closed behind me. The office I found myself in was huge; but also uniquely adorned; there was a large wooden desk in the far corner, and a huge leather coach of some expensive design dominated the middle of the office. And, to my surprise, there was even a little kitchenette area off to the left hand side with a mini-fridge, coffee machine, and even a sandwich press.


    A short, gray-haired man, possibly in his mid-fifties or early sixties, dressed in a tan suit that looked like it belonged to the Nineties, was standing at the kitchenette. I could smell the scent of melting cheese and cooked tomato and toast.


    The man kept his back to me as he finished the last touches to preparing his grilled cheese and tomato sandwich.


    "Be with you in just a moment," he said in what to me sounded like a New Yorker accent.


    All I could do was stand and wait for him to finish what he was doing. I spotted a nameplate on his desk, it read: Robert Hoffman.


    Robert took a bite of his toastie, holding the plate the other slice was on in his other hand.


    "Please take a seat, Burgess," he said.


    He gestured to the leather couch. I did as he asked, sitting at the far end. Robert sat on the other end of the couch, making a large gap between us. I wanted to ask if I was in trouble but I decided to stay quiet. Seconds ticked by as Robert finished one half of his toastie.


    "Okay," he said, swallowing the last bite of his mouthful and nudging his plate along the couch a little bit. He clasped his hands together and looked at me.


    "Hello, Burgess," he said, smiling in a professional manner, "You''re wondering why I brought you here?"


    "You read my mind," I said, tiredly.


    Robert smiled, nodding.


    "Yes," he said, "I''m no Wizard of Oz; reading minds is not part of my repertoire."


    Robert let the comment linger for a moment, then said, "You might think the reason you''re here is because of that little fight you just had with Tommy in B-9. Whilst that did draw you to my attention I see it as completely understandable that you would stand your ground and not let that bully dictate unfair sleeping arrangements." Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    My eyes narrowed. Who the heck is this guy?


    "Who am I?" said Robert, "Well you''ve already made the acquaintance of my daughter, Abigail. She spoke highly of you; said you had a little something special about you that wasn''t quite there with most of the other mice she spoke to."


    I had seen the surname Hoffman but didn''t put two-and-two together. It seemed obvious that Abigail was his daughter now he mentioned it, there was even a resemblance; the same slight olive-tone to his skin that Abigail had too.


    "I''m here to learn more about you," said Robert, "The goal at this facility is to find out everything we can about these abnormalities occurring all across the world; there are plenty of scientists at this facility learning everything they can about the physical chemistry of teenagers such as yourself; my focus is on what really matters: the mind."


    "You''re a shrink?" I said.


    "I dabble in a lot of things," said Robert, holding up his hands. He seemed to notice the other half of his toastie anew.


    "Where are my manners, would you like this? I''m usually full after one slice."


    "Sure," I said.


    After a moment of wondering if Robert expected me to get up and take the plate he said, "Well I''m not a delivery boy you want it come get it."


    I stood up tiredly and walked over to the plate, picked it up, and then went back to the same spot I had gotten up from. I bit into the toastie; it was really good.


    "Thanks," I said, my mouth stinging from the cut on my gum rubbing against the hot melted cheese; I didn''t care, the delicious food was well worth the pain.


    "What do you want to know about me?" I said, feeling a bit more enthusiastic about talking with Robert after a few bites of the toastie. It was a simple gesture on his part to make me warm up to him and it didn''t bother me much if it worked.


    "That''s just it," said Robert, smiling again, "I don''t know what I don''t know. We can talk about anything. Your favorite sports team- something tells me you''re not much into sports, is that right?"


    "Yeah," I said, "Never really got into it much."


    "What about your Dad? Was he a sports guy?"


    "Yeah," I said, chewing up the last of the toastie, "He loves football."


    "Which team?"


    "Tottenham."


    "Spurs!" said Robert, "How about that? That''s my favourite team, too."


    The more I looked at Robert the more he kind of reminded me of my Dad. Same height, similar build, same gray hair; I''d hardly ever seen my Dad in a suit (besides Wedding videos and his Chellam Lodge meetings); never would my Dad wear a nice tan suit like Robert was wearing; he would never be able to afford it.


    "Why don''t you like sports, Burgess?" said Robert, his tone dropping a little.


    "A bunch of guys kicking a ball around just doesn''t appeal to me," I said, "I get why people enjoy it but it just seems like they''re having all the fun and I''m just watching. It also doesn''t help that most of the players are from other countries, so there''s no sense of community pride watching the team either."


    "Is that sort of thing important to you, Burgess? Community?"


    I shrugged, "Sure," I said, "I like the idea of it."


    "Just the idea?"


    "I mean," I said, "Being a part of a community sounds great. In Stowchester people know each other but there''s no real sense of community."


    "I know what you mean," said Robert, "There''s pockets of communities here and there but by and large people in society are starting to ignore each other. Trust is breaking down. Everyone afraid. This crisis is another nail in that coffin, you can be sure of that."


    I nodded. Robert was surprisingly easy to talk to. In a way it was like talking with my friend.


    "What is community to you, Burgess?"


    I thought about Robert''s question for a moment but then felt a wave of tiredness hit me. Strangely, that tiredness, once I acknowledged it, seemed to ebb away as if shy. My thoughts cleared up a little; I reconsidered the question.


    "People I trust who mostly believe in the same sort of thing I do."


    Robert hummed, he had a very nice, deep voice, commanding yet not aggressive, "And what is it you believe in, Burgess?"


    My mind exploded with options for answers. This was the sort of thing I asked myself ten times a day yet now, asked point blank what my beliefs were, my mind raced to find a good answer.


    "Being a good person," I said, "Making the most out of life."


    "Right, but come on," said Robert, "Those are good but what do you believe in? Who or what do you look up to? What gives you purpose?"


    "I don''t know," I said, "I don''t believe in God if that''s what you''re asking."


    "Maybe I was skirting around that question," said Robert, shrugging with one shoulder, "And, if you don''t mind me asking, why is it you don''t believe in God, or a God, or Gods?"


    "It just doesn''t make sense to me," I said, "I think people make up things to believe in because they''re afraid life is meaningless."


    "Right," said Robert, "Do you think life is meaningless, Burgess?"


    I sighed, "I think we give our own lives meaning," I said, "I guess."


    "Ah hah!" said Robert, pointing his finger at the ceiling like a gun, "Interesting. To be clear, Burgess, other than what I or anybody else may believe, what you''re telling me doesn''t have a right or wrong answer in this conversation because we''re talking about your truth. But, in the spirit of this conversation, I would like to challenge your thinking. Answer me this Burgess,; if you give your life meaning, then does that not mean that in order for you to live a meaningful life you must know yourself as well as you can?"


    I nodded, "Yeah," I said, "I think the more I know about myself the better I can decide what to do with my life."


    "And who are you Burgess?!" said Robert, opening his arms wide and shouting out the question theatrically.


    I blushed shyly under the fanfare of it all.


    "I''m just me," I said, forcing a smile.


    "So," said Robert, calming a little, but still giddy like a professor loving his profession, "You say life only has the meaning we bring to it, and in order to do that you need to know yourself better, and if I''m understanding correctly at this very moment you''re not really sure who you are?"


    "I guess," I said, nodding, "I''m just eighteen. I don''t know who I''m going to be in the future."


    "I like that," said Robert, as if proud of me, "That''s wisdom right there. Ah to my eighteen again. The world is still so new, so much of life to explore; trust me kid when you get to my age you feel like you''ve just about seen and done it all already."


    Robert saying this made me think of my Dad. My Dad who seemed to settle into a mundane day-to-day routine at the age of thirty and hardly changed at all beyond that identity he created for himself.


    "Are you thinking of your father?" said Robert.


    I flinched. "Are you sure you''re not a mind reader?" I said, "I wouldn''t be surprised given the things I''ve seen today."


    "Yes," said Robert, "Jay and Amar gave you a demonstration of their abilities, didn''t they?"


    Several moments of silence followed. There was the obvious implication that every moment on Level Three was available to Robert to oversee. How much did he know about me already? Had he listened to my conversation in the cafeteria with Tiffany? How would he have listened in?


    I looked at my lap and the answer came to me. My Meter device. So obvious, really.

 29. Espresso

    There came a sudden tapping at the hazy glass door.


    "Who is it?" said Robert.


    "Just me, Dad," said a familiar voice, "Is now a good time?"


    "Sure, honey-bee, come in."


    Abigail stepped into the office and cocked her head at the sight of me. She smiled, "Hey Burgess," she said, "Long time no see."


    "Yeah," I said, "Almost a whole day."


    Abigail gave a tiny giggle. Then gasped.


    "Is that blood?" she said, dismayed.


    "Just boys being boys," said Robert, "Did you need something, honey-bee?"


    "Actually, Dad, I''m dying for an espresso. Mind if I¡­"


    She gestured to the kitchenette.


    "Sure, sure," said Robert, "Mi casa, su casa."


    Abigail slipped off her shoes and put them off to one side before walking briskly to the kitchenette.


    "Still with me, Burgess?" said Robert, with a knowing look. I tore my eyes away from Abigail and tried to give him my full attention, but with Abigail behind him fixing herself a coffee it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep my attention undivided. I shifted in my seat, positioning my view of Robert in such a way that his head obscured my view of Abigail.


    "Sorry," I mumbled.


    Robert patted me on the knee.


    "It''s okay, my boy, you''ve had a long day and even tougher journey. You must feel like everything right now is outside of your control?"


    I nodded, "Yeah," I said, "Exactly."


    "Mind if I share a little wisdom, Burgess?" said Robert.


    He waited a moment and saw he had my full attention.


    "In this life you have two paths to taking control of your life."


    Robert raised a hand, showing two fingers.


    "The first is humility. If you set in your mind that you deserve nothing, that you are nothing, in the grand scheme of things, then every day of your life you can be grateful for the little things which come your way; a cheese and tomato toastie, good company-"


    "-an espresso," Abigail chimed in.


    "Yes, dear, espressos too," said Robert.


    He lowered one finger, leaving just his remaining index finger raised.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "The second path is power," said Robert.


    His eyes seemed to burn with an extra intensity as he said this.


    "In this life power is everything," he said pointing at me, "You are powerless right now and of course you''re feeling the frustration of that. But let me ask you this; when you showed that bully Tommy that you weren''t no kindergarden, snot-nosed, twerp-of-a-pushover, how did you feel?"


    "Calm, in control," I said, after considering the question, "And then I felt bad about it."


    "Why did you feel bad, Burgess?" said Robert.


    It was harder to get the words out now that I also knew Abigail was listening into the conversation. I spotted her again, she had made her espresso and was leaning against the counter sipping her coffee and watching our conversation. Again, with some effort, I put my attention back to Robert.


    "Because I''m not the kind of person that enjoys fights or beating people up," I said.


    "Very well," said Robert, "Then you''re choosing the path of meekness, aren''t you? Next time Tommy acts up you''ll do well to put your head on the floor just nice so he can stomp on it."


    My eyes narrowed.


    "No," I said, "I''ll just not take things so far next time."


    "And how will you do that?" said Robert.


    "I''ll be more careful not to get carried away, I guess," I said.


    Robert stood up from the couch and put his hands in his pockets. I felt as if I had let him down with my answer.


    "I think we''re done here for today," said Robert, "Thank you for your time, Burgess."


    I rose from the couch. After a moment Robert turned to me and forced a smile. He offered me his hand to shake and I shook it. He had a firm grip. He patted me on the arm and showed me to the door.


    "Just one last thing," said Robert, "A thought I''d like to leave you with."


    Robert leaned in, speaking in a whisper.


    "You''re going to become extremely powerful, Burgess," he said, "More powerful than you can possibly imagine. When you come into that power what are you going to do with it? Which path are you going to take? I''m not looking for an answer right now, just really think about it, okay, my boy?"


    I nodded. A whole range of different emotions were stirring in me.


    "Talk later," said Robert.


    "Later, Burgess," came Abigail''s voice just before Robert closed the glass door behind me. There wasn''t enough time for me to say goodbye back.


    The Pied Piper officer took me back down to Level Three, going through the same checkpoint procedure once we were on the third floor. The officer didn''t stay with me beyond the checkpoint. I continued onto the third floor finding the mood and commotion had died down a lot compared to how it had been when I had arrived with Tiffany, Blain, and Mikayla.


    I made my way back to B-9. Once there I could see the other guys were already snoozing. It still felt early, but I was tired enough not to care. I spotted Tommy laying in his bunk with his head leant back and a bloody tissue held at his nose. He ignored me as I climbed up onto the top bunk.


    For about thirty minutes I lay thinking about my conversation with Robert. The whole conversation with him had been weirdly intense. He was clearly after something, but what? Me? Did he really think I was going to become some powerful individual? Like a superhuman or something? What did he see in me that he wasn''t seeing in Tiffany, Jay, Amar, Blain, Tommy, or anyone else at the facility? More questions sprung to my mind which eased closer into sleep as if the questions were sheep to be counted.


    How many conversations like the one I had just had with Robert had taken place between him and other teenagers at the facility? Was I special or was he just making me feel like he had singled me out because he possibly saw something unique in me?


    My thoughts fell on Abigail, particularly how she had looked as she had kicked off her shoes and had crossed the room to the kitchenette. In your dreams, I thought, rolling my eyes and turning over on the thin mattress; as uncomfortable as the bed was, it might as well have been a cloud because of how ready for sleep I was.


    Something stung at my closed eyes. I eased them open, looking down. My Meter was flashing orange again. Oh come on, I thought, is there really no rest for the wicked?!

 30. Coil Spring

    When I was about twelve years old I had used my parent''s computer which was a block-y white one with a chunky monitor; we kept the computer downstairs in the hallway near the front door (for some odd reason), and that computer gradually slowed to a crawl and became nearly unusable thanks to my brother and I adding all kinds of search engine extensions to the page because we didn''t know better to avoid the numerous pop-ups which demanded our attention.


    I understood how the family computer must have felt because my mind had slowed to a crawl; there were too many tabs open of things to think about, too many people trying to get something out of me (good intentions or not). What I needed was a reset ¨C sleep ¨C but that would have to wait until my Meter was back to green.


    I checked it again. It was flashing orange; perhaps it had been a steady orange before but I hadn''t noticed it right away; with so many distractions I had stopped checking my Meter as much as I had the previous day on the treadmill.


    Shortly after passing through the cafeteria and moving down several corridors, I managed to successfully follow the signs and arrows to the exercise area. I came to a large set of open double doors and jogged inside.


    The double doors led through to a huge gym-like space. It was as wide as three large school gymnasiums and there was all manner of activity taking place within despite it being early evening. Two dozen teenagers, either individually or in small groups, were jogging laps around the huge space. There were also smaller groups of teenagers doing rock wall climbing in the middle of the exercise area; then there were teenagers doing rope climbing, pulling their way up long white ropes hanging from the ceiling; beneath them were thick blue mattes to cushion their falls if they fell; I spotted a girl letting herself fall, seemingly enjoying it. There were still more activities but I decided I would take a longer look during my laps around the room.


    I hesitated for a moment, spotting a dozen scattered Pied Piper officers patrolling the space, keeping watch on everyone. These officers also had firearms. I spotted a Pied Piper officer, who was the same one that I had seen talking with that blonde-haired girl, Sophie, earlier. I was sure it was him by the shape and jet-black colour of his hair; he was a somewhat good-looking guy, boyishly so, with stubble on his face. He was looking down at a touch screen tablet device; I jogged a little closer to him, trying not to be too conspicuous; the tablet he held showed over three dozen orange dots which I quickly deduced matched the general movement of the teenagers in the exercise area. So that''s how they keep track, I thought.


    The Pied Piper officer looked my way, his gaze questioning but not stern or particularly cold like the others; I picked up my pace and continued on my way. I jogged with the wall to my right; the wall itself was a depressing, concrete gray; the whole of the exercise area was well-lit, but had a depressing atmosphere to it as if all the colour had been sucked out of the place.


    I earned a few looks from teenagers I passed thanks to the blood which was still on my overalls. Some part of me liked the attention I was getting, it felt good to be noticed. I pictured what they would see; just a young man, five foot seven inches tall, jogging along; not particularly in shape (in fact, being a couch potato they would see he didn''t remotely look the part of someone that could run for many hours on a treadmill), they would see the round face, the blue eyes, the very slight chin and upper lip hair; they would see someone they wouldn''t normally look twice at on the street. Someone perfectly ordinary and unimpressive. Except for the dried blood on the overalls; that was why they were looking my way, I was sure, and no other reason.


    I had hoped I would fare much better jogging laps around the huge space knowing I was capable of doing so for hours. After all, Abigail had invited me to stay at the facility precisely because I had so much potential worth learning more about. After my previous feat jogging in Lintern''s Gym, and fighting back as well as I managed to against Tommy, I must have imagined myself to be much more physically capable than was really the case. After just one lap around the room, which given its size wasn''t something I would consider a small feat for my previously ordinary self, I was flagging hard. Breathing heavy, red-faced, sweat building under my armpits, heartbeat thumping. It didn''t help that the cut on my gum still hurt (though my cheeks, which had been dealt a number of blows from Tommy, felt fine) and there was still a stiffness in my neck and upper back. So much for super healing, I thought.


    I did another lap. When I reached the same starting point by the double doors I stopped, bent over, and fought for breath. My Meter was still flashing orange. As much as I wanted to stop and go sit down I knew that if it went red then the Pied Piper officers in the room would know and they would, most likely, escort me off somewhere where I would have to sit and wait to either blow up, or for my Meter to return to orange or green. No rest for the wicked, I thought again. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    I was about to set off again but stopped myself. My conversation with Robert earlier sprang to mind. Power, I thought, I have power. So why don''t I tap into it? That was one of the things Robert was getting at, right? My breathing slowed, I caught my breath and then let out a shaky sigh. A strange sense of clarity struck me then. From the moment I had been evacuated from my home, to where I was standing, I had been on a treadmill of sorts; moving but not getting anywhere; struggling but not gaining much of anything for it. I was a mouse on a wheel.


    I clenched my fists so hard they started to tremble. Take control, I thought to myself, make something happen for a change. An idea had occurred to me whilst I jogged the first two laps, I had tried to put it in the back of my mind because of how silly it was. But, I decided, it was at least worth a try. I had a theory and it was time to put it to the test. After taking a quick look around I moved off to my left, making room for the teenagers that hadn''t stopped jogging and were passing me by. I tried to pay everyone no heed as I closed my eyes. I slowly widened my stance and stood with my closed fists close to my hips. I probably looked goofy, like some anime-loving nerd copying what he had seen on TV, but I didn''t care. This was worth at least one attempt.


    I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and imagined my entire body becoming stronger. Strangely, this reminded me of the many times I had done the same thing growing up when playing alone. At least twice growing up I had made the same birthday wish: I wish to become stronger. It was a simple boy''s wish. Stronger meant physically tough, bigger, cooler; being strong meant being reliable, and reliable people made friends easily. I wanted to make friends so that meant I needed to be strong. My wish hadn''t been granted because all the other boys at school, it seemed, were stronger than me. They had genuine friendships too. Eventually I managed to make a friend, but that had been during sixth form, after secondary school had finished. I thought about my friend again, the very same sixth form friend, and wondered what he was doing right about now. Had he been caught and evacuated like everyone else, or had he successfully managed to avoid it all?


    Nothing was happening. The moment passed. I opened my eyes and let out a long sigh. I smirked, though I wasn''t finding anything particularly funny. I felt a little embarrassed for trying what I had just attempted. I had wished to be stronger. My Meter was still flashing orange. I needed to get moving. I would need to work myself into misery like last time, would likely get that sunburn look all over again; I would have to exhaust myself to my limit.


    It was then I felt the strangest sensation I had ever felt all over my body. In one sudden rush my body tensed up, every major and minor muscle seeming to grip and tighten. With a sudden jolt that lasted just a moment I could feel a sudden subtle difference in my body. It wasn''t that I felt stronger all of a sudden, but I did feel as if my body were a coil that had been wound much tighter than before. I felt my right bicep with my left hand and could feel the muscle tensed beneath the blue fabric; more or less the same size, possibly a tiny bit bigger, maybe, but undoubtedly tensed up.


    I patted down my stomach; same tense feeling, it resisted my fingertips and closed-fisted knocks in a way that my usually soft stomach didn''t; not by a huge amount, but very, very subtly. Externally I don''t think I looked any different, the teenagers passing me by didn''t seem to take much notice of me (especially since the novelty of the blood on the front of my overalls had likely worn off). I reached down and felt my legs; they too were tense. Coiled up, I thought, that was exactly how it felt. More than anything I wanted to get moving; I was set and ready to go.


    Excitedly, I started jogging again. This time the difference was substantial. I felt as if the wind were on my back. I moved at a true jogging pace, not just barely jogging, but at a speed that was essentially try-hard, it was a show off kind of speed. Initial move off to jogging steady lasted a matter of seconds. I couldn''t help but laugh and look around excitedly. There were a handful of teenagers in front of me jogging; I quickly caught up to them, passed them, and looked over my shoulder at their different reactions to me doing so; some were bewildered, others likely thinking ''what''s he trying to prove?''.


    I faced forward, I didn''t care. This felt great. I kept going, jogging just shy of a running pace. My body was working hard to keep up, but in a fluid, efficient way, like a well run machine. I didn''t feel like I was close to burning out and having to stop from a stitch anytime soon. I was simply in motion letting my body propel itself along. My idea had worked!

 31. One Must Imagine the Hamster on the Wheel Happy.

    There was nothing in recent memory which compared to the feeling of abundance and freedom which came with running laps around the exercise area. I had stopped counting the laps after the fourth and instead had simply let my body continue propelling me forward. I was moving at the same steady pace I started; the exercise area trailing by me along with the other teenagers and Pied Piper officers. At first I expected my body to kick up a fuss about what I was putting it through; inevitably there would be a stitch, overheating, exhaustion; it had already been such a long day of conversations, violence, moving around, there simply had to be a limit to what my body could handle without proper rest. Or so I thought.


    I could push myself even further, I thought to myself. I decided against it. What I was already doing was incredible and obviously superhuman, it was more than enough and I didn''t have to push my body even harder.


    A few laps later I checked my Meter. It had turned green.


    "Oh," I said, feeling kind of disappointed. It would''ve been nice to keep going.


    My body, still tense like a coiled spring, was aching to get moving again. I could try and power down, I thought. But no, I didn''t want to do that yet. I wasn''t eager to return to my uncomfortable mattress and pillow, not when the simple act of running; coasting along like a breeze brought a satisfying, euphoria-like feeling too good to pass up.


    I set off again. I was sweating, but it was a steady, regulated kind of sweat that wasn''t threatening to become like the sunburn state Tiffany and I had endured last time.


    Several laps later I noticed the sound of my feet slapping the floor. Where had my plimsolls gone? I kept jogging and looked around and saw they had flung off near the exercise area entrance. How long ago had that happened? How come I didn''t notice? I picked them up on my way round and held one plimsoll in each hand, imagining them to be little weights to add to the mammoth exercise I was already doing.


    It felt better to run barefoot anyway. I wondered how long I had been jogging? An hour, maybe? I had stopped paying attention to the people around me and still didn''t care to see who was around beyond a vague glance round the exercise area; there were a dozen less teenagers than when I first came in.


    At some point jogging round, and around, I just let my mind switch off. This in itself might as well have been a superhuman feat. Switching off my mind and not fretting about something was close to impossible for me; yet I could do it in the flow state of running. I didn''t even feel bored.


    One must imagine the hamster on the wheel happy.  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    A little while later I saw a familiar face. It was Tiffany.


    "Hey!" I said, raising a friendly hand and passing her by.


    "Burgess! Hold on!" she said.


    "Come on!" I said, ushering for her to keep up with me.


    Tiffany broke into a jog and matched my pace. She looked down at me with concern.


    "Burgess, stop running," she said.


    "Why?" I said.


    Tiffany started to flag behind. She wasn''t coiled like me so she had to put in the extra effort to match my ever-steady pace.


    "Because!" said Tiffany, huffing, "You''ve been running for eight hours!"


    I chuckled, "Yeah, sure!" I said.


    Tiffany grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me to a stop. She was pretty strong. I started jogging on the spot to keep the momentum going, tugging my wrist from her grip.


    "What are you doing?" I said.


    "Burgess," she said, "I mean it. You''ve been running all night. Look around you!"


    Still jogging on the spot I glanced around. Where was everybody? The exercise area had just a handful of teenagers and only two Pied Piper officers. This didn''t make sense. I had just seen them. I had glanced around and saw plenty of people. Had they all left at once?


    Tiffany put her hands on my shoulders, bringing her weight there, forcing me to stop jogging. But I wanted to keep jogging so bad. It felt awful not keeping up the constant motion. If it weren''t for the genuine look of concern and the intensity with which Tiffany was looking at me I wouldn''t have considered stopping any time soon.


    "Hold on," I said, "Give me a moment."


    Tiffany eased her grip and let go. It felt so wrong to renew my stance, I dropped my plimsolls and then put my closed fists to my hips in a power stance; it was as if my body was screaming at me; begging me to not stop the glorious momentum that had been built up and kept in motion.


    Slow down, I thought, relax; there''s no need to be stronger right now; I thought this over and over and focused on my breathing. The tightness across my body wasn''t going away.


    I began to worry that I might not be able to remove the coiled spring-like feeling that had taken hold of me. What if I couldn''t? What if I had to perpetually stay in such a state moving forward?


    My body relaxed all at once and I collapsed onto the floor. Once I had stood up too fast when getting out of bed and the blood hadn''t rushed to my head fast enough. I had fallen over, crumpling like an item of discarded clothing onto the floor. I had been lucky not to seriously injure myself when that happened. In much the same way I felt a similar rush and light-headedness take hold of me; my head hit the exercise area floor with a hefty thud, and my back took the brunt of the rest of the fall. It hurt, but not to a degree I was worried I had done any damage.


    "Are you okay?" said Tiffany, stooped over me.


    "Yeah, I¡­" but before I could finish what I intended to say the world around me darkened and all sound cut out, just like that I lost consciousness.

 32. Shhh.

    When I came to, I was sitting with my back against the wall off to the side of the exercise area near the double door entrance. Tiffany was squatted down beside me holding a cup of water. I felt her hand brush through my hair gently as she looked at me with concern.


    "Talk to me please," she said.


    "What do you want me to say?" I said, half-jokingly.


    Tiffany sighed a little with relief.


    "Please drink something," she said.


    I took the plastic cup of water and drank it all in a few gulps. Boy water sure tasted amazing after running for eight hours. By the look of it the exercise area was as close to empty as it had been just before I collapsed. My body felt heavy but my mind was oddly euphoric and floaty, as if it would be very difficult to be in a bad mood. I spotted my plimsolls by my right leg and slipped them back on.


    "Was it really eight hours?" I said.


    "Yes," said Tiffany; she sat down, crossing her legs, still facing me. She jabbed me in the shoulder.


    "You twat," she said, "I heard about your fight with Tommy this morning. Thought you''d be black and blue or something. Got the fright of my life."


    "Sorry," I said.


    "It''s whatever," said Tiffany.


    She gripped my face and looked me over, "You don''t look like you''ve been in a fight."


    "Did you see Tommy''s face?" I said.


    Tiffany shook her head, "No, but I heard you broke his nose."


    "Who told you?"


    "Mikayla. Blain told her about it and she told me over breakfast; she thought I already knew about it."


    I nodded.


    "Yeah," I said, "I kind of feel bad about fighting Tommy. I let him push my buttons."


    "No," said Tiffany, "By the sound of it he was being a¨C you know what¨C and you needed to stick up for yourself. Didn''t know you had it in you."


    Tiffany jabbed me in the shoulder again. We both grinned.


    "Easy on the hits," I said, "You''re tougher than you look."


    "Whatever," said Tiffany.


    She stood up and offered me a hand to take. I didn''t feel like I really needed it to get to my feet but I took it anyway. Tiffany checked her Meter reflexively. It was still green.


    "No orange for you yet?" I said.


    "Not yet," she said.


    She looked me over again; which made me feel weird, like a piece of meat or something.


    "You''re not red," she said, "That sunburn look, I mean."


    "Yeah," I said, excitedly, "I think I figured out a way to avoid that."


    "You don''t even look tired," she said, "Are you really okay?"


    "I feel a bit dizzy," I said, "And thirsty¡­and hungry¡­but yeah, other than that I could keep going. It actually felt really good." The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Mate," she said, beaming, "We''re going to make so much money out of this."


    "Yeah?" I said.


    "Yeah," she said, "Once people see what we can do we could charge money for it. Might not be a fortune but it''d be enough to live decently."


    "Yeah," I said, nodding, "After we leave here."


    Tiffany''s enthusiasm soured a little.


    "What?" I said.


    We had started walking and had come to a start at the exercise zone entrance.


    "It might be nothing," said Tiffany, looking around as if people might overhear us, "But I don''t think anyone has left since they got here. I spoke to some girls that I''m sharing a room with; one of them has been asking to leave for three weeks and she''s still here."


    I felt my stomach tighten up with that familiar pang of anxiety. On some level I knew we were in bigger trouble being at the facility than I wanted to admit. None of it felt right, even from the start. A part of me however had seen it easier to compromise and go with the flow; that and because I was too much of a coward to start asking serious questions about what was going on.


    "Maybe they''re just focusing on bringing people in," I said, "I think Mike said something about it taking a few days to schedule a flight out of here."


    "A few days, Burg," said Tiffany, her eyes fixed on me intensely, "Not weeks. Something is up."


    "Just hold on," I said, "Maybe if we ask Mike he''ll have a good explanation."


    "Yeah," said Tiffany, "But what if he doesn''t?"


    I didn''t have an answer. I needed to explain something to her but we needed privacy.


    "Do you have anything to write with, by the way?" I said.


    "What?" said Tiffany.


    "You know, to make notes."


    "No," she said, her eyes narrowing.


    She watched me as I tried to think of another way to explain to her what I knew.


    "Can I show you something, quick?" I said.


    Tiffany didn''t object but I could see she wasn''t sure where this was going.


    "Come on," I said.


    The corridors were starting to get busy again. I led the way to the spot I had seen Sophie talking to the Pied Piper officer; I hadn''t noticed before but my assumption had been correct. At this particular section on the third floor there wasn''t a security camera, which is why they must have picked the spot to have their discussion. Ah, I thought, Sophie probably doesn''t know the Meter''s have microphones in them. I wondered if it would be a good idea to mention that to her; though minding my own business and leaving her to whatever she was up to might be the better way forward. I couldn''t decide.


    Regarding the Meters having built in microphones, I had put two-and-two together whilst in Robert''s office; though I wasn''t sure if he cared that I knew he was listening in on everyone''s conversations; or maybe he wanted me to know and tried to make it more obvious. If so, then why would he want to make it obvious to me? The more I thought about it the more aware I was of how I didn''t really have much of a clue of what was going on.


    I brought Tiffany to the nook I had stopped in before.


    "What?" she whispered.


    I put a finger to my lips in a ''shh'' gesture and then pointed to my Meter device. Then I pointed to my ear.


    Tiffany understood immediately and slowly nodded.


    "So," I said, putting on a bit of an act, "I came to this spot to take a break. It''s quiet here."


    "Okay," said Tiffany, "Thanks for showing me."


    My stomach whined all of a sudden. "Want to get something to eat?" I asked.


    "Yeah," said Tiffany.


    As I walked with Tiffany to the cafeteria I couldn''t help but feel like we were both just pretending everything was okay. If she was telling me the truth about what the other girls had said to her (and so far I had no reason to think Tiffany was a liar) then that meant Mike, and by extension Abigail, had lied about how easy it would be for us to leave the facility. Another bout of anxiety shot up in my gut, making my legs feel like jelly. No, no, I thought to myself, Don''t panic yet, there''s bound to be a perfectly reasonable explanation.


    "I need to talk to Mike anyway," I said.


    "Huh?" said Tiffany.


    Sometimes I forgot people weren''t following the train of thought going on inside my head.


    "Mike," I said, "I want to call my Mum to tell her what''s going on."


    "Good idea," said Tiffany, "I want to talk to my Mum too. How about we go find Mike after you''ve had something to eat?"


    "Sounds good," I said.


    I took a moment to look at Tiffany; she must have felt my gaze on her because she looked at me back with a quizzical look; but she also couldn''t help but smirk. I shrugged and looked away, feeling shy all of a sudden. Boy I''m lucky she''s here with me, I thought, it''d be a nightmare dealing with all this alone.

 33. A Change in the Contract

    Two things held up Tiffany and I''s goal of hunting down Mike to ask about contacting our respective Mum''s. First, I needed to change into new overalls since the one I was wearing was still caked at the front with dried blood and a good deal of sweat from my jogging for eight hours. Thankfully Tiffany had already sought out new overalls before and knew where to get them. Just like with the cafeteria, a handful of teenagers could volunteer, for extra money, to do the laundry for everyone else.


    Tiffany led the way to the laundry room that was next door (to the left) of the exercise area. I saw a familiar face standing at the doorway at a kiosk. It was George, the Asian boy who I shared B-9 with.


    "Oh hey," he said, smiling at us as we approached. I could tell despite his friendly welcome that he was someone with a good deal of social anxiety but, more subtly, he was also quite good at hiding it. It was something I could spot plain as day because I noticed many of the similar behaviors in myself; but where George pushed above his social anxiety to create a somewhat extroverted social mask for himself, I did the opposite, giving and showing less of how I felt as a way of better controlling how others perceived me. Although I hardly knew George, a part of me felt a strong affinity for him; not pity, but a kind of kinship. It was a bit absurd of me to make so many assumptions about a person from barely knowing them but it was how I felt despite myself, as if my mind had decided to have an affinity for this person without my say so; much in the same way Tiffany and I seemed to get along so well, or, prior to the evacuation, how my friend and I quickly became good friends once we broke through the initial get-to-know-you conversation stage. I hadn''t thought much of Tiffany at first glance and yet she had been someone I had clung to for support throughout this whole ordeal almost without a second thought.


    Tiffany looked over to me and gestured for me to ask for what I needed.


    "Hey, George," I said.


    "Hey," said George, cocking his head to the side and giving an effeminate handwave.


    "Let me guess," he said, "You need new socks?"


    I blew air through my nose and smirked, "Yeah, exactly," I said.


    I looked at Tiffany, she was smirking too.


    "You need new overalls," said George, "What a shock. You look like a¡­small men''s, right?"


    I shrugged, "Sure," I said.


    "O''kay," said George, and he disappeared for a moment and retrieved a new pair of neatly folded overalls.


    "So," he said, "You can have two pairs at any one time. Just tap your ID-card here-"


    He held out a reader and I tapped my card which caused a beep sound.


    "-and we''re done. If you need new shoes I can get those for you too."


    "I''m good for now, thanks," I said.


    "No worries," said George, "Happy to help."


    There was a moment of silence. I could tell if I was going to make the effort to get to know George a little better this was a good time to make some effort.


    "Sorry about the fight last night by the way," I said, "I didn''t mean for things to get out of hand."


    "Yeah," said George, stretching out the word like a gossipy Mum, "That was horrible. Good for you for standing up to him though; I just played possum with him so he didn''t pay me much attention."


    "Possum?" said Tiffany.


    "Yeah," said George, "You know, like playing dead? If somebody messes with you just pretend like you don''t exist and they''ll get bored. It''s a wonderful defense mechanism."


    Sounds pretty cowardly, I thought. But hey, if it worked for him¡­


    "This is Tiffany, by the way," I said, "She''s my friend."


    "Hi," said George, offering a hand for Tiffany to shake. They shook hands, a bit awkwardly, like two teenagers playing adult. "Pleasure," said George.


    I could tell then that Tiffany was much more outside of her social element than I was. I couldn''t be sure but something told me she wasn''t the type to spend her time hanging around awkward (somewhat) loser-male types.


    "Are there still job openings for this sort of thing?" said Tiffany.


    "Oh yeah, probably," said George, "I wanted to get a cafeteria job because I know my way around a kitchen. But those jobs got taken up quick. There''s also cleaning jobs and other things. Just ask Mike about it. You guys are new so obviously a lot of the job positions have been taken."


    "Thanks," said Tiffany. She looked at me, "Guess we''ve got another reason to find Mike."


    It was then a loud ding, dong, ding melody played on the speakers throughout the third floor.


    "Everyone please come to the Exercise Area right away for a special announcement."


    It was Mike''s voice. He repeated this request several times over.


    "Well now we know where he is," I said.


    I kind of wished we hadn''t heard the announcement because I was starving. Food would have to wait.


    George joined Tiffany and I on our way to the exercise area. Inside we could see two dozen teenagers already standing in a loose group. Mike stood ahead of them on a small podium and with a microphone in one hand and a tablet device in the other. Abigail was also by his side, though not standing on the podium. Over the course of a few minutes all two-hundred-ish teenagers gathered to hear what Mike had to say. I spotted several familiar faces; Mikayla made her way over to Tiffany. Following at a casual pace behind Mikayla was Blain. I could see Tiffany''s demeanor change around Blain; for the first time I could better see the girl in Tiffany in her mannerisms. Somehow Blain by his sheer masculine presence alone was bringing the behavior out of Tiffany, though he seemed to be oblivious to her existence.


    "Hey," I said, to Mikayla and Blain, both gave little nods of acknowledgement my way but, I could tell, could care less I was there. The real affinity was between Mikayla and Tiffany.


    "Hey girl," said Mikayla.


    "Hey," said Tiffany. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    They hugged like they hadn''t seen each other in days, but of course they had seen each other earlier during breakfast.


    I looked around and spotted Jay and Amar standing together too.


    "Hey," said a small voice from behind me.


    It was Daniel, the other boy I shared B-9 with; the boy with long hair that was balding some at the front. He kept his gaze on the floor for the most part and his arms hugging his chest.


    "Hey, how are you?" I said.


    "Okay," he said.


    "Have you been at the facility long?" I asked, trying to make small-talk.


    "Two weeks," said Daniel.


    I didn''t know what else to say to him. Thankfully George noticed he was there.


    "Hey," said George, "How''s the cafeteria work going?"


    "G-good," Daniel stammered, but didn''t say any more than that.


    A boy of few words, I thought.


    "Thank you everyone," said Mike, his voice loud thanks to the speakers in the exercise area picking up the sound from his microphone.


    Mike waited a moment for everyone''s murmurs to settle down.


    "Alright''y," he said, "I''ve been told by the higher ups to make this announcement to you all. First, there has been a change to the contracts you have all signed. Starting today, payments of two-grand per week will not be paid on a weekly basis, but will go into your accounts as a lump sum at the end of your contract. For some of you that is four months, for the new arrivals of course that''ll be three months."


    A wave of upset sprung up among the teenagers. Tiffany in particular gasped in shock.


    "Now," said Mike, "It is within the terms of the contract for this change to be made."


    "Is that true?" said Mikayla, whispering.


    "Yeah," said Blain.


    "However," said Mike, "The money you have earned here at the facility will be sent to your accounts; for instance those of you who have been here for three weeks will have three weeks of pay sent to your accounts today. However, moving forward payment will be made at the end of your contracts as I have mentioned. In addition, moving forward, if anyone here wishes to leave the facility then you will not be paid the full lump sum; from now on you must all stay here for the majority of the contract period to receive payment, no exceptions."


    This really riled up the teenagers, including myself. A flurry of swearing and angry questions filled the exercise area. It was then I noticed the dozen or so Pied Piper officers, armed with machine guns, surrounding all of us at intervals. For this reason the riled up crowd didn''t suddenly swarm Mike and Abigail and were instead kept at bay. I didn''t know if this crowd was the type to suddenly attack Mike and Abigail over this news, but given how upset they were at hearing it I wouldn''t have been surprised.


    "I understand many of you are upset," said Mike, "If any of you wish to leave then that option is still available to you."


    "I''ve been asking to leave for two weeks!" a girl shouted from the crowd.


    "Which is why," said Mike, trying to speak above the murmurs and shouts, "If anyone wishes to leave right now we have prepared a special flight out from the facility."


    The murmurs died out all at once. Nobody it seemed, including myself, had been expecting this. Tiffany and I shared a look. Was this our way out already?


    "And," said Mike, sounding more in control now that everyone was quiet, "We are still making arrangements for you to contact your families and other relations, but this is going to take some time; approximately two more weeks; this is due to issues of privacy and trying to protect the work being done here at this facility. We ask for your patience during this difficult time, we are working as fast as we can to make calls home a possibility."


    Again, more silence, but it had become an excited, enthusiastic kind of silence. People were being told what they wanted to hear.


    "Now," said Mike, "If you wish to go home on the return flight later this evening you will forfeit any further payment from the facility, other than the amount you have already accrued. Additionally, and please understand this, a flight out of here will not mean you will return home. Instead you will be sent to one of the containment zones. Your accommodation situation, I assure you, will not be nearly as good as it is now. And you will not receive payment for helping the facility with its research; and you will not have means to contact your loved ones like you would here. Many of you here have misunderstood how incredible an opportunity it is to be here. You are not prisoners. This is an opportunity to help with research that could save many lives. So, if you still wish to leave then please stay behind and you can sign a form which will permit you to leave the facility. Thank you everyone, we won''t be accepting any questions at this time. Please leave the exercise area if you do not wish to take a flight out tonight."


    A good deal of the teenagers began to make their way out of the exercise area, including Jay, Amar, Daniel, and George. I spotted that girl, Sophie, stood facing Mike with her arms crossed. My assumption had been that she was flirting with the Pied Piper officer before as a way to get out of the facility. Now was her chance. Was she going to take it? It seemed as if she were asking herself that question.


    "What do you want to do?" said Tiffany, to me.


    I didn''t have an answer.


    "I''m staying," said Mikalya, chiming in, "Ain''t no way I''m losing out on all that money. Right, Blain?"


    Blain crossed his muscled arms.


    "I don''t know," he said, "I don''t like them changing the contract on us. That ain''t trustworthy behaviour."


    "It''s probably because so many people are asking to leave," I said.


    Tiffany put her hand on my shoulder.


    "Do you want to leave?" she said.


    My mind raced a hundred miles a minute. The teenagers trickling out of the exercise area were like bits of sand falling through an hourglass.


    I became aware of my Meter device and the fact it could hear everything I might say.


    "Who''s to say that the flight out of here is real?" I said.


    Mikayla, Blain, and, I noticed, that girl Sophie, all fixed their attention on me.


    "He''s right," said Blain, "For all we know they could just be taking anyone that leaves down to another floor. Running crazy experiments on them."


    "Yeah," I said, "Exactly."


    Mikayla rolled her eyes. "Are you boys serious?" she said, "This ain''t some big conspiracy. Didn''t you hear Mike? We can leave if we want, or stay and get paid. You''ve been watching too many movies - trust."


    I really didn''t know what the right thing to do was. Stay and get paid, but risk some potentially sinister stuff occurring, or go back to a place like Lintern Village (possibly the most likely place we would be returned to given the distance).


    "How do you think you would feel stuck at Lintern knowing you could be making two grand a week?" I said to the others, "I''d feel pretty stupid giving up an opportunity like this."


    "The thing is," I said, "They haven''t given me a reason not to trust them ¨C except the Pied Piper officers. Did you know one of them put a gun to my head in Lintern?"


    "No way, really?" said Mikayla.


    "It''s true," said Tiffany, "I saw it."


    "But this whole situation is serious," said Blain, "They have to maintain control. If they don''t then they''ve created an even worse situation for everyone. Don''t forget each and every one of us is a grenade that could go off."


    To help prove his point Blain raised his wrist to show his Meter. It was showing green.


    "Burgess?" said Tiffany, urging me to make a decision.


    "I don''t know," I said, "I really don''t know. I think we should just leave it for now. We can always take the next flight out if we don''t want to be here."


    "Okay," said Tiffany, "I just want to make sure we''re on the same page. Otherwise it''s whatever. No use us being here if they don''t intend on paying us, init?"


    It wasn''t about the money for me. It was nice. What I cared about was getting out of the facility in one piece, preferably without having the hangman of blowing to smithereens looming over me for the rest of my life.


    I spotted a small group of teenagers queued up in front of Mike and Abigail. One of the girls, a chubby girl with a ponytail, looked over to us and waved.


    Tiffany and Mikayla waved back.


    "That''s Beth," she said, "She''s in my block. She''s wanted to leave ever since she got here. Looks like she''s gonna go."


    Blain smirked. I could see why. Among the group lining up to go was Tommy. His nose was a shade of purple, giving him a slight clown-ish look. He looked our way then looked back as if he hadn''t seen us. I felt a sudden pang of pity for him. I''m sure a large part of the reason he wanted to leave the facility was because of our fight. For a moment I considered walking over and saying something to him, anything, to make him reconsider leaving. More teenagers left the exercise area. Mikayla, Blain, and even Tiffany began to wander out.


    "You coming, Burg?" said Tiffany, stopping and waiting for me.


    I looked back at Tommy and decided his issues weren''t my problem and then joined the others out of the exercise area.

 34. Boomerang-ting!

    The second thing I had intended to do before going to the exercise area was getting something to eat. I was starving, kind of, because for some reason despite having ran for over eight hours (off the back of a long day) I didn''t feel nearly as hungry as I should have, nor as fatigued. The hunger was still there however, gnawing at my attention. In a way I wanted to eat because I just wanted the sensation of eating, of being full, and in the same way I wanted also to enjoy a good night''s sleep (as good as I could get given how uncomfortable the mattress and pillow was).


    Tiffany came with me to the cafeteria. Mikayla joined us because she wanted to spend more time hanging out with Tiffany; and this also meant Blain joined our group because he was friends with Mikayla (maybe there was something more going on between them, I hadn''t seen them around each other enough to discern that yet).


    There was a wait for food this time since the breakfast rush was over and it wasn''t quite time for lunch yet; I spotted Daniel amongst the teenagers busily working to get lunch made for everyone. I had taken a seat at a table near where we would queue up; as soon as lunch was ready I planned to make a beeline to the start of the queue. Whilst I sat pondering what I might get to eat for lunch Tiffany, Mikayla, and Blain also took seats around the table; Tiffany to my left, Mikayla left of Tiffany, and Blain sat across from me.


    Say something, I thought, now''s a good chance to get to know them better.


    But I didn''t. I couldn''t figure out what would be a good thing to bring up. Was it worth talking about Mike''s announcement? Would the others want to talk about it or would they prefer to talk about trivial things? Just say something, my brain demanded, if you don''t they''ll think you don''t like them or something. You don''t want to come across as rude, do you?


    "Man," I said, almost to myself but just loud enough for the others to hear, "I sort of miss daylight already."


    The fluorescent lights were stark and bright and not at all inviting to sit in. Whilst not grimy or drab, the cafeteria, much like the rest of the third floor, was bare bones in its design.


    "Thanks for the reminder, lol," said Mikayla, dismissively.


    "Yeah," said Tiffany, "I''m getting sick of these stupid lights."


    I could tell Tiffany was only complaining to help me save face a bit.


    Blain was sitting back in his seat. His gaze slowly shifted to me.


    "Yo," he said.


    "H-hey," I said, timidly.


    Blain shifted round in his seat and sat forward. Although we were the same age he had the body of a full grown man; especially compared to me.


    "I heard you ran for eight hours last night," he said, "Is that true?"


    I nodded, "Yeah," I said, "I figured out a way to keep going for a long time."


    "How?" said Blain.


    I explained in detail how I had willed myself to be stronger, if only a little bit, and how it had made me feel coiled up like a spring ready to go. Blain listened intently.


    "The problem was," I said, "I really didn''t want to stop when Tiffany asked me to stop. I could have kept going. It was weird, like time was moving faster or something."


    "I think I did something like that before," said Blain, "When I was at Lintern, I tapped into this feeling, like my whole body got tight, coiled up, like you said. Made the whole thing easy."


    "Could you show me how to do it?" said Mikayla.


    I looked at her as if she had suddenly grown a second head. I hadn''t expected her to talk to me, not with how she gave Blain and Tiffany the majority of her attention.


    "Sure," I said.


    "I got the sunburnt treatment last time," said Mikayla, "I''m like, so over that."


    Can''t Blain show you? I thought. But after thinking about it, it seemed as if Blain had been tapping into the same power I had but in an intuitive, unintentional way. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    "So," I said, looking to Blain, "You''ve not intentionally coiled have you?"


    "Nah," he said, "I want to try it out. How about you show me after lunch?"


    "Okay," I said, "No problem."


    "Me too," said Mikayla.


    I nodded and forced a friendly smile.


    "I''ll tag along," said Tiffany.


    She checked her Meter. It was still green. I could see a momentary dread in her eyes. She really didn''t want it to turn orange any time soon, though it inevitably would.


    I idly ran my tongue along my upper gum. The cut that Tommy had punched there before was still there, still sore, but not so bad as it had been. I''d almost forgotten about it. Part of me even assumed it might have healed completely after the last eight hours, given how my body had some potential healing factor. But now I wasn''t so sure. Maybe if I willed it to close up faster it might?


    "Have you seen what some of the teenagers can do here?" said Mikayla.


    She was speaking to all of us.


    "You mean, like, powers and stuff?" I said.


    "Yeah," she said, "You won''t believe it but I saw a girl change her hair color from blonde to ginger; not just a little bit, but like real ginger hair."


    "You know George?" said Blain, "In our block? He can grow his finger nails on command. It''s really freaked, bruv."


    "Does he cut them?" I said. I hadn''t noticed George''s nails being particularly long.


    Blain made an ''I guess'' gesture and sat back in his seat.


    I told the others about Jay and Amar and what they had shown me. Blain nodded, as if agreeing with himself.


    "What?" said Tiffany.


    She sat forward and fixed her attention on Blain (even more than she already was, that is).


    "We''re getting super powers," said Blain, "Not just getting stronger, but weird stuff like changing our bodies too. If this is just the start then just imagine what''s coming in the future."


    "As far as I know the facility knows about these powers," I said, "They must do. But if that''s the case why aren''t they making a bigger deal about it?"


    "Maybe they''ve known for a long time, init?" said Tiffany, "Like, maybe even before this Pied Piper''s Return thing."


    "How?" said Mikayla, "I never saw anything on the news, like, about people with weird powers. Nothing on social media either."


    "It''s not like they''re shooting lasers from their eyes," said Blain, "It''s just growing nails and changing hair colour. Ain''t no big thing."


    "It''s big," I said, "Really big, actually. It shouldn''t be possible."


    "You know what I don''t get," said Blain, "How is this-"


    He held up his Meter device which showed a steady green light.


    "-connected with George being able to grow his fingernails out?"


    "It''s energy," I said, "The Pied Piper scientists figured out something to detect that we have power building up inside of ourselves; that if we don''t exert ourselves we''ll blow up. What if there are other ways to convert that energy? Instead of running laps for eight hours maybe that could be avoided altogether if I could change the colour of my eyes like Amar can."


    "This is booky," said Mikayla, pronouncing the word as boo-key, "My grandma warned me about messing around with booky stuff; it''s of the devil. What if all of this has some devilish voodoo behind it?"


    I narrowed my eyes.


    "Maybe we should just stick to the science of it?" I said.


    Mikayla did not look impressed with what I just said.


    "Bruv," she said, "What you''re saying ain''t much different to what I''m saying; black magic voodoo does this kind of thing; it''s called a¡­a¡­"


    She struggled to find the right word.


    "Glamour?" I said.


    "Yeah!" said Mikayla, snapping her fingers in agreement excitedly, "That''s it! A glamour! Dark magic that, like, booky people use to make themselves look different to other people."


    I didn''t believe in magic, or anything like that; but I did know tabletop games, and the idea of ''glamours'', being able to change minor details of one''s appearance using magic, was something I was vaguely aware of. But it was all just fictional game stuff, not something from the real world.


    "It''s not an illusion, though," I said, "Jay put his hand into a warm cup of water and made it nearly ice cold."


    "Are you sure you didn''t just think, like, that it was cold?" said Mikayla.


    "I guess I wouldn''t know the difference if it was an illusion," I said.


    "Running for eight hours straight and feeling fine after ain''t an illusion," said Blain, "And I''ve seen George put away his nail clippings; it ain''t an illusion. Trust."


    "Maybe we should try and find our own powers, init?" said Tiffany, "Then we''d know for sure."


    "Nah," said Mikayla, "I''m staying away from this booky thing until I know it ain''t voodoo."


    "Does that mean you don''t want me to show you how to coil?" I said.


    "Nah," she said, "You can show me that, but I ain''t doing glamours. My gradma''d throw her slipper at me, you get me, lol?"


    We all chuckled at this.


    "She got good aim?" said Blain, smiling.


    "She''s fierce!" said Mikayla, "She can throw her slippers round corners like a boomarang, ting! Pah!"


    Blain and Tiffany erupted into laughter at this; I did too, though not quite as much. A sudden ding sounded across the cafeteria. It was time to queue up for lunch.

 35. Worldshakers

    Lunch was a cheese burger, with fries, and a can of cola. Chocolate cake for dessert. The meal was pure bliss from start to finish. Food never used to taste so good. It was like I had extra taste-buds. Blain ate food too, though Tiffany and Mikayla opted out of eating.


    "So are you going to grow your hair out?" said Mikayla to Tiffany.


    "Huh? Oh, yeah," said Tiffany, "I thought shaving my hair down might be a good look but¨C"


    "--it ain''t," said Blain, before stuffing a handful of fries into his mouth, "Makes you look like a dude."


    "Hey!" said Mikayla, crossly. She slapped Blain''s shoulder, "Watch your mouth."


    "What?" said Blain, "Ain''t that what you''re going for? Looking like a bloke?"


    Tiffany didn''t know what to say. Her face squirmed from trying to look like she was amused by what Blain was saying, to showing how uncomfortable and hurt she was.


    I felt bad for her, and would have said something if Mikayla hadn''t spoken up on Tiffany''s behalf first. The thing was, Tiffanny did look like a dude, so much so I hadn''t been sure myself back when I first sat with her on the coach leaving the evacuation depot. It wasn''t just that she had a shaved head, she was truly androgynous looking; if she hadn''t told me she was a girl I would have thought she was a slightly feminine-looking guy. Her body in the overalls didn''t help matters either, not only was she much taller than normal for a girl, there was hardly a feminine figure to her at all.


    Blain''s blase attitude gave way to an eye-roll.


    "I didn''t mean to hurt your feelings," he said, "My bad."


    "It''s okay," said Tiffany, in a small voice.


    She started chewing her nails. They were red raw again. I realised it must have been a while since she had last had a smoke. Maybe there was a way to get some in here? Surely it wouldn''t be completely off-limits to have a cigarette from time-to-time?


    "Come here, girl," said Mikayla, giving Tiffany a much needed hug.


    Blain shot me a look that said he thought the girl''s were overreacting. I just looked at my fries and contented myself finishing them up. Hey, I thought, If I was Tiffany my feelings would be hurt too.


    I had always been a slow eater so it took me a little while to finish stuffing my face. Finished, I got up and took my tray over to the rack of other dirty trays. When I turned back I found Mikayla standing within arm''s reach of me. I noticed again that she was quite pretty and as a result I felt a familiar pang of nervousness talking to her, especially one-on-one.


    "Hey," she said, "I''m going to go with Tiff to see if we can get her some cigarettes; poor girl''s gonna chew her fingers off."


    "Oh, okay," I said, "That''s nice of you to do that."


    "I know," said Mikayla, jokingly, "I''m so nice. Have fun with Blain."


    I gave her an awkward thumbs up. She turned and left and made her way over to Tiffany who was standing looking away from Blain chewing the skin around her nails like a beaver through wood. If Blain cared that he upset her feelings he wasn''t showing it. He walked over to me.


    "Ready?" he said.


    "Right now?" I said, patting my stomach, "We just ate."


    "We''ll walk it off," he said, "Come on."


    He put a heavy arm round my shoulder and guided me out of the cafeteria. It annoyed me being manhandled a bit but at the same time having a superhuman boxing prodigy as a buddy wasn''t the worst thing in the world. Of course we weren''t buddies yet, but I was hopeful we could get there eventually. I decided to chalk up him hurting Tiffany''s feelings to oblivious male bravado rather than him actually being malicious; if he kept it up then I would have to do something about it.


    I didn''t feel like I had digested my meal much by the time we made it to the exercise area. It was filled with teenagers jogging and doing all kinds of activities; rope climbing, gymnastics, rock wall climbing, and more. More than half of the teenagers on the third floor were exercising in one way or another. It made me wonder if there were other floors filled with teenagers or if this was the only one. There were six floors shown on the elevator buttons; and I had seen the second floor where Robert Hoffman and many of the Pied Piper Research staff were busy working.


    I looked around the exercise area to see if anyone else was showing signs of being extraordinary. The boys and girls jogging, either alone or in groups, kept a steady pace, but nothing I would consider above and beyond the norm. Then again, when I jogged in my coiled state it probably didn''t look all that impressive from an outside point of view. It was only the length of time I was able to keep it up that was the impressive part.


    "Let''s start with a few laps round to warm up," said Blain.


    I followed his lead as he set off. His pace was much quicker than I was comfortable with. By the time we were halfway round I started to flag; I needed to coil up if I wanted to match his normal pace. I didn''t want to ask him to stop or slow down so soon after starting, however, so I did my best to keep up. After the second lap lagging behind Blain I made mental notes of how my body handled exercise normally versus whilst I was in the coiled state; I could maintain the just-above-jogging pace, despite how torturous it was, in my un-coiled state for many hours. The suffering of it was the price to pay for not going into the coiled state. My body could keep going, without a stopper like would be normal, but it would be demanding for me to stop every single moment. But, coiling was different. It was like applying a cheat code; circumventing what would be normal for me.


    "Okay, stop, stop, stop," I said, bringing myself to a stop and hunching over to catch my breath.


    "You''re out of shape big time," said Blain.


    "I know," I huffed. I wanted to spit on the floor but I resisted the impulse.


    I moved off to the side to let the other teenagers jogging pass by without me getting in the way.


    "I''m going to coil up," I said.


    "Go for it," said Blain.


    I was incredibly excited about this. My heart was already beating faster just at the prospect of going back into the coiled state. The thought of going back to it stuck in the back of my mind ever since I came out of it; even when stuffing my face with food in the cafeteria a part of me daydreamed about getting to go back into the coiled state again. It felt that good. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    I repeated every step of what I had done before. Power stance, closed fists to my sides, my mind going back to the kind of things I had seen heroes in my favourite animes do to build up their inner power. I thought back to my birthday wishes again, I wish to become stronger, I wish to become stronger, I wish to become stronger.


    I let my mind go blank. This time I waited for the coiled up state to hit all at once. It had taken a few moments before to kick-in.


    Then I felt it, the tightening, the coiling, it gripped all over my body.


    "Ah!" I gasped; it didn''t hurt, but it wasn''t exactly comfortable to feel my body tighten up like it did either.


    I started jogging on the spot; I''d done it, I was back in the coiled state.


    "That''s it?" said Blain, raising an eyebrow, "You don''t look any different."


    "I feel it," I said, "Want to go round again?"


    Blain nodded slowly.


    I set off this time and Blain had to match my pace. He kept steady with me for another lap though I could tell he was surprised by how well I was doing now compared to before. His reaction cycled from amused to annoyed. After another lap he had begun to sweat, to breathe heavily; I felt like I could keep going forever.


    "Want me to show you how-" I began to say as we continued onto the next lap.


    "-no," said Blain, harshly, "We''re gonna keep going."


    I was taken aback by how serious he sounded all of a sudden. I figured it was something to do with his pride as an athlete. To compete at the top level one probably needed to have that drive to compete. It clicked for me then; how long had it been since he had genuinely felt the excitement of competition? Being superhuman, if that''s really what we were, on top of his already athletic self, was likely isolating when it came to finding people that could keep up with him. He had put that other boxer in the hospital after all.


    I decided to pick up the pace for Blain''s benefit. I wanted to give him the challenge he might have been looking for. My jogging pace reached a point where I was practically running; not quite flat out, but close. It felt incredible to be able to keep it up for more than just a few seconds; but steadily, as if I might never need to stop.


    Blain, with all the thunderous weight of an angry rhino, matched my running speed. We ran in unison, drawing looks from teenagers passing us.


    Humph! Humph! Humph!


    Blain''s hardened breathing stayed beside me as we kept going. We finished another lap. Sweat had broken out across Blain''s body, creating a shiny sheen that brought out the definition of his muscles caged in his overalls.


    After the next lap he started to breathe much harder. I could tell however that he wasn''t going to quit any time soon. He could keep going at this running pace the same way I could keep going on the treadmill in Lintern''s Gym. The difference was he would likely be sunburnt if he kept up what he was currently doing. I wanted to ask if he was ready to coil up, but I knew he would tell me in good time and wasn''t one to be pushed into doing things; at least that''s what I figured.


    By the seventh lap Blain was like a walking water fountain letting droplets of sweat shower off him with every stride. I felt bad for him because, in a way, I was cheating. I hadn''t earned the right to be faster than him, to outrun him; yet that was what I was doing. It wasn''t fair but it was the reality between us as we currently were. Little five foot seven inches me versus his towering six foot-something inches.


    "Alright," he said, finally coming to a stop. He huffed and stood with his hands at his hips. It took him about ten seconds of hampered breathing to be able to speak clearly. I continued jogging on the spot, but it felt almost condescending to do so given he was standing still.


    "Want me to teach you¨C" I started to say, but then Blain turned and let out a shout that made me almost piss myself.


    I stopped jogging, my whole body trembling, urging me to start moving again. I fought down the urge as best I could and instead fixed my attention on Blain. His outburst had drawn looks from the other teenagers in the exercise area; bringing everyone to a stop.


    "What?" said Blain, noticing this too, "Got something to say?!"


    The other teenagers went back to what they were doing if only not to incur Blain''s wrath. I decided to stop being in a coiled state. I started to reenter the power stance, put my fists to my side, and began to imagine powering down.


    "What are you doing?" said Blain, accusingly.


    "I thought we were done," I said; my body started to tremble fiercely with the need to start jogging again. It almost hurt not to.


    "Nah, we ain''t done," said Blain, "We''ve only just started."


    "What''s wrong?" I said.


    I started jogging on the spot. It was bad timing to do so, but like a spring my body just couldn''t stop itself from doing it anymore.


    "This is a joke," he said, "It''s sick, bruv!"


    He started yelling again, his attention fixed on me. It was almost comical how I kept jogging despite myself in front of him.


    "Yeah," I said, "It''s ridiculous."


    Blain smirked, but there wasn''t any real joy in it.


    "I''m an athlete," he said, "My father should have been the heavyweight champion of the world. He couldn''t make that happen so now it''s up to me. But now, what''s the point? It''s all a joke, one sick joke."


    I planted my feet, brought my fists to the side, and forced myself to power down. My body uncoiled moments later and I buckled down to one knee, just barely stopping myself from passing out. For a few moments all sound in the exercise area; of the many teenagers exercising and talking, cut out; and the world sank to gray as if it were becoming a silent movie; and then the moment passed and I felt normal again. On shaky legs I stood up and faced Blain, looking up at him.


    "You''re being a crybaby," I said.


    "What?" said Blain, looking at me as if asking the question, ''Do you want me to beat you up?''


    I didn''t care. I had a point I needed to make and he was going to hear it.


    "At least you got to be an athlete," I said, "Some of us don''t get that. You think I never tried to do what you do?"


    "What?" said Blain, screw-eyeing me.


    "I''m not saying you didn''t earn what you accomplished," I said, "But most people won''t ever have what it takes to be an athlete that can actually, you know, go the distance. To win prizes, or whatever."


    "It ain''t about prizes," said Blain.


    "Then what is it about?" I said.


    "An athlete pushes himself," said Blain, pointing into his palm, "It''s about discipline, about conquering yourself. It''s about becoming the best."


    Blain''s plimsoll squeaked like a stepped-on mouse as he kicked the floor. He walked over to the nearby wall and buried his face in his arm. After a few moments he turned round and leaned against the wall.


    "I live for competition," he said, "I''m a Penniman, it''s what we do. We''re worldshakers. You take the competition away from me; there''s nothing left. I ain''t interested."


    What does it matter? I thought, Who cares if you''re the best? Is punishing your mind and body everyday for most of your youth worth it just so you can claim some prize in front of a crowd?


    The thing was, I didn''t come from a family that took pride in its name. O''Bannon was just a surname and nothing more than that. My Dad hadn''t achieved anything great in his life, and I was my father''s son; and, until the last few days, I had expected my life to work out more or less the same. Hearing Blain whine about not being able to be the best just didn''t hold weight with me. It was like a handsome guy complaining he couldn''t get a date. Boo-hoo. This didn''t mean I couldn''t sympathize with Blain''s struggle; but to me it seemed overly simple, the answer then was simple too.


    "Then find new competition," I said, "Hundreds, maybe even thousands of teenagers are gaining superhuman abilities. If that''s true, then there''s going to be plenty of people that are stronger, faster, and more able than you."


    Blain considered this. It was so obvious; maybe he had considered it before. Who knows. He wiped his mouth and looked at the floor in thought.


    "Maybe," he said, nodding, "Maybe you''re right."


    Of course I was right. That was where this was all heading, wasn''t it? Teenagers getting super powers. Something straight out of a comic book becoming real.


    "So," I said, "You better learn how to use your power too, because if you don''t you''ll get left behind."


    "Alright," said Blain, nodding, and smirking for real this time. "Show me how you do it."

 36. Cant stop

    "Okay so first enter into a power stance," I said, demonstrating my own at the same time.


    "Okay¡­" said Blain, getting into an identical power stance, "And this has to be done to make it work?"


    "I don''t know," I said, "I just know this is what I''ve done both times. Okay, now close your fists and put them to your waist."


    Blain did as I asked. I waited a moment for some jogging teenagers to pass us, then said, "Now you need to think of a time in your life when you wanted to become stronger. For me I used to wish to become stronger for my birthday wishes; I thought about that before I tapped into the coiled state. I''ll demonstrate."


    I focused, took a deep breath, and then made my wish: I wish to become stronger, I wish to become stronger, I wish to become stronger.


    Blain narrowed his eyes as if wondering if I were playing some prank on him. Then, moments later, I felt the sudden tightening all over my body again. It came on strong enough this time to make my whole body tremble as if I had been electrocuted.


    "You alright?" said Blain, putting a hand to my shoulder.


    "Y-yeah," I said, "It''s kind of uncomfortable when it first starts."


    I started jogging on the spot to stay above the restless urge to keep moving that riddled my entire body.


    "Now you go," I said.


    Blain copied what I did. He looked much more the part of someone who had trained their body well enough to unlock a greater inner potential. I found myself smirking because of how fun this all was. In less than a few days I had gone from bored sitting on a sofa late at night watching movies about people thrust into extraordinary situations; and here I was now living one out myself. It also felt good to be able to teach someone else how to do something for a change; especially someone as driven as Blain.


    After a few moments of concentration Blain relaxed and stood up.


    "Nah," he said, "It ain''t working."


    "Hold on," I said, "Give it a second."


    "I don''t feel any-"


    Blain''s words were cut off by a sudden jolt which spread across his body. I couldn''t see a visible difference to his muscles, but I could tell he was experiencing the same kind of coiling as me. His eyes widened with awe and then he started jogging on the spot.


    "Woah!" he said, before letting out a loud chuckle, "Yes! I can feel it! I''ve felt this before!"


    Blain''s mood soured for a moment as he recollected the last time he felt this coiled up state. I wondered if he had felt it in Lintern''s Gym (thus avoiding looking sunburnt) or much earlier when he had put his boxing competitor in the hospital. I hoped one day Blain would tell me about what had happened; it seemed like an interesting story to be told.


    "Let''s go," said Blain.


    He set off and I hurried to keep pace with him. This time Blain maintained a steady lead on me as we moved at a running pace around the exercise area. Neither of us showed any sign of tiring after the first lap, or the second.


    "How¨Cdoes it¡ªfeel?" I said, struggling to get the words out between sucking lungfuls of air in and out quickly.


    "Like cheating," said Blain, "But it is what it is!"


    He pushed himself harder, increasing the distance between us. At his flat out running pace compared to mine in the coiled state I had no hope of keeping up with him. Although this power, whatever it was, that allowed me to enter into the coiled state made it so I could, in a sense, cheat my way into competing with the likes of Blain; if he also tapped into the same power, then his cheating was far greater than mine; or so it seemed.


    Blain pushed so far ahead of me that he was on the other side of the exercise area after two more laps. I knew that if I wanted to keep up with him I would need to push this coiled state even harder. I was breathing heavily and sweating and I knew sooner or later I would need to kick off my plimsolls in order to run even faster with more mobility; but the idea of going even deeper into the coiled state scared me. What if I broke my body doing it? What if I tightened my muscles up to a point where they tore apart? That was a common enough thing to happen in anime, and cartoons; pushing past limits. The usual phrase that got said was, ''Using this technique will shorten my lifespan, but I have to go all out, just this once!''


    Did I want to risk pushing my body like that? Did I want to risk having a shorter lifespan? I continued running, enjoying the way the still air in the exercise room cooled against my sweaty face and rippled against my overalls as I maintained my speed. My mind was oddly clear despite how hard and fast my body was being pushed. In a way my thoughts were much clearer and more succinct in the coiled state compared to my usual mode of thinking. It was as if the cobwebs had been cleared out of my mind and I was on some kind of drug; something to help me focus and maintain a steady flow-state of thought.


    Your recovery is superhuman, I thought to myself. I thought back to how quickly I had recovered after the treadmill torment at Lintern''s Gym; how Abigail had told me my body should have died under all the stress it had been under. It occurred to me then that maybe I healed faster when asleep, because that had made a huge difference, potentially, to my recovery. The other side of things was that I had already ran for eight hours straight, though it hadn''t felt like it, throughout the previous night. I hadn''t felt particularly exhausted or in pain; which meant my body wasn''t, as far as I could tell, being damaged by the strain I was putting it under. I had been thirsty, and hungry, and the idea of going to bed was nice, but none of it felt like something I was compelled to do. If my body felt compelled to do anything it was to get running again as soon as possible. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    I decided it was worth the risk to push my body even harder into the coiled state. I wanted to see how far I could take it. Would it feel even better than it already did? A euphoric glow had taken hold of my body (amid the discomfort of the coiled state that was always there); if I pushed myself even harder would that euphoria increase as well? There was only one way to find out.


    Stronger, I thought, I wish to become even stronger!


    After a delay of several seconds I felt my body give into the request. This time I couldn''t just feel the extra tightening all over my body, I could feel muscles across my body expanding.


    Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!


    I could almost hear the sound of each muscle expanding and tightening immediately after. It was as if, in a matter of seconds, my body had undergone a physical fitness transformation that would take a year of dedicated exercise to achieve. It felt absolutely incredible.


    I thought I had been running before; now I was running. My speed picked up and I ran full tilt, my legs a blur beneath me. I felt like I could catch up to a sprinting leopard and snatch it off the ground; I was moving that fast.


    Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap!


    My plimsolls were long gone. My bare feet slapped the floor as my coiled state body propelled me forward. This wasn''t just a breeze at my back this time, it was a full on tornado. I felt like I was playing one of those arcade games where you ride a motorbike and have to lean left or right whilst steering; having to work with the momentum to stay on track.


    The other teenagers in the exercise room became blurs; lost to my periphery. I spotted Blain up ahead - I had closed the distance between us - and soon matched his running speed and moved beyond it. Blain pushed himself harder to keep up with me; we kept side-by-side together, taking a hard left when it came up ahead as if we were Tron Light Cycles.


    I was breathing so quickly the joy and laughter; the euphoria of what I was experiencing, could hardly escape my mouth; but the excitement must have been clear to see on my face. Blain was all concentration and sweat as he did his best to keep up with me. Sorry, I thought, you''re going to have to do what I''ve done to keep up.


    Understandably Blain didn''t seem eager to tap into a deeper coiled state like I had. This was my third time experiencing it (having done so intentionally), whereas this was his first time doing so intentionally (and not unintentionally like the times he had tapped into the coiled state before).


    I began to pull ahead, feeling like a cartoon character whose legs were a circular blur; the rooster outrunning the coyote. I managed to pull so far ahead of Blain that he was on the other side of the exercise area, way, way off.


    Avoiding the teenagers initially had been a bit troublesome, since they were moving so slow. Now however the exercise area had cleared up, I realised, because the other teenagers had moved off to the side, or had stopped the activity they were doing in the center of the exercise area, in order to watch what Blain and I were doing. Don''t stop for too long, I thought, I''m sure a good deal of you are in here because your Meter''s are orange.


    A familiar voice boomed from the exercise room speakers.


    "Burgess O''Bannon and Blain Penniman, cease running and speak with the Pied Piper officers at the exercise area entrance."


    It was Abigail''s voice.


    I kept running. It wasn''t that I didn''t want to slow down and do as I was told. Instead it was as if the request had been like a barely remembered dream; first coming in strong, but then, after a few moments, it might as well have not been said.


    "Cease running or you will be tranquilised," said Abigail''s voice, "Final warning."


    Really? I thought, Isn''t that a bit extreme just because we''re running? Guess I better slow down.


    The thing was, I didn''t slow down. I thought about doing it; I imagined myself stopping and doing as I was told; much in the same way someone can imagine going about their morning routine before work or school only to realise they''re still in bed dreaming the whole thing.


    Stop running now, I thought to myself; how many times had I thought this? Ten? Twenty? How much time was it that passed since I started running? I looked around for Blain; he had stopped running at some point and was standing alongside the Pied Piper officers by the exercise area entrance.


    I reached Blain and the Pied Piper officers; the latter of whom were wielding machine guns; which, on closer inspection as I stopped and ran on the spot at a frantic pace, I could see they had smaller handguns with longer muzzles which were most likely tranquiliser guns.


    "Stop running," said one of the Pied Piper officers; he was a middle aged man with blonde hair. He had the tranquiliser handgun pointed at me.


    "Okay!" I said, breathlessly.


    I wanted to stop. I really did. But I couldn''t. Looking around some more I could see the exercise area had been cleared out; it was only the officers and Blain remaining inside. Ah crap, I thought, he''s going to shoot me.


    "Final warning," said the officer, "Stop. Now."


    "I can''t!" I said, my voice breaking from the effort to speak.


    I couldn''t. I really couldn''t. I could hardly think about stopping my body from running let alone actually do it.


    The Pied Piper officer shot me in the stomach with his tranquiliser gun. It stung something fierce for a moment before a numbness spread throughout my gut then throughout the rest of my body. This was bad news; as numb as my body was getting the coiled up state I was in wasn''t relenting. What if I passed out whilst my body remained in this state? Would it tear itself apart?


    "No stop!" I said, my thoughts becoming depressed and drowsy, "I can stop, please!"


    The Pied Piper officer shot me again. This sped up the already fast acting numbness spreading throughout my body. I knew I had mere moments to undo the coiled state before I passed out.


    With an insane amount of mental effort I planted my feet down, forced a power stance, and started to scream as if every bone in my body had been broken.


    Power down! Power down! I thought, over and over again. My body relented, my muscles losing the coiled tightness all over.


    I didn''t remember losing consciousness.

 37. Chewing Gum

    I was in my old family home standing at the top of a flight of stairs. I peeked between the wooden banisters and, somehow, was able to squeeze through the gap. The drop from the second floor bedroom, which had formerly been an attic, down to the first floor was enough that I would surely break a bone or two on impact. I hurled myself over and entered free fall. Instead of immediately falling to the ground I dove forward, somersaulting over and over at a glacial speed. I''m falling, I thought, falling, falling, falling.


    My head hit the wall on the other side of the stairwell near the bottom step. The bump on the head I received was like headbutting a cushion.


    Oh, I thought, I''m dreaming.


    I was standing instead of falling through the air. This is my old house, I thought, spotting the old red sofa I knew so well, where I had sat and watched so many movies with my Dad. I looked around some more, gliding through my childhood home, the fringe of my vision hazy as if it were degrading film stock.


    ***


    I woke in a cold sweat. My body shuddered, as if coming back to life, and all at once I became aware of the medical ward I was in. It was empty, with several other beds that could be curtained off, but weren''t. The room was darkly lit as if it were night time, having the same quiet to it that a hospital would have during the early morning hours.


    Am I broken? Was my first thought. A quick spasm of my body told me that, no, I wasn''t. I felt fine; restless even. I was no longer in my overalls but a simple white medical gown. My feet were exposed to the still air that was chillier than I would have liked, but not unbearable.


    My hands and feet were strapped down as if I were a mental patient, or criminal.


    Don''t panic, I thought, It''s probably just a precaution. Don''t. Panic.


    I stayed still, feeling dizzy and slightly drowsy, as if the bed and the ward I was in were moving just a little bit beneath me as if I were on a ship at sea. There was something on my right index finger hooked up to the machine that beeped steadily beside me.


    Still alive, I thought, that''s great.


    I didn''t try to break out of the straps, though I did test how tough they were. I doubted even coiled up that I would be able to rip myself out of them. They were strapped so tightly I doubted I could slip out of them either. There wasn''t anything for me to press to call for a nurse, assuming one was available in this situation; and I didn''t want to call out for anyone simply because I was dreading the inevitable scolding I was likely to receive.


    My body was making its demands known whilst I sat thinking in the dark. I needed to pee, but not too badly. I also thirsted for some water, enough to be uncomfortably thirsty. And, most demanding of all, I really felt like going for a run. Just the thought of coiling up again plagued my mind whilst I sat in the dark enough that I considered coiling up despite being on my back strapped down on the bed. Would it be so bad if I coiled like this? A part of me thought, like the devil on my shoulder. No! Obviously not, idiot! My better self said.


    The two were at war for two hours whilst I sat in the dark trying to think of anything else to occupy my mind.


    I missed TV, and music, and mindlessly browsing the internet. I needed to spend some downtime doing something trivial like that. Since the evacuation started I hadn''t had a chance to enjoy my usual media comforts and, alone in a quiet, dark room, the absence of those things was becoming pronounced.


    I knew I had dreamed something about my childhood home before waking up, but the details were quickly forgotten; what remained was homesickness.


    Sudden footsteps drew my attention to the double door entrance to the ward. Motion-sensing lights flickered on above upon a middle-aged man with a bald head and a beard that was black and tinged with gray. He was dressed in a white lab coat and was of Arab ethnicity. Spotting me awake, he crossed the room without saying a word and approached my bedside. He showed little in the way of emotion as he read the little green readings coming from the machine taking my vitals beside me. I noticed he was wearing a large, expensive looking gold watch.


    "How are you feeling?" he asked in a voice that told me he wasn''t particularly concerned.


    "Okay," I said, "Dizzy; a little nauseous."


    He didn''t say anything more to me and instead left the ward before I could muster the courage to ask him about my current situation. The lights to the ward had flickered off again by the time new footsteps filled the silent space about ten minutes later, illuminating Abigail and Mike''s entrance to the ward.


    Abigail walked briskly, her heels clacking loudly on her approach.


    "Burgess," she said, the way one might scold a dog for causing a mess.


    She immediately saw to undoing the straps.


    "Help me with this," she said to Mike, who got to work fiddling with the strap around my right foot.


    "What''s going on?" I said.


    "We had to put you out," said Abigail, "Because you lost control and you were putting yourself and everyone else at risk."


    "I didn''t know things would get out of hand like that," I said.


    "Oh forget about it," said Abigail, finishing up on the last of the straps, "How were you to know? You can relax, you''re not in trouble. We just couldn''t risk you combusting on us." Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    I glanced at my Meter, bringing it closer to my face. It was showing a steady green. It better, I thought, after all the calories I must have burned.


    Mike sat on the bed to my right. He was a tall guy, heavyset, so he took relief by taking the weight off his feet. He looked tired.


    Abigail moved to the end of my bed and sat down.


    "Dr. Abdullah said your vitals are fine. You''re a-okay so far as your vitals go. How are you feeling?"


    "Dizzy," I said, repeating what I said to Dr. Abdullah, "And nauseous."


    "Right," said Abigail, clearly not getting the answer she was looking for, "Anything else?"


    I thought about my urge to run. It was still there gnawing at me. Logically I knew it was stupid to want to do so after what I had just been through, but another part of me just kept saying, can we run yet? Can we run yet? Can we run yet?


    I considered how much I trusted Abigail and Mike. Did I want to let them know how badly I wanted to start running again? Would that honesty get me into more trouble? Would they decide it better to leave me drugged up and strapped down until they could trust me not to go for a run the first chance I got? Better yet, could I trust myself? I considered what I wanted to tell them for too long, my silence surfacing that there wasn''t much more for me to say.


    "You can go back to the third floor tomorrow," said Abigail, "You''re currently on the fourth floor; it''s where we handle most of the hands-on research and, if needed, where we can take care of any medical treatment which needs to happen."


    "How long has it been?" I asked.


    Mike checked his watch, "About six hours," he said, "Since they put you out."


    That would make it late evening-ish.


    "Look, Burgess," said Abigail, "From now on you can''t push yourself like that unless we give authorisation for it. You''re here to help us with our tests, not to do tests of your own."


    "Okay," I said, "Sorry."


    "You weren''t to know," said Abigail, "We should have explained better that the exercise area is to get your Meter down to a safe level, not to conduct your own exercise experiments. We have previously given the other mice the warning not to push themselves, but in the rush to accommodate the new arrivals like yourself we didn''t cover that part in the induction."


    "Sorry about that, mate," said Mike, "We''ll cop to that mistake."


    "It''s fine," I said, "I''m sure it''s a lot trying to handle everything that''s going on."


    Neither really responded to what I said nor did they object. The near silence in the ward continued save for the humming and beeping of machines. It seemed to me then both were less interested in speaking with me but were instead just taking a break from the grind of their jobs.


    "If you need the toilet there''s a bathroom outside this ward and down the hall to the left," said Mike, "You''re on camera everywhere you go so just go and come back, keep it cruisy, okay?"


    "Sure," I said, softly.


    Mike sniffed and stood to his full height.


    "Get some sleep," he said, "Tomorrow morning you''ll go back to the third floor."


    I was going to ask about getting something to eat, or having something to do to pass the time, but I figured since I wasn''t in trouble it was easier just to go with the flow.


    Abigail and Mike mumbled something to the sound of ''goodnight'' and then left the ward together.


    My mind raced for the remainder of the night going over everything that happened in the exercise area. I had lost control and had pushed my body too hard. Scarily, I didn''t even feel like I had pushed my body remotely close to its limit of what it could achieve. The part of me that hadn''t been able to keep up was my mind. I thought about anything and everything through the night, staring into the dark corners of the ward, enjoying the alone time I was able to get yet simultaneously feeling lonely and homesick.


    Although I couldn''t tell if it was midnight or not, I left to get up and go to the bathroom at what felt around that time. My overalls and plimsolls had been stuffed into a bag which was kept at the end of my bed; I put the plimsolls on before heading out of the ward then down the corridor and to the left, finding the men''s toilet.


    After going about my business I took some time to look at myself in the mirror above the sink. I didn''t look any different. This somehow came as a disappointment. I didn''t know what it was I expected. My muscles were no longer swollen as if I had put in the effort to have an incredibly fit body after a year''s worth of training in the gym. I was just the usual, skinny, un-athletic, me.


    I slurped up a lot of water from the tap at the sink, peed a second time, then headed back to bed. The blanket which had been draped over me, though hadn''t been placed properly when I was out to cover my feet, was surprisingly good at keeping off the chill, and came as a nice respite once I was back in bed. I didn''t sleep deeply because of all the thoughts whirling around in my head; instead I enjoyed laying curled up like a prawn for many hours during the night.


    When morning came I was wide awake and felt refreshed despite not sleeping much at all. A Pied Piper officer came to get me. After telling me to change into my overalls, which I did whilst the officer looked away, I then followed the officer to the elevator. Like the other times I had to pass through the checkpoint where a handful of Pied Piper officers stood with guns (tranquilizer and the real deal). The bits and pieces I saw of the fourth floor seemed to me like the space was largely going unused, though the ward had been close to the elevator leaving much of the level unknown to me.


    After taking the elevator up to the third floor and going through yet another checkpoint the Pied Piper officer gave me the all clear to continue into the third floor proper without their continued supervision.


    My immediate concern was to get something to eat. It didn''t matter what. I had gone without dinner and, as a perpetual snacker by nature, continually putting off meals in the last few days was becoming a chore. Time to settle in and take things really easy, I thought to myself, no more pushing yourself. Despite thinking this however my mind nagged at me to go for another run. I wanted it even more than breakfast. No, I said to myself, over and over again. The need wasn''t relenting. What if it never went away?


    I made my way through the maze of white corridors towards the cafeteria. I followed the signs and tried to remember how I had found my way before. I had to stop twice to get my bearings, but it was getting easier to figure out which way to go.


    I was close to the cafeteria. Someone touched my shoulder. It was Tiffany, but there was something different about her.


    "Hey," she said, clearly concerned.


    She embraced me in a firm hug for a few moments, having to crouch a little given our height difference. Then she pulled back, keeping her hands on my shoulders.


    "Please tell me you''re alright," she said.


    I continued looking at her as if deeply confused. She was chewing gum, but that wasn''t what was strange about her.


    "I''m alright," I said, "Sorry."


    She jabbed my shoulder.


    "Twat," she said, "I almost died of a heart attack when I saw them carrying you off."


    "Yeah, sorry," I mumbled again.


    There was something different about her, but it wasn''t obvious what it was. Then, finally, it clicked.


    "Tiff," I said, "Are you wearing make-up?"


    "Huh?" said Tiffany, looking almost offended by the notion she might be, "Nah," she said, "Why, do I look like I am?"


    Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me. If I didn''t know any better her face looked more feminine in very subtle ways.


    "Sorry," I said, yet again, "I think I''m just out of it."


    "It''s fine," said Tiffany, "You hungry? Want to get something to eat?"


    "Yeah, that would be good," I said.


    Together we headed off towards the cafeteria.

 38. Spill

    I sat and ate breakfast with Tiffany in the cafeteria. It was busy with lots of teenagers coming and going. I kept my head down trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone. I usually did this anyway, though this time the extra effort to do so was a conscious one on my part. Breakfast was baked beans on buttered toast with a side portion of mushrooms. I never liked the look of mushrooms in nature. I once saw a documentary on TV about an ant that ate a mushroom which, horrifically, then took over the ant''s brain. The mushroom parasite made the ant climb as high as it could to the top of a leaf and then finished taking the ant over, killing it and using the rest of its body as the fuel for further growth. Somehow cooked mushrooms reminded me just enough of chicken that I was able to overlook the ick they gave me.


    Whilst we ate Tiffany explained how she had gone with Mikayla to speak with Mike about getting cigarettes. Smoking wasn''t allowed in the facility, so nicotine gum and patches would have to suffice. Tiffany made an order for lots of nicotine gum; apparently having it brought to the facility meant Tiffany had to pay three times the normal price for them, and that extra cost came out of the two grand a week she was getting paid.


    "It''s whatever," Tiffany said, which I had learnt was her way of saying, I''m super pissed about this but I don''t want to talk anymore about it.


    "You know," she said, "I was thinking about getting a job here. Maybe one of the cleaning jobs. I''ve done that before."


    "Not a bad idea," I said, "I''m not getting a job though."


    "Why not?" said Tiffany.


    "Two grand a week is plenty," I said, "I can''t be bothered to work."


    "Not even just to keep me company?" said Tiffany.


    "Maybe," I said.


    I leaned back in my seat, letting the satisfying food coma take hold of me. Tiffany popped another of her nicotine gums from the packet and put it in her mouth. Whilst she did this I continued to look at her as if trying to solve a puzzle.


    "What?" said Tiffany, noticing me staring.


    "Are you seriously not wearing make-up?" I said.


    "Nah, why''d you keep asking?" she said.


    "It''s probably nothing," I said, "You just look more¡­I don''t know¡­feminine?"


    "You wot?" said Tiffany, screw-eyeing me.


    I threw my hands up, "I don''t mean anything by it," I said, "Sorry for mentioning it."


    "Now I''m getting self-conscious about it," said Tiffany, "Thanks."


    I felt a bit guilty for mentioning how I thought she looked different. How come she hadn''t noticed this herself yet?


    "When was the last time you looked in a mirror?" I said.


    "Mate, are you still talking about this?" she said, getting genuinely upset.


    "Fine," I said, "I''ll leave it. Just don''t say I didn''t try to bring it up with you if you notice you look different later."


    Tiffany sighed exasperatedly and stood up from her seat.


    "I''m going to check my face, I''ll be back," she said.


    She left before I could respond. In the meantime I made myself a hot cup of tea from the machine set against the wall near the counter. Thankfully all cups of tea and coffee appeared to be free. I took a sip of my tea and relished how good it tasted (with milk of course).


    I turned back to head to the table where Tiffany and I had sat before. Someone walked into me, pushing the paper cup of coffee I was holding against my chest and causing all the piping hot contents to spill down the front of my overalls. The pain lasted for a few seconds.


    "Oh my gosh I''m sorry," said a familiar voice.


    It was someone I hadn''t spoken to before but recognised. It was Sophie, the blonde-haired girl with a ponytail that had been flirting with the Pied Piper officer before. She was quite short, and up close I could see she was also on the more rotund side.


    She grabbed a tissue from the nearby counter and started trying to soak up the worst of the spill on my chest.


    "It''s fine," I said, a few times, "Don''t worry about it."


    "Sorry," she said again, "I should have looked where I was going."


    There were several seconds where we might have struck up a conversation, but neither her or I seemed to want to dive into one. I wanted to ask her about her intentions with the Pied Piper officer, but that would also mean giving myself away that I knew that conversation had taken place, and there was the ever present concern that anything I said could be picked up and listened to from my Meter device. If she was up to something the less I made it obvious by talking to her about it the better. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    "Well," she said, awkwardly, "Sorry."


    She shuffled off at a brisk pace. To where I didn''t know, it seemed she was looking to be anywhere else than continue this encounter with me. I watched her leave, my mind reeling trying to process what had just happened.


    "Hey," said Tiffany, a little breathlessly. I hadn''t noticed her approaching, "What were you two talking about?"


    "Oh," I said, "Nothing. She bumped into me and I spilled my tea on me."


    "That''s it?" said Tiffany.


    "Yeah," I said.


    Tiffany didn''t seem satisfied with the answer but she let it go.


    "Look," she said, holding up her wrist. Her Meter was showing orange.


    "Oh," I said.


    "Yeah," she said, "I''m heading there now."


    By ''there'' she must have meant the exercise area.


    "You''re right by the way," she said, "There''s something different about¡­"


    She struggled to get the next few words out, "...my face. It kind of does look like I''m wearing make-up, init?"


    "Yeah," I said, "Did you¡­do something to your face?"


    Tiffany shook her head, "No," she said, "I don''t know what''s up. Look, I need to go. Maybe we can figure out what''s going on with it later?"


    "Yeah," I said.


    "What are you going to do?" she said.


    "Eh," I said, gesturing to the stain on my overalls, "Need to replace this."


    "Cool," said Tiffany.


    She smiled, "I''m glad you''re okay. Try not to get into trouble while I''m gone."


    I gave two thumbs up and then Tiffany jogged off in the direction of the exercise area. I headed off to the nearby kiosk where Tiffany and I had talked with George before. Yesterday I had gotten a fresh pair of overalls; I seemed to get through them pretty quickly. When I arrived at the kiosk it was empty. There were several teenagers in the corridor passing by but none that were waiting at the kiosk. I approached and looked around, noticing that the door behind the kiosk was open.


    "Hello?" I called out. Maybe George or whoever was working at the kiosk today was inside. There wasn''t an answer. I called again and again and there was no answer. After looking around some more I decided I didn''t want to spend the rest of the day with the front of my overalls damp (I had experienced that enough with the blood before).


    I approached the doorway and entered inside. Within, the space was narrow, with shelves on my left and right with lots of packets of freshly clean overalls. Further ahead there was a closed door and the sound of a machine working; whether it was a washing machine or dryer I couldn''t tell; perhaps it was both.


    "Hello?" I said again, though at a slightly lower volume. Something didn''t feel right. I considered turning back but then told myself that if there was a machine running in the room ahead then that likely meant someone was around to use it. Maybe. All I knew was I needed new overalls and just taking a packet my size from the shelf would be my last resort. Just so I could say I did try to find someone if I were questioned about taking a packet without asking I pressed on, trying the handle of the door in front of me. It gave, and opened.


    I entered within and found that the light was off but flickered to life, motion sensing lights catching my movement. Ah, I thought, Nobody''s around.


    It was then I spotted someone curled up on the floor in the corner of the room with their arms wrapped around their knees.


    It was George.


    "Hey, you okay?" I said.


    George began to scream and wail and sob like something from a nightmare. I froze, not knowing what to do. He continued to scream uncontrollably. His head thrashed from side to side and he brought his hands to his face, covering it.


    "George, what''s wrong?" I said.


    "Pl-please l-leave!" he cried out.


    "But what''s wrong, mate?" I said.


    "Please!" he begged, "J-just leave!"


    He didn''t look hurt, and there wasn''t anything in the room that seemed like it could be a danger to him or anyone else. Maybe he was just upset about something and needed the space.


    "Okay," I said, "Do you need me to get someone?"


    "No!" he cried out, "Please just go!"


    I did as he asked. I left the room, closing the door behind me. I went out to the kiosk and stood there for several minutes. I didn''t know what to do. Part of me hoped that if anyone was listening to what happened from my Meter device they would take action and sort the problem out. George had said he didn''t need help so I didn''t try to circumvent his request. Now however I was responsible for him. I had found him crying and if I left him alone and something happened to him then that would be on me. I continued waiting by the kiosk; several teenagers asked if I was working at the counter but I simply said I wasn''t.


    After about twenty minutes George came out the back and stood at the kiosk. He looked exhausted from crying but he was already putting on a forced friendly smile.


    "Oh hey," he said, "Sorry about that. So embarrassing."


    "Are you okay, man?" I said.


    "Oh yeah," said George.


    His eyes told a different story. He was silently pleading, stop asking me.


    "We can catch up later, okay?" he said.


    "Sure," I said, "You''re sure you don''t need anything?"


    "Very sure," he said, "Everything''s okay."


    He noticed the stain on my overalls.


    "Oh, silly me," he said.


    He grabbed a fresh set of overalls for me and handed it over. I went through the motions of tapping my ID card to the reader, though it felt strange to do so given what had just happened with George and how he was trying to pretend everything was okay.


    "There you go," he said in a forced sing-song tone.


    "Okay¡­" I said, "Can we talk later tonight?"


    "Oh yeah sure," said George, "Sounds good."


    I felt as if I were talking to a robot. I headed off towards B-9 trying to figure out what had just happened.

 39. Emerald Unlocking

    I made my way back to B-9 and took the opportunity to sit and think alone on my bed. The sound of George wailing like some dying animal was stuck in my head, playing on a loop. What had caused him to become so distressed? Was it something related to our powers, or something personal?


    I stared at the bland white wall to my left whilst trying to process everything that was happening. A strong sadness was taking hold of me again. This whole situation was awful. We were no better than prisoners at the facility yet somehow Mike and Abigail knew just the right thing to say to create a reasonable doubt that they were really doing everything for our benefit. I was in a mood and my mind seemed determined to figure out the cause.


    Shouldn''t I be happier about having super powers? I thought to myself. I thought about all the superhumans I knew so well in the movies, TV shows, and comics I had read over the years.


    Did powers ever make them happier at the end of the day? Maybe there was a reason why most superhumans in their respective stories ended their careers by dying; usually in some form of heroic self-sacrifice, as if super powered people by their very nature couldn''t ever hope to live happily ever after. Then again, did anyone really live happily ever after? Wasn''t life just one big compromise before inevitably kicking the bucket?


    I turned over on the bed. My body spasmed with a sudden jolt as if begging me to get up and start running. I could go to the exercise area right now, I thought, yet again, And I could coil up and run and feel truly alive and happy.


    "No," I said, aloud.


    I had tried letting myself get carried away with using my powers and I got shot twice with tranquiliser darts for it. I wanted to feel my stomach for the puncture marks where the darts had landed, but that would have to wait since I couldn''t be bothered with the hassle of undressing from the overalls. The depressive mood was becoming heavier, threatening to engulf me like a tidal wave. Here for a few days and I''ve already demonstrated to everyone here I''m a reckless idiot who can''t control his powers, I thought.


    I jerked my head sharply to the left in an effort to shake the negative thoughts away. It worked so far as it allowed me to stop that one particular train of thought, but the sour mood was swallowing me up the way mud grips a boot and doesn''t let go.


    Alex Landly popped into my mind. He hadn''t been able to keep up with Tiffany and I on the treadmills in Lintern''s Gym, and that had meant he was a normal person. No super powers. Why did that seem like the better option now?


    Ah, but you''ve never been normal, Burgess. Not a single moment of your life. Too normal for the weirdos, too weird for the normal''s. Not naturally intelligent and high-achieving like your sister, not easily likable and self-assured like your brother.


    The depressive thoughts sucked me in deeper, and deeper.


    Go for a run and you''ll clear your head up, a part of me thought, why are you laying around? Go and have some fun.


    "Piss off," I said, aloud, and turned over on the bed again. I couldn''t get comfortable; I tried several more positions before sighing and sitting up, feeling heavy in my head and slightly sick.


    This was what movies and video games and the like were for; to get away from these kinds of thoughts. I needed an escape.


    Just go for a run. Just. Go. For. A. Run.


    "Fine!" I said, aloud.


    I got up from my bed and left B-9. I made it all the way to the end of the corridor before stopping at B-8.


    "Hey, Burgess," said a familiar voice.


    It was Jay. I was at his and Amar''s block. Just like when I had first met them they were sitting in B-8 and had caught me on my way elsewhere.


    "Hey," I said, turning on my friendly personality.


    "Are you busy?" said Jay.


    I checked my Meter. It was showing steady green.


    "Nope," I said, "What are you guys up to?"


    "Talking about our powers. Again," said Amar, dryly.


    "Want to come in?" said Jay.


    "Sure," I said.


    Inside I spotted two dozen paper cups filled with water on the floor. Jay sat down in front of them.


    "Still going at it?" I said, pointing to the cups.


    "I''ve learned how to do it," said Amar, "Making the water cold."


    I jerked my head back in surprise.


    "Really?" I said, "I thought your thing was changing your eyes?"


    "That''s just it," said Jay, "His thing is my thing, my thing is his thing; we''re all sharing the same thing!"


    "So does that mean I can do it too?" I said.


    "Yes!" said Jay.


    I was taken aback a little by Jay''s enthusiasm. He seemed the excitable type with lots of energy to spare. Although I had never been in one myself, Jay''s long hair and general vibe made me think he was no stranger to diving into mosh pits for the wild thrill of it. Amar on the other hand struck me as someone who spent the majority of their time sitting in front of a computer; he had a tired, monotone way of speaking and he hardly moved except to talk or change the way his hands rested on his knees.


    "We heard about what happened in the exercise area," said Jay.


    "Yeah, it''s whatever," I said, parroting Tiffany''s line.


    "How did you do it?" said Jay.


    I explained to Jay and Amar in minute detail every aspect of how I had come to learn how to coil and how I had shown Blain how to do it too, and how it had led to me losing control. They both listened with rapt attention.


    "But," I said, at the end of explaining everything, "I wouldn''t recommend doing it unless you have to. It''s seriously addictive. All I want to do right now is go to the exercise area and enter into the coiled state."


    "Yeah," said Jay, nodding, "We figured it might be."


    "Why?" I said. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    "It''s the same with using our powers," said Amar, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed at me.


    "Sometimes I find myself changing the colour of my eyes just because I like the way it feels when I do it," he said, "I can''t really describe what it feels like when I do it; but it feels good."


    "Guess that also explains these," I said, gesturing to all the cups of water on the floor.


    "Yeah," said Jay, rubbing the back of his neck, "Sometimes I just sit and do it because it calms me down."


    "Cooling off," said Amar, jokingly.


    "So it seems like whenever we use our powers we have a kind of compulsion to keep doing it," I said.


    The others nodded.


    I pointed to the cups, "Mind if I give it a try?" I said.


    "Sure," said Jay.


    I moved over and sat down in front of the cups. I put my hand into the one nearest me and felt the lukewarm water.


    "So how do you do it?" I said.


    "Same as how you coil," said Jay, "I just want it to happen and it does."


    "But wait," I said, taking my hand out and wiping the wetness on my knee, "If that''s the case then why didn''t you try using other powers before?"


    "I did," said Jay, "But making my hands colder just seemed to be the only thing that worked."


    "Can you change your eyes now?" I said. I wanted some proof that what he told me was true.


    "Sure," said Jay.


    He leaned forward and looked me in the eyes. I watched his eyes change from blue to brown in a matter of seconds. Just the simple change of colour to his eyes had an effect on the rest of his face that made him look very different, just like Amar changing his eye colour from brown to black had made him look different too; blue to brown however seemed to be a much more pronounced change on Jay''s pale face.


    "Watch this," he said, and then after a few seconds his irises changed to a bright, almost glowing violet.


    "Woah," I said, aloud, unable to hide my wonder.


    "Yeah," said Jay, looking at me as if he were some kind of supernatural being. He looked a bit menacing grinning the way he was with his eyes shining bright purple.


    "Can you go back to normal? It''s freaking me out a bit," I said.


    Jay''s grin became a lackadaisical smile; he changed his eyes back to their original blue.


    "Can you do that?" I had begun to say to Amar, but when I turned to look at him I flinched hard and almost sprang to my feet.


    His irises were bright red and shining like Jay''s had been. It was like being stared at by someone demonically possessed.


    "Not cool," I said, "Cut that out, man."


    Like Jay, Amar undid the redness to his eyes and turned them back to his regular brown.


    "Sorry," he said, though clearly he wasn''t.


    I took a few moments to collect myself from the shock I had just experienced. I wanted to go for a run badly, to coil up, but that wasn''t going to happen any time soon. Instead there had to be something else to occupy my attention and trying to see if I could use the same powers as Jay and Amar seemed like a good substitute.


    I put my hand back into the cup. Become cold, I thought over and over again. Nothing happened for several seconds and then, all at once, I felt a strange sensation in my hand. It wasn''t quite tingly, or fuzzy, or numbness; the sensation was a bit like each of those things but was also its own, special, unique one. It was hard to tell if it worked because my right hand was likely as cold as the water that surrounded it.


    I took my hand out. Jay and Amar were watching intently. I tried my left hand, putting the tips of my fingers into the water. Right away I felt the numbing coldness of the water. I yanked my hand out, shaking it to get the cold wetness off of it.


    "No way it''s that easy," I said, "No way."


    Jay put his hand in the cup and yanked his own back.


    "He did it!" he said, looking at Amar and laughing a little. Jay started clapping his hands together, his excitedness taking hold of him to the point he looked kind of goofy slapping his hands together the way he was, as if pretending to clap cymbals together.


    Once Jay had calmed down I tried the same thing with several of the other cups and found I could make the water numbingly cold each time, with the same ease. Jay''s excitement remained steady for the second and third attempt, but thankfully calmed by the fourth and final fifth. Amar simply watched us both like a middle-aged Dad watching his kid''s open Christmas presents.


    I attempted changing the colour of my eyes next. There wasn''t a mirror in B-8 so I only had Jay and Amar to tell me if I was doing it properly. I sat still and looked at Jay and imagined my eyes changing to a bright emerald green. Become green, I thought, over and over.


    That strange sensation happened again. It was kind of like the sensation one gets when turning a key in a lock and it finally gives. Unlocking, I thought, it feels like unlocking.


    Jay''s giddy excitement returned. He was like a dog that was happy to rip apart its favourite chew toy. I didn''t think I had ever been as giddy or happy as Jay appeared to be right there and then.


    I looked at Amar and could see his half-lidded eyes widen.


    "Oh no," he said.


    "What?" I said.


    "You''ve got emeralds in your eyes," he said, jokingly.


    I rolled my eyes. Of all the uses of my power so far changing the colour of my eyes weirded me out the most. Change back, change back, I thought to myself. The unlocking sensation returned and Jay''s giddy enthusiasm tempered down again.


    I sat back and folded my arms.


    "What do you guys think the cause of all this is?" I said.


    "The Golden Sky," said Jay, quickly.


    I nodded, and Amar nodded too. The Golden Sky was the strange gold light, like an aurora, that had appeared in the sky over every inch of the world about eighteen years ago.


    "The timing of that and us having these powers is too much of a coincidence," said Amar.


    "What caused it?" I said.


    Jay shrugged, "Aliens? Space radiation? Magic?"


    I grinned, "You can''t just add ''space'' to something to make it sound plausible," I said, jokingly.


    I had already given a lot of thought to what the origin of our powers might be. I hadn''t gotten very far since there was so little information to go off.


    "What I don''t get," said Amar, "Is how everyone''s powers are starting to come out now?"


    "What do you mean?" said Jay.


    Amar put a hand to his chin and chewed on his thought for a moment, "Our powers are getting stronger. But what is making that happen?"


    "Are they though?" I said, "We could just be tapping into the power that is already there; like we''re just getting better at using our powers."


    Jay nodded.


    "Maybe," he said, "The Pied Piper operation bringing us all together is making us stronger in our powers because we''re around each other? Like we''re boosting each other''s powers?"


    I nodded, "Maybe," I said, "Because before I came here I never did anything that made me think I had powers."


    "Maybe that''s why they brought us here," said Amar, "To bring every powered person together to accelerate it all."


    "Why would they want to do that though?" I said.


    "Super soldiers," said Jay, "Maybe they want to make us into superhumans so we can fight wars for them and stuff."


    "I''m not fighting any wars," I said, "Count me out."


    "Yeah, I''m not fighting anyone either," said Amar.


    "No," I said, "What about the people that have blown up? We''re here because they''re trying to figure out a way to prevent that from happening."


    Jay and Amar nodded.


    "But," I said, "Have either of you actually seen anyone blow up?"


    "I heard it," said Jay, "When I was in Lintern Village. I heard a few people blow up in the Remote Zone."


    "I heard it once," I said, "Felt the building I was in shake too. But I didn''t see anyone blow up."


    "That''s good, at least," said Jay, "I don''t think I''d ever want to see that. Ah crap!"


    "What?" I said.


    Jay held up his wrist. His Meter was showing a steady orange. Amar let out an annoyed sigh. We looked to him and saw that his Meter was also orange. I checked mine. Still green.


    "Guess we''ll see you later," said Jay, standing up, "Unless you want to come with us?"


    Yes! I thought, Count me in!


    "Better not," I said, "Don''t want to get into anymore trouble."


    "No problemo," said Jay.


    He and Amar left for the exercise area. I got up and headed back to B-9. When I was back on my bed and staring at the same bland wall to my left like before it occurred to me how suspicious the timing of Jay and Amar''s Meter''s going orange was.

 40. Ruff Rover

    I dozed off for a little while but soon became restless again. I tried doing jumping jacks and running on the spot and even a handful of push-ups, but the enthusiasm to do any of these things without coiling simply wasn''t there. Even more frustrated than when I started I went back to my bed and sat down.


    George entered B-9. He was humming a nothing tune to himself as he made a beeline for his own bed. He gave a deep, throaty sigh as he sat down. The deepness of his voice in comparison to his skinny frame was uncanny.


    "Hey," I mumbled, not knowing how I was going to approach talking with him about what happened earlier.


    "Hey," said George, not meeting my gaze as he fretted about the position of his pillow. He slipped off his plimsolls and rubbed his feet, sighing again.


    "Not very comfortable are they?" I said.


    Mine had been taken off for over an hour since entering B-9.


    "Yeah," said George, "I hate the colour too. So tacky."


    "Yeah," I mumbled back, not really knowing what to say.


    It was getting chilly so I grabbed my thin blanket and wrapped it around me. George did the same.


    "I can put up with a lot," I said, "But the worst thing about being here is the boredom."


    "Yeah," said George, "There''s nothing to do."


    "Maybe they''ll let us have a TV in here," I said.


    Then, jokingly, I said, "Could sit back and watch Ruff Rover all day."


    George came to life all of a sudden.


    "Oh my gosh," he said, "You like Ruff Rover?"


    "Heck yeah I do," I said, meaning it, "I used to have a huge stuffed Rover plush growing up."


    "Have you seen Terror at Zombie Farm?" said George.


    My own excitement on this topic tripled when he said this.


    "It''s my favourite Ruff Rover movie!" I said, "After the live action that came out in the mid-two-thousands."


    "The late nineties-to-early-two-thousands era of Ruff Rover movies is so good," said George, "It was a total renaissance."


    "Couldn''t agree more, mate," I said, "The one where the gang meet the aliens in the desert is pretty great, and the one with the witch in the community that ''larps'' as witches; they were on another level compared to the rest of the series."


    George and I continued back and forth like this, sharing our enthusiasm for the cartoon dog Ruff Rover and his human friends going around fighting monsters and thwarting evil schemes. George knew way more than me about the Ruff Rover movies, and TV shows, which made it all the more interesting for me to talk about them with him.


    "So you like cartoons?" I said.


    "Oh yeah," said George, "I want to be a cartoonist; that and a comic book artist, concept artist, etcetera."


    "That''s awesome," I said, "I used to draw manga myself. Always loved it." This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    "Used to?" said George.


    "Oh, I mean, I stopped," I said, "I didn''t really have the talent for it."


    "That''s a shame," said George.


    "I just had to admit to myself that I didn''t really enjoy drawing all that much," I said, "Like, I just wanted the finished drawing but I never really was fascinated by the way I was meant to move the pencil to make this or that line. I think to be really good I would need that kind of enthusiasm."


    "I know what you mean," said George, "I feel the same way but I work through it; there are people way more talented than me and who probably have way more fun drawing, but I just want to tell my stories and make the kind of art I like. If that means having to put in the long hours to get there I figure it''s worth it."


    I nodded. "Wish I had that kind of work ethic," I said, "Maybe if I had some talent for it I might''ve tried harder with it."


    "That sounds a bit like a cop out," said George, "To be honest."


    "Maybe," I said, "When I was fourteen there was a boy at school called Carlisle that was an absolute beast at drawing. He was only about fifteen and he could draw like a professional manga-ka. This one time my art teacher invited a handful of us students that were interested in drawing manga to see Carlisle draw and show off what he could do on a lunch break. He drew a character from that pirate show, Moon Scar; the one with the purple hair¨C"


    "Oh yeah!" said George, "The Demon Warrior."


    "Yeah," I said, "Anyway, Carlisle drew this amazing drawing of The Demon Warrior in a few minutes with a felt pen and it looked better than anything I could ever do. He gave me the drawing to keep actually. I held onto it for a few years. I don''t know if he was just way more enthusiastic about manga and that''s why he was so good, or if it was just talent. Or both."


    "Probably a bit of both," said George.


    "Is there any other shows you like?" I said.


    "Do you ever watch Tilly-Anne movies?" said George.


    "You mean the girl''s doll?" I said, "Didn''t they make like fifty straight-to-video CGI movies?"


    "Yes!" said George, his eyes going wide as if he were on a drug, "I love them."


    A solid hour followed of George and I talking about Tilly-Anne and her movies and TV shows.


    Tilly-Anne was one of the most bought children''s dolls in the whole world, and the straight-to-video movies they released had Tilly-Anne starring in reimagined fairy tales, but with the model-esque, strawberry-hair-coloured Tilly-Anne as the heroine.


    "What''s your favourite?" I asked George, less because I particularly cared, but more because it was nice letting him talk about something he was so passionate about.


    "The Cinderella duology," said George without hesitation, "In the first one it''s just a remake of the classic story, but in the second one it goes way more into the lives of the wicked step-sisters. One of them gets redeemed. She falls in love with this blacksmith with a heart of gold. It''s just so¡­"


    George made a ''chef''s kiss'' gesture.


    Neither of us spoke for about a minute, and then, without me bringing it up, George said, "I''m sorry you had to see that earlier. I was having a panic attack."


    "It''s okay," I said, "What happened?"


    "Nothing, like, happened," said George, "I mean, besides all this."


    He gestured around B-9, summing up not just our current living situation, but the entire evacuation and coming to the facility too.


    "The anxiety builds up and after a while I can''t ignore it anymore," said George.


    "When I was working at the kiosk I could feel that I was going to have a panic attack so I went into the back and just sat down in the corner. When you came in and the lights turned on it just¡­flipped a switch. I had been holding it back but I just couldn''t after that. I''m sorry."


    "No mate, it''s fine," I said.


    I had more questions but I figured George could tell me about what was going on with him in his own time.


    "You know," I said, "My friend Tiffany managed to buy some nicotine gum from Mike. He put in an order for her. Maybe we could ask Mike for a TV or something similar to watch movies on? It would probably cost us a fair bit of money from what we''re getting paid, but hey, if we''re going to be stuck here for the next couple of weeks then it might be worth it."


    "Sure," said George, "Did you want to go find him now?"


    "I don''t see why not," I said, "Want to go together?"


    "Okay," said George.


    He shrugged off his blanket, wedged his feet back into his plimsolls, and stood up. I did the same.


    "Alright, let''s go," I said, "George and Burgess and the quest to find Mike begins."


    George chuckled and we left B-9 together.

 41. Cardboard Box

    It turned out to be easy finding Mike. We had made it to the end of the corridor, heading in the direction of the cafeteria, when Mike happened by.


    "Hey Mike," I said.


    He looked to be in a bit of a hurry. He stopped and looked at George and I. I noticed then that Mike had dark rings under his eyes and his face looked pale; he was looking rough.


    "What''s up?" he said.


    "George and I were wondering if it would be possible to get a TV?" I said.


    Mike shook his head, "Nah," he said, "You''re not the first to ask. It''s just not going to work bringing TVs down here."


    "Okay," I said, "No worries."


    "What about stuff to draw with?" said George, "Like paper and pencils?"


    "Yeah we can make that work," said Mike, "We''ve set up a tablet near the cafeteria where you can put requests like this forward, so you don''t have to ask me each time."


    Mike rubbed his face as if to try and wake himself up.


    "Are you okay?" I said.


    Mike looked like he was about to give an answer but he instead sucked in a big breath and sighed. I had seen this kind of stress before back when my Dad lost his job and was looking for work anywhere he could get it.


    A moment passed and Mike mumbled, "See you later," and left.


    "Shame about no TV," I said to George.


    "I didn''t think they would let us anyway," he said, "But it didn''t hurt to ask."


    He gestured with a thumb in the direction of the cafeteria.


    "Want to get something to eat?" he said.


    "Sure," I said.


    I wasn''t particularly hungry but if I wasn''t exercising or laying around in B-9 there wasn''t much else to do. We started heading in that direction together.


    "I think Mike said it would be another week or so before we can call our families," I said.


    "Yeah," said George.


    "Is your family going to be worried about you being here?" He said.


    That seemed like an odd question but I tried not to show it.


    "Yeah," I said, "My Mum was pretty upset the night I was evacuated. She''s probably out of her mind with worry wondering what''s going on with me right now. You?"


    "My family really won''t care much," said George.


    I stopped in my tracks.


    "What do you mean?" I said.


    George realised he must have said something too personal without considering he might have to talk about it more. He shrugged and hugged himself.


    "I mean if it was my little sister that got evacuated they would be really alarmed," he said, "But not with me. I don''t think they''ll care that much."


    "Why though?" I said, "Shouldn''t your parents be worried about you?"


    George smiled as if hearing a bad joke.


    "No," he said, "At worst I think they''re going to be angry with the Pied Piper''s for taking me away from working at the Chinese takeaway business we run."


    "Your family owns a Chinese takeaway?" I said.


    "Yeah," said George, "Very stereotypical I know."


    "Do you want to keep going?" He said, "I''m getting kind of hungry."


    I nodded and we kept going towards the cafeteria. Once there, we queued up and got our food. Somewhat ironically today''s lunch included egg-fried rice. I got a large helping as well as fries and some dumplings and my usual can of cola.


    We sat and ate in silence for a while. I wondered how Tiffany was doing in the exercise area. I hadn''t seen Blain or Mikayla in a while. Daniel had been working as usual behind the counter busily going about his duties. There was no sign of Sophie. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    George scratched his wrist. To get to the rest of where his left arm itched he pulled up his left overall sleeve. For a brief moment I caught sight of a large scar, most likely one from being burned. I made an effort for George''s sake to pretend like I hadn''t seen it and sipped my can of cola.


    "How old is your sister?" I said.


    "Fourteen," said George.


    "At least she''s out of the danger range," I said.


    "Yeah," said George.


    "Do you get along with your sister?" I said.


    George smirked, "You''re a very nosy person, aren''t you?" He said.


    "Yeah," I said, "Sorry - don''t worry I''ll mind my own business."


    "It''s okay," said George.


    He sat forward, resting his elbows on the table.


    "I don''t really get along with my sister anymore," he said.


    "Why''s that?" I said.


    George squirmed in his seat a bit as if he weren''t fully in control of it.


    "My parents spoil her a lot and they''re not really nice to me. I know it sounds so horrible for me to say. I shouldn''t bad mouth my parents like this," he said.


    "Are your parents the reason you get these panic attacks?" I said.


    George considered the question then nodded slowly. He sat back, hugging himself so tightly it was as if he were confined within an invisible straightjacket.


    "I didn''t used to get them," he said, "But then I went to uni and in my first year I was hanging out with some friends; we were all part of the board game society. I told them a few private things about how my parents treat me. Stuff like how my parents would make me sit in a cardboard box all day at the Chinese takeaway."


    "Wait what?" I said, "They would make you sit in a box. All day?"


    "Yeah," said George, "And if I left the box my Dad would yell at me and beat me until I went back."


    I couldn''t believe what I was hearing. It sounded almost too evil to be true. The seriousness on George''s face however and the way he told me what he was telling me left no doubt in my mind that he was telling me the truth. Or, at the very least, what he believed to be the truth.


    "My mum would stay out of it," he said, "But she never tried to make my Dad stop."


    "What about your sister? Did they do the same to her?" I said.


    "Never," said George, "Just me. They treat her like a princess."


    I can see why you like Tily-Anne''s Cinderella adaptations so much, I thought, but decided to keep that thought to myself.


    "But why?" I said, "Why did your Dad do that sort of thing to you in particular?"


    George shrugged.


    "I think he wanted to toughen me up. Make me more manly. He was raised in a rough part of Malaysia. I''m the only son, and the oldest, so I''m expected to achieve a lot and make the family look good."


    "None of that''s an excuse to treat you like that," I said, "Like, at all."


    "I know," said George, "But I didn''t even know my childhood was weird until I went to university and talked about it to my friends. I thought it was normal but then everyone told me that it really was not normal. The panic attacks started around that time."


    "So you were at university recently?" I said.


    "Yeah," said George, "I''m in my first year doing an animation degree. It''s great, a lot of pressure and the classes are so dog-eat-dog with all the group clique dynamics; but I love it."


    George took a sip of his own can of cola and then said, "The reason I don''t get along with my sister is because she''s never tried to stick up for me. Not once. She knows she gets treated better and she''s afraid that if she sticks up for me they''ll treat her badly too."


    "She''s a coward," I said.


    George raised his hands in a ''What can we do about it?'' gesture.


    "Does your sister like Tily-Anne movies?" I said.


    "Oh yeah," said George, "But not as much as me."


    I nodded. Things were making a little more sense to me about George. I glanced away and spotted the tablet on the wall off to the side just beyond the cafeteria. A huge queue of teenagers were lined up waiting for their turn to use it.


    "Did you want to join the queue?" I said.


    "Nope," said George, "I''ll do it later tonight when everybody has gone to bed. There shouldn''t be a queue then."


    "Good thinking," I said.


    I brought my hand to my chin and felt the prickle of facial hair there.


    "I''ll put in an order for shaving razors," I said, "I''m in need of a trim."


    "Me too," said George, though he only had the faintest hairs on his upper lip.


    I checked my Meter. It was still showing a steady green. C''mon, I thought, go orange already. I smirked, realising now that I wanted the light to change to orange now; a complete reversal of how I felt about it before. It was then I got an idea. I looked to George''s Meter; it was showing an identical steady green.


    "You know," I said, "I have a theory about this place."


    George nodded, giving me his full attention.


    "Yeah," I said, "I''m starting to think the whole blowing up thing; the spontaneous-combustions, I think that was all made up."


    "Really?" said George, "Why would they do that?"


    "Well," I said, but before I could finish what I intended to say I spotted George''s Meter. It had just turned orange.


    Gotcha, I thought. There was no way it was a coincidence. Someone somewhere was listening to our conversation and had decided it was time for one of us to go to the exercise area.


    "Oh bother," said George, noticing the change in his Meter, "Looks like I''m up. And right after lunch too. Eugh."


    George stood and rubbed his stomach.


    "Catch you later," he said.


    "Alright, mate," I said, "See ya."


    George gave me a little wave then hurried off in the direction of the exercise area. I remained sat where I was for a good while thinking about all the horrible implications of my latest discovery.

 42. Obsession

    One day after another passed at the facility. Each day I wrestled with the implications that the staff at the facility might be the ones deciding when our Meters went orange. Did it mean the Meters themselves were fake and there wasn''t any spontaneous-combustion to worry about? Or were the spontaneous-combustions real but the staff used changing the Meters as a convenient way to stop us teenagers, us mice as the Pied Piper officers called us, from having conversations which questioned the legitimacy of the facility and the Pied Piper''s Return evacuation as a whole? Or, also likely, was I so bored at the facility that I was looking for problems that weren''t there and was simply making up something to worry myself about?


    All of this indecision left me in a state of not knowing what to do. So I took each day at a time and let the routine of exercise, eating, sleeping, and hanging out with Jay, Amar, and George occupy my attention.


    I had seen less of Tiffany after the day I questioned her about her changing appearance. Any time we saw each other our conversations were brief; she would tell me where she was going; either to go exercise or rest in her room, or to hang out with Blain, Mikayla, and several others elsewhere on the third floor. I had anticipated an invite to join Tiffany in this new friendship group but the offer never came. Any other time I bumped into Tiffany she also had the excuse that she was too busy to hang out because she had taken up a cleaning job on the third floor to make some extra money.


    I could now trust myself to go to the exercise area and jog normally, having enough stamina to continue jogging for several hours if needed without the need to coil. It was slower, and not nearly as fun as coiling; but that didn''t matter, what was important was that my Meter turned green eventually, and it did.


    Two weeks to the day since Tiffany and I had arrived at the facility I saw her early in the morning whilst I was on my way to the exercise area because my Meter had turned orange. There were a handful of teenagers sitting around idly talking; presumably they had finished up in the exercise area and decided it was easier to wait until breakfast was ready in the cafeteria rather than go straight back to their blocks.


    I spotted Tiffany before she saw me. She was standing near the cafeteria counter with a mop in hand, the floor around her glistening wet.


    "Hey," I said, approaching her.


    "Hey, Burg," she said.


    She stopped moping and smiled at me. She looked so different to how I had first met her. The subtle changes which I had questioned her about before were now undeniable. Her hair was now down to her shoulders, and her face popped with model-esque beauty. As beautiful as she looked, a part of me hated this new look on her; as improved as she looked she didn''t look like the real Tiffany I knew anymore. The changes to her face had increased each day, subtly at first, but had since become the sum of all the changes. I had tried to talk to her about the changes but any time I tried she shut the conversation down. I still wasn''t sure if this new look of hers was intentional or somehow accidental; no doubt the power that we all had was the catalyst of the change.


    "How''s things?" I asked, not really knowing what else to say.


    "Yeah, alright," said Tiffany, "Off to the exercise area?"


    I nodded, "Yeah," I said, "How''s work?"


    Tiffany shrugged, "Boring," she said, "But at least I don''t have to break into the two-k for the things I need."


    She chewed on the nicotine gum in her mouth as if to demonstrate where some of the money she earned was going. Silence built between us.


    Aren''t you going to say something? I thought, Didn''t we agree to stick together here? Why are you treating me like a stranger?


    "Well, I guess I better get going," I said.


    "Yeah," said Tiffany, "Don''t do anything crazy, okay?"


    "I won''t," I said, "Probably." The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Tiffany smiled and rolled her eyes. I continued on my way. There was an icy feeling in my gut after speaking with her. As nice as she was to talk to, there was something cold about every conversation with her now.


    I ran for several hours in the exercise area working up a good sweat but otherwise losing myself to my thoughts. Several times I yawned and was thankful that my body didn''t seem to need a good night''s sleep like it used to. A good night''s sleep was harder to come by these days because of George. Every night since I had gotten to know him better George had begun to have night terrors. Without fail at some point in the night I would be woken up by George screaming and wailing just like when I had found him having a panic attack before.


    It had gotten so bad Blain had requested to move to a different block, leaving just George and I to B-9. Each morning George apologized profusely about his night terrors; he felt helpless trying to stop them from happening. He had asked Mike for help with this issue and sessions were arranged between him and Abigail for him to have someone with psychiatric training to speak with. It didn''t seem like the sessions were doing any good, though George mentioned he felt better talking through things with Abigail; they had an hour session every three days.


    George had received his pen, pencils, and lots of drawing paper to occupy himself with. The things he drew and put up on the interior walls of B-9 however concerned me. He liked to draw morbid things; like people in the midst of screaming, or crying, or with extra limbs or eyes growing at places they shouldn''t on their bodies.


    "It helps me put everything I''m feeling down," said George when I asked him about it. At my request he agreed to take the pictures down, and instead kept them under his bed in an ever growing pile.


    When he wasn''t drawing, working at the kiosk, or having his night terrors, he would hang out with Jay, Amar, and I in B-8. The conspiratorial conversations about what might really be happening at the facility and the evacuation in general had devolved into talking about anything but that. It wasn''t clear to me if the others were simply not interested in figuring out what was really going on, or if they had decided not to fret themselves over it.


    Jay and Amar were much more interested in talking about their powers. They had become obsessed with using their powers to a degree that had started to make me very uneasy. For one thing B-8 was always cold, like the inside of a fridge, because Jay continually used his power to bring down the temperature of his body. His arms and hands were so cold in particular that they had a continual layer of frost over them. It didn''t look painful for Jay, on the contrary, he admired the frosted look of his hands as if they were laden with fine jewelry.


    Amar wasn''t much better. His eyes constantly changed from one colour to another, even becoming complex spirals and fractal shapes. He seemed to take delight in the shock it caused others who passed by B-8. On top of his obsession with changing the look of his eyes, Amar''s chubby build had thinned down a lot over the last two weeks; most likely due to all the exercise but, due to the speed at which he was losing the weight, also from the use of his power. Both didn''t use their powers outside of B-8 (they didn''t coil when in the exercise area), but that didn''t temper my concerns because they hardly left B-8 save for quick trips to the cafeteria, to the showers, or to go to the exercise area.


    After I had finished running for several hours in the exercise area I stopped by B-8 to find Jay and Amar just like how they had been for the last two weeks. Amar was sitting on his bed and even from across the room I could see his eyes flashing as if a rave were taking place inside his head. Jay sat cross-legged on the floor admiring his frosted arms and hands, from which icy vapors were rising.


    "Guys," I said, speaking my mind before I could stop myself, "Don''t you think you''re getting carried away with your powers? Don''t think you should give it a rest for a while?"


    They both looked at me as if I had insulted their mothers.


    "Hey man," said Jay, "If you don''t want to hang with us then that''s up to you. We''re exploring our powers. If you don''t want to join in then ¨C bye."


    "Amar?" I said, trying to get him on my side at least.


    "There''s no problem," said Amar in his usual monotone, "We''re just learning to control our powers."


    "But you''re not," I said, "You''re both becoming obsessed."


    "Okay, bye," said Jay, looking back to his hands.


    "Guys I''m serious," I said.


    "WE DON''T CARE!" Jay screamed, "NOW PISS OFF!"


    His face was livid and bright red, spittle foaming at his lips. I just stood and looked at him in complete shock. Amar''s eyes changed to a cold, glowing white, offering no help.


    "Fine," I said, shaking my head, "Whatever."


    I moved beyond B-8 and decided to leave them to it. They don''t mean it, I thought to myself, they''re just becoming obsessed. They''re not controlling their powers, their powers are controlling them.


    I had to do something about it. Speak to Mike or Abigail, maybe?


    "Burgess O''Bannon please report to C-1," said a man''s voice from the speakers throughout the third floor.


    Oh crap, I thought, what now?

 43. Many Eyes

    C-1 was a little room on the upper left side of the third floor. It was also one of the few rooms on the floor to have a door. I looked through the rectangular glass in the middle of the door on my approach and my heart leapt at what I saw. Inside I spotted Mikayla sitting at a table with a phone to her ear; there was a Pied Piper officer in the room with her, listening in on the conversation.


    Another Pied Piper officer stood outside and raised a hand for me to stop my approach.


    "My name was called," I said.


    "Just wait a moment, you''re next," said the officer.


    "Can I call home?" I said.


    The officer nodded. I couldn''t keep the happy grin from my face. I had been feeling increasingly homesick since arriving at the facility, even more so after receiving a cold shoulder from pretty much everyone. Mikayla finished up her conversation and handed the phone over to the Pied Piper officer. She was already smiling as she left C-1.


    "Hey Burgess," she said, when she saw me.


    "Hey," I said.


    She, like Tiffany, looked noticeably prettier. Most of the girls that were in Blain, Mikayla, and Tiffany''s new friendship group seemed to be on the same page so far as improving their looks with their powers was concerned.


    Surely they must be doing it intentionally, I thought. I was ninety-nine percent sure that was the case, but without asking them directly I couldn''t know for sure.


    "I just spoke with my grandma," Mikayla said.


    "Everything okay?" I said.


    "Yeah not bad," said Mikayla, "It was just nice to call home, you know?"


    "I can''t wait," I said.


    "See ya," said Mikayla, raising a hand in goodbye as she started to head off.


    "Wait," I said.


    She stopped in her tracks and waited for what I had to say with a slightly amused expression.


    "Is there anything going on with Tiffany?" I said, "I mean, you''re all starting to look¨C"


    "--different?" said Mikayla.


    She smiled and started to giggle. I half-heartedly laughed along but then felt stupid when Mikayla stopped laughing all of a sudden. I stopped too, then she seemed to giggle in earnest as if pleased to catch me out for forcing laughter of my own.


    "You know," she said, "I used to get the worst acne? Now it''s all gone. And can you believe that I''m not even wearing any make-up?"


    If I hadn''t known about everyone here having powers I wouldn''t have believed her. She, like Tiffany and the other girls in their group, had faces that looked as if they were airbrushed because they no longer had a hundred little things that might make them want to wear make-up in the first place bothering their appearance.


    "You''re up," said the Pied Piper officer standing by the door.


    "Okay," I said, but I kept my attention on Mikayla.


    "You have to be careful," I said, "People here are getting obsessed with their powers. I''ve felt the compulsion too. Don''t get carried away with it."


    "It''s fine," said Mikayla, hand waving my concern, "We know what we''re doing, init."


    She walked backwards then turned with a swish and headed off for elsewhere. A sudden bout of rage filled me. Everyone was being so careless and stupid. Couldn''t they see where all of this was headed? Clearly the more we used our powers the more compelled we felt to use them. The only way to avoid the compulsion, I learned, was from going cold turkey with it. The experience of being shot with tranquilizers and making a scene in front of the teenagers and Pied Piper officers before had been enough to shock me into not coiling again; even then it had been very difficult to avoid the temptation. Even after more than a week and a half since the incident I still felt twangs of desire to go into the coiled up state in the exercise area, but it was nothing compared to how strong the compulsion was before.


    I moved into C-1 and the officer within gestured for me to sit down, so I did.


    "Your mother is on hold," the officer said to me, "If you''re going to speak with her you have to obey certain rules. Firstly, you cannot speak about your abnormality, or the abnormalities of anyone here."


    I nodded.


    "And," said the officer, "You can''t mention the names of any facility staff who work here, nor can you speak of any of the mice that are here either. And you can''t speak about your Meter device." This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Anything else?" I said, with a tinge of rudeness.


    "Don''t try to hint at where you think the facility is located," said the officer, "We''re doing our best to keep the facility location private from the public. Understand?"


    I nodded again. The officer watched me for a moment before deciding I could be trusted to use the phone. He took the call off hold and handed the smartphone over to me.


    "Hello?" I said.


    "Burgess!" said my Mum''s voice, "Oh I''m so happy to hear your voice, we''ve all been so worried about you."


    "I''m okay, Mum," I said. My eyes were watering with the onset of tears.


    "Are you okay?" said Mum.


    "Yeah, I''m¨C" I struggled to find the right word to describe how I really was. It didn''t know how honest I wanted to be with Mum about everything that was going on. Was it a good idea to tell her things weren''t going great, or to make her believe everything was fine?


    "--doing great," I said, opting for the latter option.


    "Are they looking after you?" said Mum.


    "Yeah," I said, "Five star treatment. It''s like a holiday."


    "Oh," said Mum, happily, "And here I''ve been worried sick. The look on your face when that officer took you away, I thought I might not see you again."


    "Everything''s fine, Mum," I said, "How are you?"


    "Just working, same old," said Mum, "Your sister''s stressed with sixth form homework, and Gary''s started his new job. We''re all worried about you."


    "Have you heard from Dad?" I said.


    "He''s not feeling too well," said Mum, "Has a bad cough. He''s seeing a doctor about it."


    Each word from my Mum made me feel that bit more guilty for allowing myself to be evacuated. Then again, the alternative was to join my friend and go into hiding. Either option would have meant distancing myself from my family. Even so, the guilt was there.


    I spoke with Mum for a half hour, the conversation turning to little things like the boiler playing up again in the flat. The mundane day-to-day life back home brought on an even heavier homesickness.


    I considered saying something to Mum about what was going on at the facility, to hint at there being trouble. But then again what was she going to do with that information? Mum was smart, and could be driven to get things done when she put her mind to it, but what could she do to help me in this situation? Worse, did I want to get my Mum into trouble with the Pied Piper''s? No, the safest option was to leave Mum be and let her think everything was going fine.


    "I''m not sure when I''ll talk to you again," I said to Mum as we finished up the call, "I just want to let you know that I love you and you''re in my thoughts."


    "I love you too," said Mum, "Look after yourself."


    We both said bye and I hung up the call and handed the phone over to the Pied Piper officer. I spotted Tiffany beyond the door on my way and passed her as she made her way in.


    "Hey," she said under her breath and I said a quiet "Hey," back, then we passed like ships in the night.


    I passed B-8 on my way back to B-9. It was empty but still held the lingering chill from Jay using his power. I continued on to B-9 and decided I could use a bit of extra sleep. My thoughts were on making a beeline for bed when I came to a sudden stop.


    It took me a moment to understand what it was I was looking at.


    George was sitting on his bed with his arms around his legs. At first I thought he might be awake but then I saw something which made my stomach tie up in knots. George no longer had a face. Where his face should have been there was just smooth skin; making him look like a store mannequin. His upper body was exposed, his skin bare to see; the upper half of his fabric overalls were tattered and torn, as if something had exploded out of them. There were at least a dozen weird slits set on boil-like lumps across his arms, upper chest, and back.


    There were two particularly large slits slanted at an angle that, as far as I could tell, were being used like gills for George to breathe. For a moment I wondered if I was looking at some kind of morbid statue that only resembled George in a vague way; he wasn''t moving except for the faint breathing. Something was wrong; very wrong, something deep inside me was screaming for me to turn and run the other way. I fought the urge, though I desperately wanted to give into it.


    "George?" I said, softly.


    One of the slits opened up on George''s left shoulder. It was an eye around three times the normal size; it was half-lidded and not fixed on anything in particular as if only half-awake.


    Make one wrong move and you''re dead.


    This thought came to me with razor sharp precision. All my years of watching movies and TV shows with horrific scenarios in them told me that sudden movements and loud noises could mean the death of me.


    What I needed to do was leave and make the Pied Piper officers aware of what was happening with George. I couldn''t tell what horrible thing was happening to him but I was sure it was some twisted mix of his panic attacks and his power creating the nightmarish form before me.


    I attempted a very slow step backward out of B-9 only for my shoe to touch down on a pencil.


    The pencil skittered away and tapped against the doorway. Another eye opened on George''s left arm and the one which was already opened stirred ever more awake.


    Adrenaline pumped throughout my body trying to get me to spring into action; to move. I fought against it. Now was not the time to make rash decisions. If George began to move however I wouldn''t waste an instant bolting out of B-9. Bit by bit I moved as slowly as I could whilst still making some progress towards the doorway.


    Then, all of a sudden, there came faint whistling. Mike''s whistling. It was drawing nearer along with the sound of his heavy footsteps. More eyes on George''s arm, and others across the rest of his body began to stir awake.


    I made it beyond the B-9 doorway, just in time for Mike to walk into me.


    "Watch where you''re¨C" Mike began.


    "--shh," I said, as loud as I dared.


    "What?" said Mike, at a normal volume.


    I couldn''t see how Mike was reacting to me acting so strange because my eyes were fixed on George and all of the eyes which were opening up in the dark of B-9.


    "Burgess what''s wrong, mate?" said Mike.


    "Please," I began to say, but it was too late. The thing that was once George began to scuttle down at a frightening speed down from the bed ahead of us, moving like an insect; the arms and legs moving with the arm and leg joints bent at strange angles.


    It leapt toward us.

 44. Open Fire

    Although I saw George leap in our direction I wasn''t prepared for the pain of his body striking mine. His shoulder struck my shoulder hard enough that I feared my arm had been pummeled out of its socket. The force of the impact spun me around and I fell to the floor with a nasty thud, my left cheek feeling the full force of the fall. I lay dazed trying to get myself to move with the ground beneath me swaying as if I were on a ship at sea.


    "Mmph! Mmmph!"


    The sound of muffled screaming, Mike''s muffled screaming, hit my ears. I climbed to my feet and saw George perched on Mike''s back (Mike was a good deal taller than George, and with much more weight too). Mike thrashed helplessly as George''s hands covered his mouth.


    "George!" I screamed, to no effect.


    The faceless, many-eyed thing that George had become was smothering Mike more with every passing moment. I had to do something. Still dazed and not thinking things through I ran forward and tried to pry George''s thin arms free from Mike. As thin as George''s arms were they were squeezing and pressing around Mike''s head, the hands covering his mouth, with every ounce of strength they had. A few moments of trying to yank George''s grip off Mike''s head proved useless.


    I hesitated a moment before punching one of the large eyes on George''s right arm near the elbow. The eye was both firm, wet, and disgustingly soft beneath my punch. The eye closed a little but beyond this my punch had little effect. I punched the same eye again, and again, and although the eye became bloodshot George made no sign of releasing his grip from Mike''s face, which was turning a shade of purple.


    If I didn''t get George off Mike''s face in the next few seconds then Mike would surely be suffocated to death. Adrenaline crashed throughout my body, my chest thumping with the rush of everything that was happening.


    I don''t want to do it, I thought, but if I don''t coil up right now Mike will die.


    I had no choice. Before I could second guess my decision I entered into the power stance I had used before to enter into the coiled state and let out a scream. There wasn''t any time to build this up slowly, I had to get into the coiled state faster than I had ever done it before.


    Despite every fiber of my being wanting the coiled state to kick in immediately, despite me willing to become stronger as if the phrase become stronger were a broken record repeating over and over again, there was still a delay of several seconds before the coiled state kicked in.


    My scream grew even more intense as I felt the first onset of the coiled state take hold of me. It wasn''t going to be enough to be able to move quickly for endless hours; I needed to push my body even more, into the danger zone. Already Mike was on the floor having lost consciousness, with George still smothering him, holding him tightly like some parasite having chosen its host.


    I sucked in a huge lungful of air and screamed again. A second scream filled the air as I tried desperately to will myself into the second coiled state; it was George''s, but as if his scream were coming from the very pits of hell. His scream, as far as I could tell, was coming from the two gill-like openings in the middle of his chest. His hands shunted Mike''s unconscious body aside like a giant plush toy it no longer wanted to play with.


    My scream reached its peak as the second coiled state took hold of my body. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk!


    Like before, in the time it had taken me to reach the second coiled state, my body was now riddled with lean muscle as if I had worked out tirelessly in the gym for a year. The overalls I wore strained to keep in the new muscle.


    My time was up. George bounded on top of me, his hands going straight for my face and pressing down on my mouth to smother me.


    He wants me to be silent, I thought. It was obvious before but even more obvious now. I threw a punch at George''s faceless head and the blow sent George reeling off me. I clumsily climbed to my feet, fearful my punch may have broken the neck of my friend.


    He''s my friend, I thought, realising that in the time we had spent together at the facility that I really did consider him to be one. Not as close as my friend, not by a long shot, but certainly someone I was happy to spend time chatting about Ruff Rover with and, for his sake at least, to hear him talk at length about his love for those dumb Tily-Anne movies.


    The thing George had become seemed dazed from the punch. I stood over George, unsure whether I should stay back or try to keep him pinned to the ground. My coiled body urged me to get into motion, to take action, but I fought against the urge despite how difficult it was to do so. It was like trying to have a clear thought whilst heavy metal music played at full volume inches away.


    Somewhere down the corridor someone screamed. Before I could turn to see who it was, George''s faceless head reared up; his body raised up like an insect, the limbs bent the wrong way. Then, in a single horrible moment, George''s thin body pumped up with as much muscle as I had taken on in my second coiled state; as his body did this that hellish scream shrieked out from George''s chest again, as if it were a scream coming from the depths of a cave.


    George bounded at a sickening speed, boosted no doubt from increased muscle all over his body, towards where the other scream had come from. I remained standing where I was for a moment, dazed, breathing fast; I could barely concentrate on more than the present moment, but I needed to think. If I didn''t follow George then someone else could get hurt. I wanted more time to think but there simply wasn''t time for me to wait.


    I shot a glance at Mike and saw that he had woken up and was coughing, his face bright red, but recovering.


    I broke into a run, chasing after George. In just a few seconds George had made it down the end of the corridor and down another. It was easy to follow where he was going because screams rang out from another corridor. I ran as fast as I could, the white corridors a blur as I sprinted down the first then took a hard right into the next. I passed several frightened teenagers who were backed up against the walls.


    I raced on, my plimsolls ¨C the stupid things ¨C falling away as I ran. I had to narrowly avoid a dozen more teenagers on my way down the second corridor; why had George let them be? Surely many of them must have screamed when they saw him; I had heard the screams. Yet for some reason he had passed them by?


    I realised what George was doing when I entered into the next corridor and spotted the familiar sight of the kiosk where George worked each day. Teenagers were running away and George was perched atop the kiosk like an insect.


    I ran toward George and came to a hard stop a meter away from the kiosk. Just as I reached the kiosk the sound of heavy boot steps drew near at the other side of the kiosk as the other end of the corridor. A handful of Pied Piper officers emerged into view with machine guns raised ready to fire.


    "Get down onto the ground right now!" one of the officers shouted at George.


    George''s faceless head cocked to one side as if possibly understanding the Pied Piper officer''s order.


    "Now!" the officer shouted.


    George let out yet another hellish scream, the loudest yet. Although they hadn''t fired yet I could imagine the Pied Piper officer''s firing bullets which would tear George apart if I didn''t do something. For a fraction of a second I remembered sitting with George excitedly talking about Ruff Rover together and the momentary comfort that had brought me. Something about that memory pushed me forward.


    The Pied Piper officers opened fire.

 45. I Can Still Do More!

    I wasn''t going to reach George in time. I simply couldn''t move fast enough. Bullets showered the kiosk just as George''s nightmarish form sprang through the doorway behind the kiosk. By some miracle it didn''t seem like any of the bullet hit George.


    "Don''t move!" shouted the Pied Piper officer who was leading the handful of other officers nearer.


    No time to think. The complete stupid idiot I am threw my hands up and moved around the kiosk towards the doorway.


    "Stop or we''ll shoot!" the officer ordered and I knew for sure he would if I dared continue onward.


    For a brief moment I considered stopping in my tracks, maybe to get down on my knees with my hands raised for them to handcuff me. They would find out I had nothing to do with any of this, that I had even saved Mike ¨C kind of ¨C and they would let me go. But what about George?


    There was a single second where the officer, if he were so inclined, could have unloaded the rest of his bullets into me.


    "Stop!" he shouted, but didn''t open fire. This gave me the time I needed to move through the doorway.


    George was at the end of the doorway with his chest pressed against the closed door ahead. Dozens of packets of overalls were scattered on the floor between us.


    He wants to go to that spot I found him in before, I thought, He just wants to be alone.


    I continued forward, lowering my hands and making my way towards George. The eyes on his arms and back were searching angrily around. They all fixed on me as I approached. I froze.


    "George," I said in a whisper, "It''s me. It''s Burgess."


    The eyes remained fixed in anger.


    "I''m going to open the door for you. You can go to sleep," I said.


    I continued inching closer the soles of my feet touching down on the plastic wrapping of the overalls which were threatening to trip me up.


    I heard the rattle of guns and bootsteps behind me. I dared a glance backward and saw the officers filling the doorway.


    The strange slits in George''s chest let out an agonized moan as if warning the officers to stay away. I pressed my hands together as if in prayer and silently begged for the Pied Piper officers to stop their approach.


    The Pied Piper officer at the head of the squad was a middle-aged man with black hair with lots of gray in the roots. I met his cold gaze and stared down the barrel of his gun.


    You''ve had a gun pointed at you before, I thought, You can do this. You can do this. At least don''t piss yourself this time.


    "He just needs to go into that room and go to sleep," I said in a whisper.


    I didn''t know this to be a certain fact, it was just a hunch. But I was this deep into this mess now so I was going to try and see it through to the end. If my nerves would hold out at least. A part of me just wanted to get on the floor and put my hands behind my head and let the officers take control of the situation. But, without me in the way, I was sure they would open fire on George.


    Why do you care? A part of me screamed, Why are you risking your life for George?


    It was a great question. I wasn''t trying to be selfless. I could hardly think at all let alone be decisive about what I was doing.


    "Stand aside," said the gray-haired officer in a whisper.


    His whispering gave me hope. He seemed to understand that yelling and coming in guns blazing wasn''t the only way to handle this.


    "Please," I said, "I can get him in there. There''s no way out. Once he''s asleep I''ll¨C" This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    "Last warning," said the officer, still whispering, "Don''t make me shoot you, lad."


    My guts wanted to melt out of me. My mouth frowned as I fought the urge not to cry. Please don''t kill me, I wanted to beg.


    I wanted to be brave, to tell the officer what was what. But I was so afraid I could hardly stop myself from trembling.


    "I-I''ve g-got this," I stammered out, pitifully.


    It was quiet enough now I could hear the faint sound of the officer''s gloved hand squelching as he placed his finger on the trigger of his machine gun.


    It''s whatever, I thought, and turned my back to him. No turning back now. I walked towards George, whose hand was gripping the handle to the door and making it shudder. I reached George and put my hand on his hand that was gripping the door handle. I pushed down, and the door opened, and George''s weight pushed the door inward.


    Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!


    I could almost hear the sound of the officer''s bullets ripping into my back, shredding my body apart and murdering me. Surely George and I had moved too much and the trigger-happy officer was going to put an end to this situation?


    No gunfire. Just silence. I breached the doorway and stood before George. His faceless head jerked about like a stop motion puppet whilst his many eyes searched the room, scanning every nook and cranny.


    "Look," I said to him, pointing to the corner I had found him in before, "It''s quiet over there."


    His head made an odd rattling sound, like bone clicking against bone, and then he started to move slowly over to the corner.


    Then the sirens in the facility began to wail and lights in the corridor outside began to flash in intervals of red and white.


    George screamed his hellish scream and lunged at me. My body was tensed up and ready for the impact of his against mine this time. His coiled up body and mine smacked together. He had more momentum, pushing me back towards the doorway. I planted my right foot down and by some miracle I touched down on the tiled floor and not one of the overall packets, on which I would surely have slipped. George''s chest-lungs let out a guttural cry in short bursts as if trying to fill the intervals between the wail of the sirens. Like some twisted sumo match he was winning, pushing me further towards the officers with their guns.


    I wanted to try and tell George to calm down but there would be no hope of that with all the sirens wailing. If George bested me in this battle of strength no doubt the officers would open fire on him, and, presumably me as collateral damage. Losing here wasn''t an option.


    With every ounce of my strength I pushed back against George. Even in my coiled up state taken up to such a high level of intensity I could feel myself on the losing side of our collision. The muscles in my arms and legs and torso were burning, aching, screaming for a stop to the exertion demanded of them. Never had I experienced this particular kind of agony before. All I had to do was give into the desire to give up and the agony would come to a stop. I clenched my teeth and let my face fill with rage, spittle foaming at my mouth, my brow narrowing down.


    No! Not yet! I can still do more!


    I didn''t have the capacity to think of coiling up even further; I didn''t even know if I could do that. That simply wasn''t an option because every last bit of my strength and concentration was fixed on keeping George at bay.


    In my desperation I punched George right where the slit in his lungs were. The blow felt as if it hit hard but George''s strength didn''t relent one bit. I staggered back another step, losing ground.


    That''s not going to work, I thought, try something else.


    The idea that came to me then was madness, but I had to try it.


    "R-Ruff Rover!" I cried out, tears threatening to leave my eyes, "R-Ruff Rover!"


    George''s iron grip and pressing weight relented just a tiny fraction. I had to keep pushing and singing at the same time and it was taking every last bit of strength I had not to buckle under the power of George''s body.


    "The best dog going from town to town, he''s our favourite hero hound, it''s Ruff Rover, Ruff Rover, the crimefighting hero hound!"


    George''s strength relented just enough for me to start pushing him backward, step by step. I kept singing the theme song of the Ruff Rover show because our lives depended on it.


    "He''s the dog who''s going to say ''I have come to save the day!'' Ruff Rover! Ruff Rover!"


    George continued to back up, his strength relenting a bit more with each passing lyric. I kept singing the song, but brought my voice down to a whisper. The sound of the sirens weren''t helping at all but a kick quick of the door slamming it shut behind us muffled it just enough for me to continue whispering the Ruff Rover song.


    "Villains, your time is up, over! Over! Why? Because here''s Ruff Rover! Ruff Rover!"


    By the time I finished the song for the second time George all but let me ease him into a sitting position in the corner of the laundry room. Outside the muffled sound of the sirens stopped. I sat down with George and put my arms around him in a hug, doing my best to ignore the gross sweatiness of his body and the slickness of his open eyes on his arms. I hoped with every fiber of my being the officers had the sense not to come barging in any time soon. One minute passed into another and gradually each of George''s eyes across his body closed as if falling asleep.


    The motion sensing lights in the laundry room flickered out.


    "Burgess?" said George. He was back.

 46. Black Hair

    Although I was sitting with my arms around George in the dark of the laundry room, I was fighting my own battle to regain control of my body. George had returned to normal, and had started to tremble and sweat as I held him.


    "It''s going to be alright, mate," I said to him. I wasn''t sure if I really believed this, but it seemed like the right thing to say to keep him calm.


    My muscles were still thick and firm across my body; in one sense it felt great, euphoric even, but they had to go. I was afraid I might not be able to return myself to normal, that the Pied Piper officers might have to tranquilize me again.


    My body trembled as if I were freezing cold, though sweat layered my body, smelling quite pungent in the confines of the laundry room. The overalls felt irritatingly tight all over. If getting coiled up was going to be a regular thing for me, which I hoped it wouldn''t, then I would be in need of overalls that could better accommodate the muscle.


    Instead of trying to power down all at once I tried instead to power down bit by bit. The idea occurred to me all of a sudden, a true light-bulb moment understanding of how I might be able to return myself back to normal. Bit by bit I willed my body to lose the muscle; no more power, I thought, over and over again. My body in turn responded by doing just that, diminishing the muscles from the coiled up state until I was back to my normal self again.


    "Phew," I said, aloud.


    There was a building commotion beyond the laundry room door. Lots of boot-steps and Pied Piper officers barking orders at each other and the teenagers that had come to see what all the trouble was about. I couldn''t hear much, and for a moment I considered trying to make my hearing better using my power; but then decided against it. Powers were what was getting us into this mess in the first place. Using these powers was something that needed to be taken seriously. George had proved just how out of hand things could get if we lost control.


    "George?" I said.


    "Yeah?" said George, in a pitiful voice.


    "You okay, mate?" I said.


    "No," he said.


    I stayed silent, staring at the sliver of light peeking out from under the door which led to the hallway; the light flickered with the coming and going of officers preparing to barge in.


    "You had another one of your panic attacks?" I said, "And this happened, right?"


    "It''s my fault," said George.


    "You did this on purpose?" I said.


    "I just wanted the bad thoughts to stop," he said.


    He then broke into tears, sobbing in my arms. His breathing quickened and he repeatedly sniffled. He sobbed the way my mother used to sob back before she and my Dad got divorced; a kind of horrible defeated crying that made my heart feel like it was being wrung out.


    There were many times in my childhood I would have torn my own heart out if it meant making my mother feel better. It seemed cruel that I could understand why she was so sad, that I could want her to be happy, yet in some horrible way I felt responsible for her unhappiness; that maybe if I didn''t exist then she would have the room she needed to grow and change and live her life to the fullest. My mother loved me to the point I was sure there was no one else in the world she loved more. Somehow that made it worse because small, strange, stupid me didn''t know how to handle that kind of responsibility.


    George bowed his head and tried to say something but whatever he intended to say was lost among the gibberish brought about by his tears.


    The door to the laundry room was kicked in. Light splashed inside and four Pied Piper officers darted inside with machine guns raised.


    "Don''t move!" one of them shouted, "Hands up!"


    George and I did as we were ordered.


    "Please don''t hurt me!" George begged, "I''m sorry, I''m sorry!"


    "Shut up!" said the officer issuing commands.


    George didn''t say anymore but he did start to weep with renewed vigor. He was scared and justifiably so.


    It was the middle-aged officer who had decided not to shoot through me to get to George. He put his machine gun aside and instead retrieved a handgun holstered at his hip. He looked to the doorway behind him and quickly holstered his gun again. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I heard the clacking of Abigail''s heels before she entered inside. Her eyes were frantic with worry; her gaze in particular was fixed on me. She put her hand to her chest and sighed with relief.


    "Burgess," she said, offering her hand to me, "It''s okay, come with me."


    "What about George?" I said.


    "They just have to check him," said Abigail. She shot a look at the officer who had just holstered his gun; the officer kept his gaze on George, looking at him with narrowed eyes.


    "He''s fine," I said, "George isn''t that thing anymore. He''s not dangerous."


    "We know," said Abigail.


    She stepped forward and ushered me to stand up. I did so slowly, keeping an eye on the officer who flashed a quick look at me and then trained his eyes again on George. The other officers in the room continued to keep their machine guns trained on George. Not tranquilizers. Machine guns.


    "Let''s go," said Abigail.


    She tugged on my hand. I resisted it, staying where I was.


    "I''m not leaving without George," I said.


    "It''s okay, Burgess," Abigail said, "Let them do their jobs."


    Abigail tugged on my hand some more. I relented, letting her guide me as if I were blind out of the laundry room.


    "Crap," said Abigail; she nearly twisted an ankle after slipping on one of the fallen overall packets.


    She led me out to the main corridor. I took in the sight of the bullet-ridden kiosk, which seemed like some strange work of modern art now the gunfire had ceased. There were a dozen Pied Piper officers in the corridor; they had cordoned off the area with yellow tape. Mike was standing at the opposite wall; his face was still a shade of red. He looked very fragile.


    The corridor at both ends was empty.


    "Where is everyone?" I said.


    "In the cafeteria," said Abigail, "Until they''re told it''s safe for them to go back to their blocks."


    Abigail looked up at me and put her hand to my cheek.


    "Are you okay?" she said.


    I froze, not knowing what to say to this sudden concern for my well being.


    "I, eh, yeah, I''m fine," I said.


    All of a sudden there came a sudden yelling.


    "HE''S CHANGING!" the voice yelled. It belonged to a Pied Piper officer.


    I turned and looked beyond the kiosk to the doorway and saw several flashes of light and the sound of machine gun fire coming from the laundry room. It lasted several seconds then stopped.


    "George!" I yelled, and started to move towards the doorway.


    Abigail''s hand gripped mine like a vice.


    "Burgess, no!" she cried.


    I turned back to look at her and her eyes were wide like they had been when she had first entered the laundry room to find George and I.


    Everyone in the corridor became very still with their gazes fixed on the doorway which led to the laundry room. I could feel Abigail''s hand gripping mine to the point it hurt. I didn''t know what to do so I kept my gaze on the doorway like the others.


    They shot George?


    That was obviously what had just happened. The Pied Piper officers had just shot him. The gunfire had rang out loud and clear. In the wake of the gunfire was a horrible silence which held from one moment to the next. I became aware of my own breathing and the rising and falling of my chest. My heartbeat was accelerating, beating faster and harder until the sound of my heartbeat was strangely meshed with the unbroken silence filling the corridor.


    I heard the crinkle of boots on plastic. The Pied Piper officer who had taken out his handgun emerged at the doorway. His inscrutable face fixed on me.


    "What happened?" said Abigail.


    She stood by my side, her hand still firmly holding mine.


    "The boy started to change," said the officer, "We took him out."


    I didn''t faint. I didn''t feel the world spin. I didn''t hear a ringing noise in my ears. Everything around me was crushingly normal as if uncaring that George had just been murdered. It felt wrong of me just to stand where I was aware that they had just killed George. My brain tried to make sense of what was happening but all I felt was a blank nothingness.


    He''s not really dead, is he? I thought.


    "Get him out of here," said the officer, gesturing to me before tucking his thumbs into his belt as if he were some cowboy.


    "Come on, Burgess," said Abigail, trying her best to be stoic.


    I didn''t move. I couldn''t. I was completely numb. None of this made sense.


    "Now, Miss Hoffman," said the officer.


    "Burgess!" said Abigail, taking hold of me by the shoulders, "We have to go now. Trust me, please."


    I stared down at her. She seemed to know what needed to happen. I forced myself to try and think things through. If they had just shot George ¨C murdered him ¨C then that meant I was in danger too. I was out in the open in the corridor but I couldn''t be sure the Pied Piper officers would care much about being seen executing one of us teenagers. I didn''t have the luxury of staying where I was to try and understand every last bit of what had happened. Every moment I stood near that black haired officer was another moment he might turn his gun on me next. There was something about the way he was looking at me that told me he would relish doing so.


    "Okay," I said to Abigail, and I walked with her to the left side of the corridor. We ducked beneath the yellow tape on our way and continued on.


    For a few minutes there was just the warmth of Abigail''s hand holding mine, the clomping of her heels filling the corridor, and the white corridors of the third floor leading from one to another.


    We reached the checkpoint. Two Pied Piper officers checked our IDs, scanned us both using hand detectors, then let us pass through to the elevator.


    "Where are we going?" I said to Abigail once the elevator door dinged and closed.


    "To see Dad," she said.

 47. Mice Like You

    The trip up to the first floor floated by me like a dream. I was outside of myself looking in. If Abigail hadn''t led the way I would have stopped and found a corner to hide myself away in. With each step I took I wondered if the crushing weight threatening to overwhelm me would finally bore down on me with full force.


    Even worse I was sure I was on the verge of a panic attack which reminded me all the more that George, who had so many, was now dead; murdered by the Pied Piper officers whose names I didn''t know. I couldn''t remember their faces with the exception of the officer which had led the way in; middle-aged, black hair tinged with gray, a hard-lined face that had seen its fair share of trouble. I wondered if that face would be burned into my memory for the rest of my life. Or would I forget his face over time? I didn''t know which was worse.


    A blur of offices passed me by. It was strangely nice to see something different than the bland white corridors of the third floor again. Abigail continued to pull me along, her small sweaty hand holding mine; her heels clomped on the first floor carpeting. So dark and blue, I thought, looking around. The stress was making me stupid.


    We arrived at the top left corner office on the first floor; Robert Hoffman''s office; the office belonging to Abigail''s Dad.


    Robert was standing at his desk with a phone to his ear. He raised a hand for Abigail and I to stay where we were by the doorway.


    "He was not a threat," said Robert to whoever he was talking to on the phone. Robert was angry, his wrinkled brow set with even deeper lines than usual.


    "I know what he did," said Robert, talking respectfully despite the slight anger in his tone, "I just didn''t know this was the wild west where cowboys go shootin'' just cos'' some kid had a panic attack that got out of hand. No. No I won''t. I understand. I said I understand. Hello?"


    Whoever was on the other end of the call must have hung up. Robert discarded his phone onto his desk as if he were skimming a rock.


    "Dad," said Abigail.


    She hurried across the room and started to tidy up the mess her father had made. Robert took a moment to collect himself, holding a hand to his face.


    "Burgess, come in," he said, "Close the door behind you please."


    I did as he asked, again feeling as if I were having an outer body experience. The feeling wasn''t unwelcome. I really didn''t want to be myself feeling every horrible feeling that was coursing like acid through my body.


    "I want to go home," I said in a trembling voice.


    Robert nodded and opened his arms, gesturing for me to come to him. I did so, taking small steps. He walked the breadth of his huge office and embraced me in a hug. It felt like getting hugged by my Dad. For such a short man Robert was stocky, and firm. He held me in a hug for several moments before putting a hand behind my head.


    "I''m so sorry, Burgess," he said, "What they did to George is unforgivable."


    At that moment I wanted to thrash out of Robert''s soft grip, but I fought the urge. He was showing me kindness and as horrible as I felt I wasn''t going to throw that aside ungratefully.


    "Please," I said, tears running down my cheeks, "I want to go home. Take me on the next flight out."


    "Oh, Burgess," said Robert. He embraced me again, firmer the second time. I started to weep the way George had wept. It lasted for several seconds before I managed to get a grip of myself just enough to stop more tears.


    Finally Robert released his grip and I eased away from him.


    "Take a seat, Burgess," he said.


    I sat with him on the sofa, a leg''s worth of space between us. He no longer held me but he had his arm reaching over my shoulders as if to let me know I had his undivided attention.


    "Abigail," said Robert, giving a nod to his daughter.


    Abigail understood what he was asking of her right away. The desk tidied, she kicked off her heels and then crouched down beside me and started to undo the Meter from my wrist. She used her long nails to open it up; she fiddled with some of its inner workings and the lights which told me if I were in the green, orange, or red, went out.


    "Is that safe?" I said.


    "Ah, would you look at that, the thing''s busted," said Robert, but in a way that made me think he was saying it for whoever might be listening in on the Meter to hear.


    Abigail dropped the Meter to the floor, grabbed one of her shoes, and smashed it into pieces.


    Finished, Abigail scooped up the remains and held them. She moved over to the sofa and sat arm on the other end from us.


    "Why am I here?" I said.


    "We''re keeping you safe from those neanderthals," said Robert. He gestured to Abigail, "If she hadn''t gotten to you when she did they would have done the same to you as they did to George."


    "Why?" I said, "He wasn''t going to hurt them."


    "I know, I know," said Robert, "And they knew that too. But the fact of the matter is they don''t give a damn. All they needed was an excuse to play cowboy."


    "So can I leave?" I said, "Please?"


    Robert took a breath.


    "No, Burgess," he said, "You don''t want to leave."


    Before I could protest he raised a hand.


    "Burgess," he said, "What I mean to say is you do not want to leave."


    He fixed his gaze on me to drive home his point. But I do want to leave, I thought, I do, I do, I do.


    "I''m going to have a very frank conversation with you, Burgess," said Robert, "But first I need your word that whatever we discuss won''t leave this office?"


    I thought about his question for a moment. Did I want to know whatever it was he was about to tell me? Would I be better off not knowing?


    "Okay," I said in a whisper.


    "Good," said Robert, nodding as if hearing an orchestra play just the way he wanted, "You''re not getting out of here on any flight they plan," he said, "Nobody has."


    "What about¨C"


    "--nobody, Burgess," said Robert.


    "Then where are they?" I said, "The teenagers that left before?" You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    "I don''t know," said Robert, "They may be somewhere else in the facility. Another floor maybe. Abigail and I don''t have access to all the levels."


    "What''s going on here?" I said, "I thought this was supposed to be a voluntary testing facility."


    Robert gave me a pitying look.


    "No," he said, "That''s just what you were told to make sure you were compliant."


    "But it was Abigail who offered me to come here," I said.


    I looked at Abigail and she gave me an inscrutable look back.


    "She was doing her job because, at the time, she believed the same lies they told you," said Robert, "The same lies they told me. We''ve learned the truth about what is going on here and we''re not going to stand for it. Ain''t that right, honey-bee?"


    "That''s right, Dad," said Abigail.


    "What''s going on here?" I said.


    "Control, Burgess," said Robert, "The Pied Piper operation is about making sure as many mice are corralled into one place as possible. Every step of the evacuation has been designed to separate the powered from the regular."


    "The Meters are fake, aren''t they?" I said.


    Robert nodded, "Yes," he said.


    "And the spontaneous-combustions?" I said.


    "Fake too," said Robert, "A fiction concocted by the Pied Piper higher ups to justify the entire operation. Order out of chaos."


    My friend''s right, I thought. I smirked at the realisation that my friend had been right this entire time for the simple wisdom of not trusting the government.


    "Who is in charge of all this?" I said.


    "Hundreds of people in high places," said Robert, "The rabbit hole goes deep."


    "I just want to go home," I said, "How do I get home?"


    "There is no going home for you, Burgess," said Robert, "My boy you have to understand the predicament you''re in. You''re not just up against the Pied Piper operation; every government in the world, bar a few, are lock-step in their mission to make sure mice like you don''t become the next global catastrophe. The spontaneous-combustions might be false but you''ve started to see first hand the kind of things you and your fellow inmates are capable of. That''s right now, what about tomorrow? What about in ten years? The powers that be in the world want to maintain the status quo and any threat to it; especially an existential one like you mice, is unconscionable."


    "This means there is no going home for you anymore, Burgess. You can''t waltz out of here and go have a cup of tea at home with Mommy. You''re on the books; they have your DNA samples; there''s not a city in the world where you could hide on your own initiative."


    "Then what can I do?" I said, "Help me. Please."


    I could see Robert starting to become emotional himself, the corners of his mouth tugged down as if fish hooks were in them.


    "I am going to help you," he said, "But I need you to work with me if I''m going to get you out of here."


    "What do I need to do?" I said.


    "Right now? You need to keep your head and look out for yourself in this place," said Robert, "Abigail and I will do everything we can but we don''t have control over the Pied Piper officers. If they''re given an excuse to take you out they''ll do it."


    "What do you get out of this?" I said. It was a bold question, but given the state I was in I didn''t care.


    "I see a bright future, Burgess," said Robert, "I don''t fear mice like you. I see potential. I''ve built many powerful connections over a very long career. I can do what I can to get you out of here and keep you safe, but it isn''t going to be a free ticket. Do you understand?"


    It took me a few moments to understand the implications of what Robert was saying. No free ticket. Powerful connections. I didn''t think Robert was the type to have kept his hands clean of trouble.


    "You want to use me?" I said.


    "I want to help you," said Robert, "But there ain''t no such thing as a free lunch. You come with me and Abigail and you''ll have to do things to survive you won''t like. But you''ll have an edge. You''ll have your powers."


    Robert could see the hesitation apparent on my face.


    "Or," he said, "You can be a fish in a barrel here and wait until they decide your time is up."


    He lent forward.


    "And they won''t stop with you, Burgess," he said, "They''ll come for your family. You don''t think they let you talk to your mother out of the goodness of their hearts, do you, my boy? That was them laying the groundwork to let you know they have access to your family to make sure they can keep you in line."


    My heart, which already felt like it had been repeatedly stabbed, endured its largest yet, as if a sword were being driven right through it.


    "If you want out of here with us," said Robert, "I''ll make sure your family is safe. I''ll give you my word."


    Silence filled the office. It was all so much to take in. Most of all my concern for my family burned at the fore of my mind. No matter what I had to keep them safe. It was because of me they were in danger in the first place.


    "Why do I have powers in the first place?" I said.


    Robert forced a smile, "Nobody knows. Thousands of tests, observations; they still don''t know. Or if they do the likes of Abigail and I haven''t been made privy to it."


    "Is the Golden Sky real?" I said.


    "As far as we know," said Robert, "If there''s an answer to all this we don''t have it."


    My head was throbbing. Every thought hurt but I had to concentrate.


    "When can I leave?" I said.


    "As soon as I can arrange for it," said Robert, "It will take time. Weeks."


    "Weeks?" I said, in dismay.


    Robert didn''t try to explain to me why it would take that long. I could only imagine the amount of hoops and favors it would take to circumvent the will of governments around the world; the kind of connections Robert would need to have to be able to pull something like this off. Somehow I had made a powerful friend.


    "Why me?" I said.


    "You''ve got your head glued on," said Robert, "I don''t know for sure but I think you''re a good kid. Are you going to prove me wrong?"


    I shook my head, "No," I said, "Not if I can help it."


    Robert broke into a smile and patted me on the shoulder. Without meaning to, he gave away how little he was concerned about George. I''m what he wants, I thought, George be damned.


    I decided then I didn''t trust Robert. Not at all. But the question was did I trust him enough to take the ticket he was offering out of the facility?


    I considered for a moment how far I might be able to get on my own. Maybe I could escape the facility ¨C going up the elevator didn''t seem that tough an ask. I didn''t know where the facility was; it could be France, England, Wales (the helicopter flight was thirty-to-forty-ish minutes, so we couldn''t be that far all things considered). Could I survive as a fugitive on the run, with the full force of the government tracking me down? I had seen how impossible it was for criminals to escape police vehicles in car chases on TV.


    What would I do for money? Where would I stay? Who could I trust? How long would I have to be on the run for?


    I had already considered this line of questioning a hundred times before during my stay at the facility. The ugly truth was that I wouldn''t get far at all as I currently was. Coiling up wouldn''t protect me from machine gun fire. Maybe, maybe I could survive on my own eventually, assuming my powers continued to grow; but what if they didn''t? What if I had already plateaued? What if the Pied Piper officers murdered me before I had the time to grow into my powers proper?


    I needed more time.


    All of a sudden Tiffany''s face flashed in my mind. Not the model-esque version she had used her power to become, but the one that had been my friend; who had promised to stick with me through thick and thin way back in Lintern Village. She might have made some distance between us and I didn''t understand why, even so, I wanted to continue to honor our agreement.


    "Is it just me?" I said, "What about everybody else here?"


    "We can''t help everyone, Burgess," said Abigail from behind me.


    "But we will help as many as we can," said Robert, "You can help us decide who''ll be a good fit for a ticket out of here."


    I started to say Tiffany''s name but Robert raised a hand.


    "Not now, my boy. First you need to take some time alone to put yourself back together. We need you strong up here," Robert pointed to his temple, "You can''t break, Burgess. You don''t have that luxury."


    I nodded. "I understand," I said, "I won''t break."


    "That''s right," said Robert, winking at me with pride.


    Abigail stood up.


    "Time to go," she said, "You can stay down on the fourth floor for a few days until things have calmed down. Let''s go."


    She slipped on her heels and then gave Robert a firm hug. I had more questions to ask Robert but the siren song of being someplace alone to gather my thoughts was too strong to protest.


    "Remember," said Robert, "Not a word to anyone about this. We''ll be in touch."


    I nodded and left with Abigail.

 48. Lightbulb Hands

    Five days passed since George was murdered. I spent all of my time on the fourth floor in one of the rooms which was laid out identically to the blocks on the third floor. The room I stayed in had a door which could be locked. Not by me, but by Pied Piper security. It was a section of the fourth floor which was intended to hold any mice who needed to be held someplace other than the third floor; lockable doors meant these rooms were essentially the prison cells of the facility.


    My door was never locked however. I could come and go as I pleased. The only place I could go (as I was always under the surveillance of the cameras making sure every inch of the floor was being monitored) was the bathroom.


    Abigail had brought me what she could to help me not get bored in my room; a deck of cards with which I could play ''patience'' (as my grandma called it) or create a tower out of them. I also had a thick stack of white paper and several pens with which to draw and write to my heart''s content. I half-heartedly tried filling my time with these things but over the five day period all I did was stare off into space. I was thinking. A lot. It was as if my body was on some kind of powered-down mode and my brain was working overtime to compute every last thought into something which might help me better understand my situation.


    If I wasn''t staring at one of the walls I would instead take long hot showers. There was something about the hot water and the pain of it across my back which comforted me.


    Each day Abigail would bring me breakfast and dinner, both of which mostly went uneaten. I was hungry but I simply couldn''t eat more than a few bites. Drinking water was like trying to drink a glass of sticky syrup; my throat could barely swallow it. Abigail was worried about me, she talked to me for a few minutes each time she stopped by to give me breakfast and dinner (which was of better quality than usual because it was the meals made for the facility staff on the second floor); but I barely registered a word she said. She might have mentioned something about the last time she was in New York City but I hadn''t paid much attention.


    The Meter on my wrist was a constant reminder of the lies all of us teenagers had been told. Sat in the dark room with only a green light coming from the motion sensor light which was off as a means to see in the dark, I replayed back in my mind everything that had happened since I had been evacuated from my home.


    I remembered the first time my Meter had turned orange, and how they had marched Tiffany and Alex Landly and I through Lintern Village to the gym. That ugly, spaceship-like gym that stuck out garishly among the rustic charm of the village. I thought about what Robert had said about the Pied Piper operation being planned for at least a decade by the powers that be, and wondered if that horrible modern gym had been built specifically for the purpose of having a place within Lintern with which to monitor and carry out those dreadful treadmill trials.


    How could I have known the government, or whoever was really behind the Pied Piper operation, had been planning it all for so long? I had assumed everything they were doing was done on the fly, trying their best to carry out an operation with little time or planning. Yet, if Robert was to be believed, they had planned the whole operation as a means of finding as many powered teenagers in the population as possible.


    It was honestly impressive how Machiavellian the plan was. Create a fake crisis like teenagers blowing up ¨C which must have meant all the footage online was faked ¨C and in the heat of that crisis watch as everyone in society willingly gives up their own children to be evacuated in the name of safety.


    How many times had I considered not going along with the Pied Piper evacuation? How many times did I tell myself to stick with it for fear that I might blow up and be a hazard to those around me, especially my family? There were too many times to count because I had been constantly second-guessing my decision to be evacuated from the very start. I had trusted the government just like my friend had told me not to and now I was living the result of my decision.


    Idiot. Stupid. Dumbass.


    I had never hated myself more than I currently did. I was weak, pathetic, slow to action, naive, and utterly able to save George.


    Every time I thought about him I flip-flopped between rage and fear. Rage because they had murdered him in cold blood. Fear because I might end up like George and transform into some nightmarish creature.


    On the fifth day, in the early morning hours, I dreamed about George. It was a simple dream; we were watching Ruff Rover together back in my old family home. We were sitting on the old red sofa where I loved to watch movies with my Dad.


    I woke from the dream feeling warm and happy and well-rested. And then I remembered George was dead and everything which had happened before and after. Each mounting detail which filled my mind brought me deeper into feelings of fear and rage and helplessness.


    I clenched my fists and they trembled impotently and then, because I wished so badly to feel some kind of relief from the misery I was in, I let my hands burn with the rage I felt. The dark room brightened with a soft yellow glow; the room was chilly with conditioned air, so the sudden heat emanating from my fists was like being near a hot stove. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The palms of my hands were glowing like hot lightbulbs. In the dark my eyes blotched, with those small purplish blotches which occur when you look into a bright light for too long. I tried not to look directly at my hands, but at the same time I was fascinated by what I was accomplishing.


    My hands are searingly hot, I thought.


    My fascination with what I had accomplished with my hands overrode any trepidation I might have had pressing my hand to the floor.


    Sishhh!


    The area where my palm touched the floor (I was reaching down from my bed which was low to the ground) sizzled. I moved my hand back, the motion catching the attention of the motion sensor lights. I could see clearly the black hand-shaped imprint left on the floor and could smell a burnt smell.


    I tried clenching my fists and found when I did so both of my fists became orbs of light, almost as if there were hand shaped light bulbs shining with bright heat at the end of my arms. My childish excitement of doing something so superhuman-like, something which wasn''t just increasing the musculature of my body, was soured when the thought of George sprang into my mind again. With it came the same rage. The heat in my fists became even more intense, matching how I felt. How hot are my hands right now? I wondered.


    I imagined punching a Pied Piper officer in the face with my fists like this. No, with my fists burning bright and with my body in its maximally coiled up state. Officer Black Hair would have his face simultaneously pulverized and seared like minced meat. That was the rage again. Fear followed swiftly in its wake.


    What if I really did what I imagined? What if I punched officer Black Hair so hard with my heated fists that he died? What if I lost control of my power the same way George had let himself become what he became?


    This is my heat, my power, I thought, the rage I feel powers these hands. I''m the intense rage which will get revenge for George.


    No!


    With every ounce of my will I begged whatever power I had to remove the heat from my hands. It happened immediately, the room becoming less hot and less bright. I shot up from my bed and hurried out to the corridor (more motion-sensing lights flickering on as I progressed along the corridor) and I made my way into the bathroom. When I reached the sink I washed my hands. In a way doing so was purely symbolic. My hands weren''t dirty, but it felt good to feel the cold water touch my normal-again hands. I had wondered if the water might have sizzled on my skin from the heat, like putting a hot frying pan under hot water, but it didn''t happen.


    I pulled several paper towels from the dispenser on the wall and wiped my hands dry. I stopped and looked at myself in the mirror. The same Burgess I remembered stared back at me. Short brown hair, blue eyes, round-ish face that had some stubble on it (I had ordered an electric razor and had used it, but I hadn''t thought or cared to bring it down to the fourth floor and hadn''t bothered to ask Abigail for it either).


    Without meaning to, I found myself staring at my reflection for over ten minutes. With the excitement of discovering a new way to tap into my power I had felt relief from the constant dread bearing down on me. That was dangerous. That was what George had done to escape his own pain. I couldn''t be reckless and let myself make that same mistake.


    I''m not my power, I thought. For some reason it felt important to me to make that distinction. There is a power, and that power isn''t me. Which was another way of saying, I have power, but I am not powerful, I can tap into that power, but that power isn''t me.


    The thought was becoming repetitive but I didn''t care. I had seen what Jay and Amar had done to themselves by identifying with their powers too much. They were letting themselves become freaks, pseudo-monsters, because they couldn''t stop themselves from using their powers. I understood the excitement, the euphoria, the escape of tapping into the power very well myself. Coiling had and was like a drug to me. Bringing about the intense heat in my hands was very much the same drug. What I could identify with is that all of us teenagers, us mice, were addicts in the making, if not some of us already.


    I could not and would not allow myself to get carried away with my powers like Jay and Amar and, to a lesser extent, Tiffany and Mikayla.


    Tiffany and Mikayla were using the power to make themselves prettier, removing their blemishes and heightening what pretty femininity they already had. They were identifying with their new look and, in a way, becoming obsessed. They were craving using their power to improve their looks just as much as they craved the positive attention it brought them. This was, in my opinion, understandable as something to enjoy when using the power but also something pitiable. It had occurred to me many times to improve my own looks (more than the coiled state had done), but I resisted the temptation. I didn''t want to identify as someone who felt the need to use their own appearance. Maybe one day, but not yet.


    The excitement over, I returned to my room and lay back down in bed. Within minutes I found myself staring off into space again. The motion sensor lights flickered off and yet again I found myself enjoying the bliss darkness brought. In the darkness I could almost pretend like I didn''t exist.


    George is dead and you''re trapped in this facility and you''re playing with your powers like a twat, I thought, suddenly. Guilt gripped me like burning acid. How much longer could I remain passive here? I had tried to push away my doubts and concerns from the start of the evacuation and I still had underestimated how bad things would be. I needed to strike first for a change. But how?


    Several ideas came to me at once.

 49. Panic

    The following morning Abigail arrived with a tray of breakfast (bacon, eggs, and toast, with a hot cup of tea), and told me something I didn''t want to hear.


    "You need to go back to the third floor," she said.


    She stood at the doorway with her arms crossed. I had been asleep when she arrived and was trying to sit myself upright whilst rubbing sleep out of my eyes.


    "Why?" I mumbled.


    "There''s going to be an announcement," said Abigail, "That''s the most I can say."


    "Am I going to like this announcement?" I said.


    Abigail gave me a look which told me I wouldn''t. Her gaze searched the floor idly whilst I picked at the toast.


    "What''s this?" she said.


    She squatted down by the scorched hand print on the floor.


    "Oh," I said, "That was me."


    To save time explaining I willed my right hand to bulb. I noticed there was that subtle sense of unlocking I had noticed before just as I willed the bulbing to happen. The room filled with the extra light and warmth coming from my hand. Abigail looked momentarily surprised, and then unimpressed.


    "As much as I would love to stand around whilst you take your time, the announcement is in twenty minutes, and it''ll take us at least ten to get up there. Shall we?" said Abigail.


    "Yep," I mumbled, and got up off the bed. I took the slice of toast with me more as a sign that I was trying to eat than genuinely having an appetite. Even a few nibbles had me feeling full. This had nothing to do with having powers and everything to do with the constant anxiety and dread with me every moment of the day.


    I followed Abigail out of the room and we started on the short walk towards the elevator. As usual the sound of her heels, this time clacking, filled the corridor.


    "I''m sorry, by the way," she said, taking me by surprise.


    I looked down at her but she continued to look right ahead. Her hands were mostly covered by the long sleeves of her sweater; she gripped the sleeves tightly as if to better warm herself in the chill of the fourth floor. She couldn''t say more than she already had thanks to the Meters which were listening in on our conversation. For this reason we couldn''t talk of plans to leave the facility or anything that could be considered going against the facility.


    "It''s fine," I said, "I appreciate you looking after me whilst I''ve been down here."


    "It''s not like I chose to do it or anything," Abigail said, tucking a lock of her behind her ear and shooting me a look, "I mean, it''s either me or Mike that''d have to do it and he''s busy with things on the third floor."


    "Right," I said, nodding, "Makes sense. Still, I appreciate it."


    "How are you feeling?" she said.


    "Better," I lied.


    "That''s great," she said, "You''ve been through so much."


    Not like I have a choice, I thought.


    We made a right at the end of the corridor, which I knew would be the last turn before we reached the elevator. All the other rooms on the fourth floor were empty, as if the place were abandoned. It seemed like a waste of space to have so much on the fourth floor with most of it going unused; I had paid attention to see if anything was happening on the fourth floor but besides the odd teenager staying for some medical attention in the ward (which I was strictly not allowed to enter) then it was deserted. I wondered what was happening on the fifth and sixth floors. A nasty tightness, like someone stabbing it, formed in my gut near where I imagined my kidneys to be.


    Is Tommy down there? I thought. Robert and Abigail had said as much. Any of the teenagers that were thought to have left, hadn''t. Robert and Abigail hadn''t explained what was happening to those particular teenagers but I was already imagining the worst: experimentation''s, solitary confinement. Over the last few days of being alone with my thoughts it occurred to me that there were no tests being carried out on the third floor like I had expected. I had thought there would be regular things like blood tests and, once it was clear that us mice had powers, tests which tested how our powers worked. Yet besides everyone being monitored on the third floor and having the exercise area to use to get our (fake) Meters back to green, there weren''t any tests of any kind. The pain in my gut doubled as I accepted that there must be tests taking place at the facility but ones that we weren''t privy to. Ones which the likes of Tommy were most likely the unfortunate recipients of. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    I had decided to change my way of thinking when it came to life at the facility and the trust I had put into the government. I had been sorely wrong to give the government my trust in the first place. Now I believed the facility to be guilty of horrible experimentation''s on teenagers somewhere on the fifth floor or lower, and until proven wrong that was my going belief.


    The question I had to ask myself was this: were those mice my problem? If Robert and Abigail were to be believed and they were offering me a way out of the facility, could I take the way out whilst also believing that others were being left behind and subjected to cruel experimentation? Even if there weren''t evil experiments being carried out on teenagers somewhere below, then at the very least was I not obliged to help the teenagers on the third floor as well?


    I had a few ideas for how I might be able to achieve this goal, but they were just ideas not fully formed into something actionable. I needed to give it all a lot of thought and for that reason staying down on the fourth floor alone with my thoughts was proving invaluable. I only wished I dared to write down half of my plans with the pen and paper I had been provided for ease of keeping track of it all (I didn''t dare to, however should a Pied Piper officer or facility member of staff see what was written down).


    We reached the elevator. Unlike with the second and third floors, the fourth didn''t have a checkpoint. There were plenty of cameras everywhere on the fourth floor so it wasn''t as if our walk through it was going unnoticed. Abigail thumbed the elevator button and then hugged herself for warmth again. She looked nice in the sweater she was wearing; a welcome change to her usual blazer.


    "Brr," she said, trying to warm herself up a little bit. I was feeling the cold a bit myself but didn''t want to look like it was bothering me much.


    "What were you doing before this?" I said.


    "We''re not allowed to talk about our personal lives, Burgess," said Abigail, "Facility policy."


    "Right," I said, "Sorry."


    The elevator opened and we stepped in. Neither of us spoke on the way up to the third floor. When the elevator doors opened and I caught sight of the checkpoint I felt the pain in my gut treble. Worse, I felt a sudden shortness of breath. I stepped forward, shuffling forward like a zombie, but with each step the shortness of breath worsened until I found myself doubled over fighting to take in even small wisps of air.


    "Burgess?" said Abigail.


    She put her hand on my back. I continued to struggle to breathe and grabbed hold of Abigail''s elbow to stop myself from falling over. Blood rose to my face as if I were hanging upside-down and sweat began to drip down my temples.


    I''m going to die. I can''t breathe. I''m going to suffocate.


    These thoughts and similar sprang to mind. I felt as if I were breathing through a garden hose. The more I struggled to breathe in a full lungful of air, the harder it was to breathe at all.


    I broke into tears and fell to my knees.


    "I can''t, I can''t," I said, pitifully.


    I needed to get away from the third floor. I couldn''t be here. I wanted nothing more but to return to the dark confines of the fourth floor where there was at least the slight illusion of safety.


    "Burgess, what''s wrong?" said Abigail into my ear.


    It felt like there was an earthquake beneath my feet, the world around me shaking. I could tell by how the Pied Piper officers were standing watching me from the checkpoint however that it was all in my head; knowing this didn''t make me feel any better.


    With each passing moment I noticed the Pied Piper officers becoming restless, machine guns in hand. They were on edge after what happened with George and as far as they knew a repeat incident could happen with me at any moment. Maybe they were right. I knew all it would take to make this horrible feeling as if I were dying to go away was to will my power to take over. I would become a monster like George had become, but at least the agony I was feeling would stop.


    "Miss Hoffman?" said one of the Pied Piper officers.


    "He''s fine," said Abigail, "Just give him a moment."


    I didn''t feel fine. At all. But my life was on the line. I couldn''t give the Pied Piper officers an excuse to take me out. I knew they would if given the chance. I could see as much on their faces; they were both afraid and looking at me with disdain; like I wasn''t even human.


    I reared my head up and by sheer force of will I managed to steady my breathing. I breathed through my nose and though I felt like my head might explode I did my best to look as if I were okay. Abigail led the way to the checkpoint and we presented our IDs, were scanned, and were let through.


    The panic attack, that must have been what it was, passed enough for me to breathe steady again. My nerves felt like they were fried. I had been alone for the most part on the fourth floor trying to endure all of the anxiety and dread built up inside me and yet, as soon as I stepped onto the third floor proper the full force of my anxiety had hit me so hard I had felt as if I were about to die.


    I wasn''t cut out for any of this. And yet I had no choice but to continue onward with Abigail through the third floor towards the exercise area.

 50. Booky, bruv. BOOKY.

    The corridors were vacant of any teenagers all the way to the cafeteria. From there Abigail and I followed the back of the throng shuffling their way inside. Abigail parted from me, moving through the throng to the front. Inside all the teenagers were gathered and Mike, quickly joined by Abigail, stood on a small podium with a microphone in hand. There were over a dozen armed Pied Piper officers dotted around the space. Whatever news we were about to be told surely was expected to ruffle feathers.


    I remained standing at the entrance to the exercise area not wanting to draw attention to myself. I searched the mass of teenagers and caught sight of Tiffany and Mikayla. They looked as prettied up as before; no change there. Jay and Amar stood behind them. They both looked normal with none of their powers on display.


    "Ay," said a familiar voice to my left.


    Blain was standing with his back to the wall and his arms crossed. He looked to be in a bad mood. I wondered if he was angry at me for some reason.


    "Hey," I said.


    "How you holding up?" he said.


    He offered me a hand and I shook it. Boy the guy had big hands.


    "Not too bad," I said.


    Blain nodded. "We need to talk," he said, "After this."


    I nodded, "Sure," I said, "Everything okay?"


    He shook his head. "Nah, man," he said.


    Before any more could be said Mike tapped his microphone and drew everyone''s attention.


    "Listen up," he said, "I have been given new information regarding your status as guests at this facility."


    Mike cleared his throat and, after a quick look to Abigail and the Pied Piper officers surrounding him, he said, "Several hours ago a new act has been passed in Parliament which effective immediately is now law."


    Oh crap, I thought, here it comes.


    "The act passed by Parliament is called the MICE act and, in short, you are all effective immediately under arrest."


    Mike struggled to eek out each word as if he were giving the world''s worst best man speech. A cacophony of questions and screams and murmurs broke out in the wake of Mike''s statement.


    "Now," he said, speaking loud enough to be heard over everyone else, "This means that any contract you signed to be a willing guest at this facility is forfeit, including any monetary compensation. A special arrangement has been made with the Pied Piper''s Return leaders to continue your stay at this facility until such a time as is deemed necessary for your relocation."


    The murmurs became furious questions yelled at Mike, Abigail, and the Pied Piper officers.


    "Is this a joke?!"


    "You can''t be serious?!"


    "You can''t do this to us!"


    And more things yelled in the same vein.


    I looked at Blain and his eyes were wide and his face furious. This was all news to him like it was for everyone else. He fixed his attention on me and I could see the recognition in his eyes that I wasn''t looking surprised like the others.


    "As always," said Mike, "You must continue to comply with the Pied Piper officers, as well as Miss Hoffman and myself. We do not want any further loss of life and your compliance will ensure a safe and effective environment at this facility. Those of you who are currently enrolled in extra duties will need to speak to me about alternative compensation."


    The uproar in the exercise area was only increasing by the second. The Pied Piper officers had their machine guns raised and ready to fire if need be. This, and only this, seemed to be the thing keeping the crowd at bay.


    "Now," said Mike, "Given the severity of this news we understand many of you are upset. You will now all make your way to your blocks immediately until further notice. Failure to be in your designated block in the next fifteen minutes will be met with serious consequences." The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Mike lowered his microphone and stepped off the little podium. I moved out of the exercise area and Blain reached my side. I felt his heavy arm drape over my back and he pulled me aside. We stopped near the start of the corridor which would lead on to the cafeteria. Blain turned and fixed his attention on me, his hands on my shoulders.


    "Look, B," he said, "Things are getting bad."


    "I noticed," I said.


    "It''s Mikayla and Tiff," he said, "They''re getting involved with some freaky girl."


    "What do you mean?" I said.


    Blain looked over my head and then back to me, "There''s this girl, Holly, init. For a while this girl''s been getting teens here to join in these ''therapy sessions''."


    I nodded, trying to follow where this was going.


    "At first it was normal," said Blain, "Just simple things like guided meditation, ''imagine a forest in your head'' type stuff, you know?"


    "Right," I said.


    "But then she started talking about all this booky stuff," said Blain, saying the word like boo-key, "She''s talking about contacting spirits, crap like integrating with the powers of the universe."


    "Okay," I said, feeling a tightness in my stomach at the idea of mixing some strange novelty mysticism with teenagers with burgeoning super powers.


    "Bruv," said Blain, trying to drill into me how serious he thought this new development was, "It''s witchy, devilish crap. Do you get me?"


    "Blain," I said, "I get how this could be a problem. But has there been a problem, yet?"


    Blain leaned in closer.


    "Bruv," he said, "They''ve been doing these late night sessions. Have you seen Tiff and Mikayla up close yet?"


    "No," I said.


    "They''ve got fangs, bruv," said Blain, "Freaking fangs. Mikayla used to be against this booky crap but Holly''s got in her head making her think this witchy crap is the answer to controlling our powers. Tiff''s into it too."


    "Okay," I said, understanding, "This is messed up."


    "Thank you!" said Blain, patting me on the shoulder, "You''re like the only sane bloke left in here, init."


    "Thanks," I mumbled. I didn''t feel very sane but it was nice of him to mention it as a possibility.


    "So what?" I said, "You want me to talk to some sense into them?"


    Blain shook his head.


    "Man, you can try, init. But you ain''t going to get far. They''re sucked in. Warped, bruv. Warped. And your boys are in on it too."


    "My boys?" I said.


    "The white guy and the indian boy, bruv."


    "Ah," I said, "Jay and Amar. That''s not good."


    Blain nodded, "Yeah," he said, "If we don''t get a lid on this crap soon bruv, Holly''s gonna keep pushing this devilish foolishness to its limit."


    He leaned even closer, whispering into my ear.


    "She''s thinking about starting some kinda revolution to get out of here."


    "Crap," I said, "That''s nuts."


    Blain leaned back and folded his arms. As big and tough as he was I could tell this had all unsettled him a lot. No doubt because he cared about Mikayla and, it seemed, possibly about Tiffany too. Though how much Tiffany came as a packaged deal with Mikayla I couldn''t tell.


    "Burgess?" said a voice.


    I turned and saw it was Abigail.


    "Look," she said, "If you want to go back to the fourth floor I''ve arranged for that. Mike has cleared it with the officers. Do you want to go?"


    Abigail looked from me and then to Blain. In truth despite what was happening with Blain, Tiffany, and Mikayla, all I wanted to do was go back to the fourth floor. Down there I could think. Being alone on the fourth floor was bliss compared to the mounting worries above. All it took was one look at Blain for me to know what I had to do.


    "No," I said, feeling a strange confidence take hold of me, "I''m good, thank you."


    Abigail studied me and then gave a nod.


    "Stay out of trouble, okay?" she said.


    I gave her a cheeky wink and she rolled her eyes. What had gotten into me?


    "You''ll be in block B-6 in that case," said Abigail, "I''ll let the officers know."


    With that she hurried off to handle other urgent matters.


    "That''s good," said Blain, "That''s the same block as me."


    I nodded.


    "Look," said Blain, rubbing the back of his neck, "I had to get out of B-9, init. George was doing my head in with his screaming."


    "It''s fine," I said, "I was close to requesting a move myself."


    The part about me thinking about putting in a request to move wasn''t true, but it seemed like a nice way to make Blain feel better about things. I was used to the sound of screaming growing up. Maybe he wasn''t. It wasn''t like these were normal circumstances.


    Pied Piper officers appeared at the entrance to the exercise area as the last of the teenagers shuffled out. There was a dour mood in the air. The officers fixed their gazes on us.


    "Alright," said Blain, "Let''s bounce."

 51. Elf-Ears

    I started on my way towards B-6 with Blain only to be distracted by the changing colour on my Meter from green to orange. I stopped in my tracks and looked at my Meter in disdain.


    All a lie, I thought, and I''ll have to keep pretending it''s true.


    I looked to the Pied Piper officers which had kept pace a few steps behind the moving mass of teenagers, of which Blain and I were at the back.


    "My Meter?" I said, holding my wrist up.


    The officer nodded.


    "Go on," he said.


    I gave Blain a nod and he slowly nodded back, and then I went back towards the exercise area. For a moment I thought I was the only person in the exercise area. The huge empty space made me feel strangely grateful I wasn''t all alone on the third floor. It was creepy with how bland and desolate it felt without people to fill it with warmth.


    I spotted a familiar girl with blonde hair and a ponytail jogging on the far side of the exercise area. It was Sophie, the girl who I had seen over two weeks ago flirting with the Pied Piper officer and, later, who caused me to spill my hot cup of tea over myself. She had apologized profusely but neither of us had engaged in any genuine conversation.


    Why not talk to her? I thought, you''ll be jogging here for hours anyway.


    I started jogging anti-clockwise keeping close to the walls, moving in the same direction as Sophie. If we both kept the same pace up neither of us would have the chance to speak to the other. It occurred to me she might prefer it to be that way so I for a while I maintained my casual jogging pace.


    Interestingly I noticed my casual jogging to be far better than what it used to be. My general fitness had seen a marked improvement compared to when I had faced the dreadful treadmills back at Lintern''s Gym. I wondered if it was an overall increase in my physical capacity, as if softly coiling without actually coiling, or if I just happened to be in better shape because if normal, no-powered me had exercised as much as I had over the last three weeks (even including the days where I did nothing but sit around and stare at the wall), then there had been ample time for me to improve my overall fitness.


    Thwap, Thwap, Thwap.


    It send a shiver down my spine to hear the sound of my footfalls on the exercise room floor beneath me. More than once I had nightmares about running endlessly in Lintern''s Gym, and each clap of my plimsolls on the ground came as a soft reminder of what I had endured. Back then I really thought I was going to die; in fact, I still thought I was going to die these days for all manner of different reasons: death by Pied Piper officer, death by panic attack, death by exploding (which was newly crossed off the list of possible death options, thankfully), and death by being torn apart by some nightmarish creature which used to be another teenager at the facility.


    The urge to enter into the coiled state returned with all the familiarity of an old friend.


    No sir, I thought, not falling for that old chestnut; dire situations only, mate.


    Jogging without being in the coiled state was far more of a chore. I did however pace myself easier and did let myself take walking breaks because, hey, I didn''t have to worry about blowing up anymore, did I?


    Because I took regular walking intervals it wasn''t too long before Sophie caught up with me. This was part of my plan. She reached me slowed down. She made a show of trying to catch her breath, leaning forward. She was rotund when I first saw her at the facility but I could see now she had definitely lost some weight. Still somewhat chubby but much less so than before.


    "Hey," I said, raising a hand.


    "Hey," she said.


    She stood upright and walked over to the wall. Then, oddly, she tapped the wall with her knuckles.


    "What are you doing?" I said.


    Sophie reached down to her left plimsoll and tugged at the back as if it was causing her both but I could see it obviously wasn''t. She was doing it for show. She shot me a look and, thankfully, I understood she didn''t want me to pry anymore into what she had just done. She set off again and I set off too, matching her pace.


    I wanted to get a conversation started with her but, with the Meters picking up on everything we said, I had no idea how. This in turn meant I was matching her jogging pace but was also not saying a word. If it wasn''t awkward for her it sure as heck was awkward for me.


    "You know Tiff and Mikayla, right?" she said.


    "Huh?" I said, then after a moment added, "Yeah, pretty well, I guess. Why, do you?"


    Sophie nodded and smiled a little. She had started to sweat from the jogging with a line of sweat running down her temple.


    "I met them for the first time the other day," she said, "Do you know Holly?"


    Ah, I thought, have to try and be diplomatic.


    "No," I said, "But I''ve heard of her. Do you know her?"


    "Yeah," said Sophie, she picked up her pace and I matched it, and then she let herself slow to a walk and I matched it too.


    "She does these cool mindfulness sessions," said Sophie, "She''s trying to help us connect better with ourselves and others."


    "Do you really believe in that crap?" I said, unable to help myself.


    Sophie let out a genuine giggle.


    "Nope!" she said, still smiling and using a hand to cover her mouth a little, "Sorry," she said, "I didn''t think you''d be blunt like that."


    "Yeah, my bad," I said, "Still, that mysticism stuff just seems very odd to me."


    Sophie nodded again and then set off into another jog. Again I matched her pace. The urge to coil struck me yet again and to make it go away I jerked my head roughly like an etch-e-sketch to clear my head: it worked.


    "Why''d you do it then?" I said.


    "Something to do," said Sophie, "And she said, Holly figured out this really cool trick we can do with our powers."


    I gave Sophie a questioning look. Several more teenagers also entered the exercise area to start jogging too. I had looked away for just a moment only to find Sophie had jogged off to the wall again and was tapping it with her knuckles at intervals. What was she trying to achieve?Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    She made her way back to me before I could bother with nearing her. She seemed to be entertaining my company enough to make me feel like I wasn''t being a creep keeping pace with her.


    "So the trick," said Sophie, ignoring any explanation of what she had just done by the wall, "Is about increasing our hearing capacity. She likes to get us to do it at the start of each mindfulness session. Want me to show you?"


    I had a feeling like there was more to what Sophie was saying to me than was obvious. She didn''t want to just show me a cool trick, at least, I didn''t think that was all she was trying to do. I felt like I was being edged towards the answer to a tough exam question by a teacher who knew the answer but wanted me to work it out myself. I didn''t mind playing along.


    "Sure," I said.


    Sophie''s face scrunched (cutely) in concentration and in a few moments her ears extended into points as if she were an elf. I erupted into laughter at the sight of her new elf ears. It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, but harmless enough too.


    "Oo," said Sophie, wincing.


    "Quieter please," she whispered.


    "Ah," I said in a whisper, "Sorry."


    Sophie gave me a thumbs up and we continued to jog, but it seemed we both started to make an effort to jog slower and quieter than before.


    "Now you try," she whispered.


    Did I want to? I considered the possible ramifications of using my power to extend my hearing. Given the situation I decided it was worth trying at least once. I concentrated and focused on increasing my hearing capacity, willing it to be greater. A few seconds after trying I felt the unlocking sensation and then, like surfacing after being underwater, a whole new range of sound opened up all around me. I couldn''t keep the wonder from my face. I reached to my ears and could feel them having grown into pointy elf-ears too.


    "Wow!" I said, and regretted it.


    Both Sophie and I winced. Even talking a bit louder than normal was like something yelling into a microphone.


    "Ah," I whispered, "They''re sensitive."


    Sophie nodded. The sound of both of our breathing was loud too, almost like being sat in a car with the heater on blast (if said heater only worked at intervals).


    THWAP! THWAP! THWAP!


    The sound of our jogging was on the cusp of being too loud. I could see however that Sophie was enduring it and there was still some purpose to what she was doing.


    "Can you hear me?" she said.


    "Yes," I whispered.


    I looked to her and she said again.


    "Can you hear me?" but this time her mouth moved and I knew for certain that if my ears were normal I wouldn''t have heard what she was saying at all.


    "Yes," I whispered again.


    Her words sounded a little strange, given how quietly she was talking, because I wasn''t meant to be able to hear her under normal circumstances.


    "You can try and talk like this too. Imagine you''re vocal chords are like a dog whistle," she said.


    "I''ll try," I said, and the way I spoke matched the way she spoke. It was as if we were simultaneously yelling and whispering at the same time.


    We both smiled over my quick getting to grips with this new and very strange form of communication.


    "Now these annoying Meters can''t hear us," said Sophie, "It was worth enduring Holly''s sessions just for this trick."


    "This--is--genius!" I said.


    "She might be onto something," said Sophie, "She''s very good at---" Sophie huffed a bit as the jogging was taking its toll, "--at controlling her powers."


    I felt a twinge of jealousy at hearing this. I thought I was doing pretty good at controlling my powers, too. Where was my compliment? It was a crappy thought but it did occur to me. I kind of wanted to show off my coiling state or my bulbing power just to show I could be inventive with my powers too. But there were much more important things to worry about than trying to impress a cute girl.


    "So," I said, "Is there a reason we''re whispering?"


    Sophie nodded and sucked in a big breath before speaking.


    "I heard about what happened with George," she said, "And what you did to try and stop it."


    I felt like someone had swung a sledgehammer in my gut all of a sudden. I staggered for a few paces and then stopped, clutching my stomach.


    "I''m sorry, are you okay?" said Sophie.


    I shook my head in a ''no'' gesture. It took me about a minute to breathe steady. Not too far away I spotted two Pied Piper officers, machine guns in hand, taking notice of Sophie and I.


    "Think they''re up to something?" said one officer. I could hear him as if he were right next to me, but he was so far away I doubted if I threw a pebble (in my normal uncoiled state that is) that it would be able to reach him.


    "I''ll check their Meters, see what they''re saying," said the other officer.


    "We''re going to have to make small talk," said Sophie in her dog-whistle voice.


    "Okay," I said back in mine.


    "So," I said, speaking in a loud-ish whisper as we set off again, "Who are you?"


    "Who am I?" said Sophie, talking in a loud-ish whisper back that was still quite loud to my elf-ears, "Just a girl from Hackney."


    I did a mock double-take at her.


    "Hackney?" I said, "I''ve heard its dodgy round there."


    Sophie shrugged and picked up her jogging pace.


    "Ears back to normal whilst we pass them," said Sophie in her dog-whistle voice.


    Her ears went back to normal and I did the same with mine. The world seemed far less interesting to listen to. We passed the Pied Piper officers by. If I hadn''t have heard them talking about us I would have thought they weren''t really paying us much attention anyway. But of course they were. It was eerie how they managed to pay attention to us without being so obvious about it.


    I waited for Sophie to bring back her elf-ears before bring mine back too. They weren''t so pointed I would have worried about the officers noticing right away, but it was better to be safe than sorry.


    "Why are you tapping the walls?" I said in my dog-whistle voice.


    "Pass," said Sophie in her dog-whistle voice, "I''ll tell you just not yet."


    "Why?" I said.


    "Just trust me," she said.


    Trust? I thought, that had become a dirty word in my mind. I had trusted Tiffany to look out for me at the facility like I intended to look out for her, yet where was she now? A different group, new friends, with strange witchy beliefs. I shook my head like an etch-e-sketch again to stop myself from going down that melancholic mode of thinking. Now was my chance to talk to Sophie about what she was up to and I wasn''t going to waste it moping about Tiffany and everything else that was going on at the facility.


    "I saw you talking to that officer," I said in my dog-whistle voice, "The day I arrived."


    Sophie didn''t look shocked.


    "I know," she said in her dog-whistle voice, "I saw you sitting in the corner."


    I felt a bit caught out.


    "Did you tell anyone?" she said.


    "No," I said, "Nobody."


    "Thanks," she said.


    "No problem," I said.


    "Anything?" said the Pied Piper officer by the exercise area entrance.


    "Nothing," said the other officer.


    "I can''t believe--you walked into--me the other--day," I said between heavy breaths in my normal voice in a bit of a panic, wanting to make a good show for the officers.


    Sophie could hear them too. She winced at the loudness of my voice.


    "Yeah," she said, normally, "My bad."


    "He''s trying to flirt and failing pretty bad," said the officer listening in to the other.


    Both officers chuckled.


    I felt my face go bright red and Sophie just looked away awkwardly. We jogged in silence for about half a minute after that one.


    "So about--that officer," I said in the dog-whistle voice.


    "Didn''t get--very far," said Sophie in the same pitch, "Maybe--if I pushed things--more. But I wasn''t--going--to do that."


    She had made it seem as if she was quite into him at the time. He looked about ten years older than her and clearly interested in only one thing, and she had played into that enthusiasm like a femme fatale in the making. It was interesting to hear Sophie had drawn the line at that and not taken things further.


    "I learned something," said Sophie, slowing her jog down to a walking pace and catching her breath, "--about this place."


    "Yeah?" I said.


    "It was meant to be an underground civilization for the rich and powerful," said Sophie, maintaining her dog-whistle voice. She came to a stop and lurched over again. Sweat dripped from her face onto the floor. It droplet hit like little explosion to my ears.


    "The thing is," she said, "The levels we''re on are just the top layer. It goes deeper."


    "How deep?" I said.


    There came a sudden beep from Sophie''s Meter. It was showing green. She sighed (which sounded like a shrieking wind to my elf-ears), and then she returned her ears to normal. I did the same.


    "To be continued," she said, "I''ll be at Holly''s next session. We won''t be able to talk about this but, em, just so you know I''ll, em, be there, okay?"


    I nodded. Sophie set off at a jogging pace across the middle of the exercise area. I watched her jog away wishing our conversation hadn''t stopped where it did. What was maybe even a little more surprising was how quickly we were on the same page about the most important topic: getting out of here. We seemed to be on the same wavelength about our intent that neither of us even really had to say that was what we were going for.


    I started jogging again and asked myself a question I considered with much more weight than before; How deep did this facility complex go?

 52. Queen of Hearts

    I ran for two hours more before my Meter went back to green. I wondered if the changing of my Meter was always the work of someone pressing a button somewhere, or if it was random except for the times when the powers that be, perhaps a Pied Piper member of staff somewhere on another floor, decided too much conspiracy talk had taken place; I doubted they had enough members of staff at hand to listen in on all conversations all of the time.


    After a quick shower and a change of overalls (a mid-twenties and glum looking Pied Piper officer was temporarily working at the replaced kiosk had been the one to hand me a new packet of overalls) I headed to B-6 in line with the curfew which was in place.


    I found Blain laid upright on his bunk which was set against the rear wall. He acknowledged my presence with a nod and then went back to brooding with his hands clasped together as if he were a knight laid to rest.


    There were three other boys in the room who I had seen around but had never spoken to. None of them greeted or did more than give a quick glance in my direction when I entered; each were sat on their bunks brooding worse than Blain. There was a vacant bunk to my right which I moved to. I looked around and waited for a moment should anyone object (I knew how sensitive people could be here about bunk allocation all too well) and then sat down.


    A rhythmic snapping sound drew my attention to a boy about my height with short blonde hair and a square-ish face. He was simultaneously snapping his fingers with his left hand and slapping his other hand at the same time. It was a tad annoying but nobody else was saying anything about it so I decided it was easier to just ignore it.


    About a minute later the same boy eased himself to the edge of his bunk and fixed his attention on me. He had mercifully stopped snapping his fingers and instead held a deck of playing cards which he was shuffling with expert precision.


    "Hey," he said to me, he held out the cards.


    "Pick one," he said.


    I noticed the boy''s eye twitch, he twitched a lot, as if always restless.


    "Go on, go on, go on," he said.


    I did as he asked, taking a card. The boy shuffled his deck of cards.


    "Okay," he said, "Don''t tell me what card you took. Just think about it in your mind."


    I did as he asked. The boy closed his eyes and pretended as if he were somehow reading my mind.


    "Is it the Queen of Hearts?" he said.


    "Want me to show you now?" I said.


    The boy licked his lips like a lizard and nodded profusely. I showed him my card. It was the Queen of Hearts like he said. The boy gave me a look that said ''Aren''t you impressed?''. I smiled back, both amused he had picked the right card but also happy he was excited about pulling it off. I knew better than to ask a magician how he performed his tricks.


    "Burgess," I said, offering my hand to shake.


    "Adam," said the boy, shaking mine.


    I noticed then that he had fangs. He must have noticed the concern on my face. He smiled, showing off the fangs more. They looked like the real deal.


    "Are you part of Holly''s group?" I said.


    "Yeah, yeah!" said Adam.


    I kept a stoic look and gave a small nod.


    "What''s with the fangs?" I said.


    Adam smirked some more, "It''s our way of knowing who''s in," he said, "Holly is showing us how to tap into our shadow selves."


    I felt my skin crawl at the sound of this.


    "Is that supposed to be a good thing?" I said.


    "Yeah, yeah!" said Adam, nodding even more profusely. He started to excitedly shuffle the deck of cards over and over.


    "Holly says we have to integrate with our shadow selves to become fierce. If we don''t we won''t be in control of our dark nature."


    "What a load of crap, bruv," said Blain.


    "Hey, shut up!" said Adam, "Shut your face!"


    Adam was red faced and furious in a heartbeat. Not only that but in the blink of an eye his face changed to become more monstrous. His ears grew longer, his face more feline in nature, his eyes becoming cat-like slits. His lower set of teeth became pointed too. He was close enough to me that I flinched. Worse, his voice was both deeper, in a monstrous kind of way, but also had a feline quality to it too.


    I noticed his hands also had small claws which looked very sharp.


    Blain didn''t move from his spot on the bunk but I could sense that he was ready to throw down with Adam if need be. He wasn''t intimidated but he knew that Adam in a monstrous state was worth being wary of.


    "You wanna be a fool, bruv you best not be a fool around me," said Blain.


    Adam was shaking with fury but he stayed sat where he was. The other boys had moved to the edge of their bunks (both were on top bunks) and were looking down. One boy was tall and gangly, with brown hair which reached down to his collar bone; he had thick-lensed glasses and a mouth which was small, reminding me a little of a bird''s beak.


    "You integrate with your shadow-self to gain control," said the boy with glasses, "Don''t make us look bad."


    "Shut up, whatever, whatever," Adam muttered quietly.


    His sudden change reverted and he was his normal self again. He scooted up onto the bunk, set his deck of cards aside, and hugged his knees. He continued to mumble to himself and to fidget (he never stopped fidgeting).This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I considered questioning Adam and the other boy more about Holly''s sessions and her beliefs, but decided against it. Things were already tense enough in B-6 and the third floor overall. Every teenager had the possibility of becoming a George, and that in itself was terrifying.


    It was the third boy who came down from his bunk and wandered to the doorway to B-6 who elaborated further on what Holly had taught them. The third boy was also tall, even taller than the gangly boy, and also had glasses. His hair was also long and sandy blonde with streaks of brown. I spotted a tattoo of an open hand and an eye in the center of it on his neck. The third boy stood with his arms crossed and one foot over the over (he had quite long legs too); he peered out to the corridor like some cowboy.


    "These powers we have appear to focus in on how we identify ourselves," said the third boy, as if talking to himself, "The more we fail to integrate our shadow selves, the more likely we are to be at the mercy of our powers controlling us."


    I considered his point of view.


    "Are you sure?" I said, "Because as far as I''ve noticed these powers require us to will whatever we do. I''ve yet to have any change I''ve caused thrust upon me. At some level I''m always in control."


    "I hear what you''re saying," said the third boy, fixing his attention on me, "The power is the power. People are people. Who we are comes before how we use our powers. Even before any of us started to manifest powers Jungian concepts like integrating with the shadow-self has been one of the key ways of taking control of one''s life."


    Everything he said had a loftiness to it. I knew only vague things about Carl Jung''s theories myself so I couldn''t debate the third boy much there. I just had to go off what I knew to be true based on my own experience.


    "So," I said, "How does growing fangs fit into that?"


    The boy smiled, showing off his own set of fangs.


    "Our inward transformation displays on the outside too," he said, "The myths of vampires and werewolves and the like are all derived from spiritual truths as well as humanity''s shared subconscious. In a way we are merely becoming a more honest and integrated form of ourselves."


    "If becoming your true self means needing a litter box count me out," said Blain.


    I chuckled despite not wanting to cause any tension between me and the others. I had to agree with Blain on that one.


    "Those things are make-believe," I said, "Vampires, werewolves, and so on. One thing I think is pretty much agreed upon in all the folk tales of these creatures is that they''re bad news."


    "That''s a matter of opinion," said the third boy, "Your subjective opinion. Whose to say the vampires and werewolves of the world aren''t justified in what they are?"


    "I don''t know," I said, scratching an itch on my cheek, "Maybe because those creatures murder people?"


    "It''s all survival of the fittest anyway," said the second boy from his top bunk, "It''s evolutionary that the strong dominate the weak."


    "Ugh," said the third boy, "You''re making my argument sound ablist. Everyone should be able to live out their own truth without fear of what anyone else thinks."


    "True," said the second boy.


    "Yes," said Adam.


    I was trying my best to keep up with where this conversation was headed.


    "So," I said, "If I wanted to use my powers to become a blood-sucking vampire, for instance, and that was my subjective truth, none of you guys would have a problem with that?"


    "It depends on how you do it," said the third boy.


    Blain kissed his teeth in frustration listening to all this. I blinked slowly and said, "How could I be a bloodsucking vampire in a way that''s okay with everyone?"


    "I think consent is a big factor," said the second boy.


    I couldn''t help but raise my eyebrows.


    "So it''s not the sucking someone''s blood that''s the problem for you guys," I said, "It''s whether or not the person whose blood I would be sucking consents to it?"


    Both the third and second boy nodded and mumbled affirmatives.


    "Right," I said.


    I sat back on my bunk.


    "You should come along to a session, whenever we can do it next," said the third boy, "You could learn a lot. Holly knows this stuff best."


    "I plan to," I said, "But I doubt they''ll let anything like that happen now we''re all under arrest."


    The third boy shrugged and turned his attention back to the corridor.


    "For now," he said, "We all haven''t come into our power yet. But we will soon enough."


    Before I could ask what he meant by this there came a sudden voice on the speakers dotted throughout the third floor.


    "The cafeteria is now open," said Mike, who was making the announcement, "All members of A-block you will go first. There will be a second announcement for when all members of B-block will take their turn eating in the cafeteria."


    Mike repeated this announcement three times over.


    After an hour it was b-block''s turn to go eat. I left B-6 with the other boys.


    "Ugh," said the third boy to the second and Adam when when we neared the cafeteria, "Separating us by gender is so gross. Oppressive Pied Pigs."


    "I''ve got to get our of here, bruv," said Blain, tiredly.


    Our meals were pathetic compared to what we had enjoyed before. There was no choice but to have sausages and bread with a side of bland mashed potato without butter. The only condiment to add any semblance of flavor at hand was tomato ketchup, and barely a squirt of that each. Blain and I sat with the other boys from B-6 because there was no other option; each table had to sit with their respective block inmates.


    The third boy, who I had managed to learn through eavesdropping was called Reece, wasn''t happy about having his only food option be meat.


    "I''m vegetarian!" he said in frustration, slamming his fist on the table and breaking his plastic fork.


    "Yeah," said the second boy, whose name I also eavesdropped to learn was Christopher, "Pied Pigs."


    "Hey," I said to them both, "If you keep saying stuff like that they''re going to beat you within an inch of your lives. Cut it out."


    Christopher and Reece looked at me like I was a bit of dirt for what I had just said.


    Whatever, I thought, Don''t say I didn''t warn you.


    Meanwhile Adam and Blain stuffed their faces with all the food until there was nothing left. I joined in. The food wasn''t great but it wasn''t much worse than the cooking I knew growing up where everything was boiled and smothered with mayonnaise for flavor.


    After our meals (Adam and Blain ate the sausages Reece and Christopher didn''t want), we cleaned up our trays. Before we could head back to B-6 however there came an announcement from Mike on the speakers again.


    "Anyone wishing to join Holly Bownass''s mindfulness session this evening may do so in the exercise area in half an hour''s time. The mindfulness session will last for one hour and then curfew to your blocks will be mandatory. These mindfulness sessions are allowed under special permission by Pied Piper staff. Any other unsanctioned gatherings during curfew are not permitted. Attendance to the mindfulness sessions are not mandatory."


    I couldn''t believe my ears. How on earth were these so-called ''mindfulness sessions'' being permitted by Pied Piper staff? Did they not understand the dangers of what they were allowing to take place? The answer to this question was painfully obvious. They want more incidents to take place here, I thought, with cameras set up everywhere in the facility they would have all the footage they would need to sway public opinion on powered individuals.


    What would the world think already if footage of George''s nightmarish havoc in the facility got out? Maybe that footage was already edited together and sent out to the world? I knew how much the Pied Piper officers held us all with disdain so it wasn''t out of the goodness of their hearts they were allowing these sessions to take place. I could feel another panic attack coming on so I closed my eyes and tried to breathe steady. Reece, Christopher, and Adam were excited that the sessions were still going to take place.


    Everything here was a ticking time bomb. One way or another things were just getting worse.


    "Are you going?" said Blain.


    I opened my eyes and looked at him. His face was stoic.


    "Yeah," I said, "Someone has to try and put a stop to this before it''s too late."


    Blain nodded and offered me a hand to shake. I took it and we bumped shoulders.


    "Good, man, good," he said, "We got to put this booky crap to rest."


    Reece, Christopher, and Adam heard all this, and were looking at us with barely controlled malice. Fine, I thought, Can''t please everyone here.

 53. Magnify

    I found myself thinking about trivial things on the walk over to the exercise area where Holly''s so-called mindfulness session was going to take place. I thought about how much I missed the taste of a greasy burger and skinny salted fries and a thick creamy milkshake. I missed having multiple cups of tea a day. And I really missed having access to the internet. Most of all I daydreamed about standing outside breathing in fresh air. I was sick of breathing in ventilated air everywhere I went.


    There was also a horrible lack of colour in the facility. Everything was bland whites and grays and the second floor had just been boring navy office decor. The fourth floor had all the warmth of a hospital and I hated hospitals; I had been back and forth to them throughout my childhood due to my grandparents becoming increasingly sick (all but one of them had passed away).


    Blain had his game face on. He wasn''t at all happy Holly had managed to sway Mikayla over to her mystic spirituality and he was gearing himself for a confrontation.


    Reece, Christopher, and Adam walked a few steps ahead of us forming their own group; whilst they hadn''t outright said it, Blain and I were aware they had decided they weren''t very fond of us.


    There were about twenty teenagers altogether outside of the exercise area waiting to be let in. I spotted Tiffany and Mikayla, as well as Jay and Amar. Nobody was talking and instead were waiting patiently to be let in.


    There were only two Pied Piper officers stood by the entrance to the exercise area and they seemed at ease for the most part. I had figured there would be more officers around given there were so many of us attending Holly''s session but it didn''t appear to be the case.


    Like resurfacing after diving deep into water my mind snapped back to the familiar pangs of dread which had stuck with me ever since George was murdered. It was as if my mind and body were refusing to let me forget about what had happened. I held my chest which was tight as if someone where digging their nails beneath the skin.


    "You okay, bro?" said Blain.


    I felt his hand on my shoulder.


    No, I thought, Not at all.


    I was barely holding it together. Before the evacuation I had assumed I was made of stronger stuff mentally than I was. I just wasn''t cut out for the ever increasing dread and tension which seemed to press onward at the facility like a train without breaks.


    "Burgess?" said a familiar voice.


    It was Sophie.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Hey," she said, and she opened her arms to offer me a hug.


    Somewhat robotically I accepted the hug, surprised by the sudden show of warmth. During the hug Sophie placed something into my hand which I did my best to swallow up with my fist. After she pulled back I noticed Sophie''s face looked pale. Her hair was dishevelled and she looked like she hadn''t had a good night''s sleep.


    "Everything okay?" I said.


    She forced a smile.


    "No," she said, "Not really."


    She gave a small wave of goodbye and walked in the direction of the cafeteria and out of sight.


    I walked away from the main throng which was gathered outside the closed double doors and, after checking nobody was looking over my shoulder, I glanced down at what Sophie had given me. It was a folded scrap of paper. I opened it up and saw there was very minuscule writing on it; so minuscule I would need a magnifying glass to read what was written on it. It took me a second to come up with a way to read what was on the page despite its tiny size.


    Concentrating I tried to increase how much visual information my eyes could take in. The unlocking sensation followed, feeling similar to what I felt when I changed my eyes from blue to emerald green. With a sudden jolt which made me snap my head back a little I was able to perceive the tiny writing on the scrap of paper.


    It read:


    Eat this after reading. We have to find the hidden exit somewhere on the third floor as soon as we can. We don''t have anymore time to spare. I think the exit that will take us deeper into the facility is somewhere in the exercise area but I don''t know for sure. You will not like what I am about to tell you.


    Before I read on any further I glanced up and saw the double doors to the exercise area were open and the teenagers were shuffling in. I could see everyone with an incredible clarity and detail that left me momentarily mesmerized, like when I had first seen the jump in picture quality from video cassette tapes to digital-video-discs. The world spun as I drew my eyes back down to the next passage written on the scrap of paper.


    It read:


    I''ve been checking the walls for the hidden exit everywhere I can in the facility. In one of the corridors there is a hole in the wall. I checked it out.


    The last line written on the scrap of paper made the hairs on my forearms and neck stand on end.


    No, I thought, please no.


    I reread everything which was written on the piece of scrap paper from start to finish as quick as I could and then stuffed the paper into my mouth and chewed on it. I reverted the magnification of my eyes and barely had the capacity of mind to register the melancholy I felt to have all the vivid details around me return to a normal, far less visually stimulating level.


    All of the teenagers outside had filed into the exercise area.


    The two Pied Piper officers standing outside were looking at me. I swallowed the remnants of the scrap paper and made my way into the exercise area.


    Yet again I felt as if I were outside of myself looking in as I entered into the exercise area and moved to where all the other teenagers were sat cross-legged on the ground.


    Only one person, a tall, pale, heavyset girl with shoulder length brunette hair, was stood opposite everyone else.


    She must be Holly, I thought as I sat at the very back next to Blain.


    Holly began to introduce herself but I could hardly focus on what she was saying. The last line written on the scrap piece of paper were practically screaming on a loop in my mind.


    The very last line of the scrap of paper read:


    There are gas canisters inside the walls across the entirety of the third floor. They''re going to kill us all.

 54. Roar

    Holly continued with her introduction of her mindfulness session. I wasn''t paying attention to a single word said because I was busy imagining how it was that the Pied Piper officers were intending to use the gas canisters hidden within the walls throughout the facility. Did they plan on blowing the entire underground complex up in one go, burning and burying everyone alive? Or was their plan to unleash a lethal gas to kill us all in a matter of minutes to then clear out the dead bodies? The latter seemed more likely because of how efficient it seemed.


    Whilst it was entirely possible they could blow up the entire facility it also seemed like a lot of destruction to kill around two hundred teenagers. I figured it was more likely they would want to kill us all with lethal gas, remove our dead bodies, and then invite a whole new wave of teenagers to the facility to repeat the process.


    I smirked because it seemed darkly funny to me that I had bemoaned having to breath ventilated air at the facility at all times, not suspecting the ventilation systems would be the key vector which the Pied Piper officers would use to kill us all. Other than escaping to the surface, or going deeper down the facility (if that really were possible) there wasn''t any way for us to avoid breathing in any toxic gasses.


    "Okay everyone," said Holly, clapping her hands together, "Before we begin I would also like to explain what it is we''re aiming to achieve with these sessions."


    She began to walk anti-clockwise around everyone and we all turned our heads to follow. I could see Holly had a strong build, like a farmer''s wife, and she spoke with a faintly posh accent. She was pretty but not to the degree Tiffany and Mikayla had used their powers to remove their numerous (normal) blemishes and tiny imperfections.


    "The world around us isn''t just the material," she said, "Every child understands innately that there is a supernatural element to life and that there is a higher power which shapes our lives. But as each of us grow we lose this innate understanding replacing it with nihilism, materialism, video games, movies, parties; whatever we can to fill that void that is left inside of us."


    I could see Holly wasn''t just reading off a script, every word she said she spoke passionately, her hands pressed to her chest. My initial reading of her was that she genuinely believed the spiritually she was selling.


    "The world," she said, "Wants to remove you from your power. Wants to place women in domesticity and men into toxic masculine energies. The world wants us blind to our own divine power. Well I say there is another way."


    Holly stopped a quarter of the way circling the group. She stood before Jay who gazed up at her as if she were a celebrity.


    "The journey I''m asking you all to join in with me on is one that is not new. For thousands of years ancient knowledge has been passed down, refined, and shared to those open to discovering it with a clear mind."


    Holly began to walk back to where she had started speaking. Although I could only see the back of heads for the most part I got a sense that most present were enraptured with what Holly was saying. A lot of them must have already heard similar things spoken by Holly before, whilst others were at least open to the idea of a ''mindfulness session'' and thus were more likely to be drawn in by the flowery pseudo-spiritual things mentioned.


    How did I end up here? I thought, my mind thinking back all the way to having the discussion with my friend about whether being evacuated was even a good idea in the first place. That''s how, I thought, and you''ve only got yourself to blame for it. Idiot.


    "Are there any questions before we begin?" said Holly.


    Jay shot up his hand.


    "Yes," said Holly, smiling.


    "Why is toxic masculinity bad?" said Jay.


    "Because," said Holly, "The masculine and the feminine energies are like the sun and the moon and should be complimentary and not opposing. It is a patriarchal mode of control to define someone''s identity in a way which isn''t on their own terms. The patriarchy says men must be tough and aggressive and shouldn''t listen to a word a woman says. The patriarchy also says women should make themselves small, seen but not heard, like children unable to think for themselves. You cannot unlock your divine power if you rigidly define your own identity by society''s standards."


    "Men should help women, support women, be allies for women. Men should stop trying to lead the world with their toxic energies because where has that led us?"


    "War," said Reece.


    "Yes," said Holly.


    "95% of homicides committed by men," said Christopher.


    "Exactly," said Holly.


    "How ''bout the invention of the lightbulb, ay?" said a distinctly Scottish male voice.


    Heads whipped round to a young man, about my size, with brownish hair almost reaching his ears. He wasn''t particularly big but there was something steely and tough about the way he fixed his gaze on Holly.


    Holly''s eyes narrowed on him.


    "Or what about the telephone? Soap? Cars? Electricity itself, ay?" said the Scottish young man.


    "Do you think these inventions are truly helping women?" said Holly, "If you think about it-"


    "-Oh I am thinking ''bout it," the Scottish young man said, cutting her off, "I''m an ally to women and all that, but what I cannae stand to hear is this brow-beatin'' on men as if civilisation as we know it wannae built on men''s hard graft."


    "You''re not understanding my point," said Holly.


    "Then what is ''ya point?" said the Scottish young man.


    "My point," said Holly, getting aggravated, "Is that these inventions are means of patriarchal control."


    "Oh," said the Scottish young man, "And I ''spose you would rather go back to caveman times, ay? You wanna go have ya'' babies in a ditch somewhere, is that it?"


    "You''re clearly performing the same toxic role many men feel they need to," said Holly. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The young man stood up.


    "So I''m toxic because I point out a simple truth like men invent things?" he said.


    Christopher and Reece shot up and, in the blink of an eye, took on monstrous forms.


    Reece took on feline qualities; cat eyes, pointed ears, sharp teeth with two long fangs; a nose that was half-human-shaped and half shaped like a cat''s snout. His hands had claws which were pointed and long enough for me to see from several paces away.


    Christopher took on a different form; his eyes blackened completely, becoming shiny like 8-balls, and his nose took on a similar snout, albeit one which made his face appear longer. His ears grew out bigger than Reece¡¯s and he also took on the same kind of teeth and fangs. His arms underwent the most drastic change, extending out to a length that his hands ¨C each with two fingers fused into large hooked claws ¨C stopped at his calves. The overall effect of a bat-like appearance.


    The Scottish young man threw up his hands, clearly not prepared to be faced down by two monstrous looking teenagers.


    "Get out," said Christopher, "Now."


    Throughout all this I had initially been delighted to hear the young man speak up on behalf of men. It was common sense that men happened to be the inventors of a lot of the world''s great inventions. I hadn''t expected however for such a rabid response from Reece and Christopher at the slightest push back from someone not already on board with their beliefs.


    "Do you wannae go?" said the Scottish young man, having found his courage after the initial shock of being fiercely looked upon by the transformed pair.


    Reece and Christopher looked back to Holly as if for permission to set upon the young man. I felt myself inch up a little ready to jump into the fray if needed ¨C it was hardly a conscious decision on my part; if things were going to kick-off then I would involve myself.


    Holly strode clockwise this time around the circle ¨C everyone was on edge now; with more than half of everyone present looking venomously at the young man. I spotted Mikayla and Tiffany and saw they too were looking at the young man with narrowed eyes and their lips curled up, fangs showing just a little.


    Holly came to a stop about two paces away from the young man.


    "You can here to learn how to be better," said Holly, "Didn''t you?"


    "I came here because I thought we''d be doing something relaxing, I''m all in-ta meditation. But I''m not seeing nae meditation happening here. You-s have lost it."


    This time it was Holly''s turn to undergo a sudden transformation. Within a matter of moments her face became feline, menacing, with the same sharp teeth and fangs, pointed ears, and cat-eyes and snout. Her hands grew sharp claws too. But the transformation didn''t stop there; additionally she seemed to grow by about two inches, her entire mass increasing; the muscles in her arms, torso, and legs bulked out visibly in the same way mine had when coiling. A feline growl which reminded me of a cougar built in her throat. I also couldn''t help but notice there was actual feline-like hair in a light fuzz across and around her face and over the backs of her hands.


    Amazingly, despite all this, the Scottish young man continued to fix his attention on her with a steely gaze. It was clear he was taking the confrontation seriously but he wasn''t shaking in his plimsolls either.


    "You dae nae wanna do this, hen," he said, "Trust me."


    Holly took a step towards him.


    "Hey!" I yelled.


    I was standing now.


    "What do you think you''re playing at?" I said, "Do you want the Pied Piper officers to come in here and kill us all? Don''t you see the cameras?"


    I pointed to the cameras which were dotted across the exercise area; there were enough to cover every inch of the space.


    "What do you think the rest of the world is going to do when they see you lot like this?" I said.


    It was maybe the strangest experience of my life to date to be stared at by a lethal, muscled young woman with heavily feline features. My mind and body was having a flight or fight response the same way I would if I were face to face with a ferocious tiger snarling at me with hate-filled eyes.


    Holly''s cat-eyes looked from one camera to another. The growling in her throat continued to rumble.


    "We want the world to see us," said Holly in a slightly deeper, more monstrous and feline voice.


    Blain stood up next at my side. He didn''t say anything but a quick glance told me he was ready to throw down if need be.


    The situation continued to escalate. Adam sprouted up next and so did Jay and Amar.


    Adam took on the same monstrous feline appearance I had seen him flash for a few moments before back in B-6. Jay took on a wolf-ish appearance, and Amar also a feline one.


    Tiffany and Mikayla remained sat on the ground, their initial hostility towards the Scottish young man replaced with confusion over what to do. Neither had taken on a monstrous form yet.


    "You''re no longer welcome," said Holly, "Get out."


    She looked down at everyone sitting. A half dozen teenagers, likely the ones who had also come along to see what the mindfulness session might offer, were trembling at the sight of the monstrous teenagers looming over them.


    It was then I noticed constrained breathing coming from Adam.


    "Ah!" He cried out, "Ahh!"


    His monstrous form became even more monstrous; muscles bulked out across his body, as well as a layering of blonde fur around his face, over the back of his hands, and faintly I could see the fur had grown across his body. His plimsolls exploded with the growth of his feet which were arched in a feline way with sharp claws as well.


    "What''s happening to him?" said Christopher in a panic.


    "He''s losing control," said Holly.


    Her monstrous form, though scary to look at, also took on a somewhat pathetic look as her fierce gaze become one of concern for Adam. She moved towards him as he lurched forward, holding his temples.


    "Ahhh!" He screamed with what little remained of his normal voice, the next time he screamed it became the roar of a lion.


    "Adam please calm down! It''s okay! It''s okay!" Holly cried.


    She put a hand on Adam''s back just as his spine seemed to grow bigger, each vertebrae pressing deeply against the back of his overalls. His clothes were ripping from the increasing bulge of his muscles; he grew by several more inches and his hands and feet and every other part of him became thicker, having the same kind of weight and bulk that a real lion would have.


    Adam stood upright, and then reared his head towards the ceiling and let out a fierce lion''s roar. His overalls ripped in various places unable to constrain the size of the beast he had become.


    "Adam!" Holly screamed.


    Adam roared and swiped at her, his claws drawing sharp lines of blood across her face in deep gashes. Holly screamed and jumped back with a superhuman level of agility and grace, no doubt, because of her feline body.


    Many of the teenagers, including those who hadn''t changed but were in support of Holly before, desperately climbed to their feet and made mad dashes towards the exercise area exit.


    Adam roared and was clearly completely lost to the beast he had become. His heavy body began to thunder towards the Scottish young man.


    The Scottish young man turned and ran away joining the others desperate to get to the exercise area exit. Those that reached the exit however quickly found the doors were locked. They banged on the doors screaming to be let out.


    Adam didn''t pursue the Scottish young man at a run, but he did move forward at a walking pace, his hands extended out as if intending to grab the young man in his clutches.


    Tiffany and Mikayla and the rest of the teenagers who were loyal to Holly gathered around her body which was prone on the ground. Blood was leaking from her face as she wailed like a cat in agony.


    "We need to do something, man!" said Blain, grabbing my shoulder hard enough to hurt.


    It was enough to take me out of the daze I had been in watching everything unfold. It took a few moments of dazed thinking to come to my senses.


    "Right," I said.


    I pointed to Adam who was continuing his steady approach towards the young man and all the other teenagers screaming in vain to be let out of the exercise area.


    Just when I thought things couldn''t get any worse the group which formed around Holly backed away, several of them also screaming in fright. Holly was also losing control of her power.

 55. Cats and Mice

    Holly''s tall frame continued to thrash on the ground, blood leaking from between her beastly fingers onto the exercise room floorboards. Her cries of pain swung back and forth from a human scream to a fierce cougar''s growl. Her body, most notably her back, continued to expand outwards, her spine growing and the numerous muscles expanding, stretching and ripping apart sections of her overalls which could no longer contain the new mass of muscle and fur.


    The screams of the teenagers desperate to get out of the exercise area continued. Their fists pounded the locked doors which shuddered but didn''t open. The horde of teenagers trying to get out reminded me of zombies I had seen in movies which were hellbent on reaching humans they knew were on the other side of the door.


    Pied Piper officers will be on the other side, I thought, which absurd as it sounded in my mind, was more than likely the greater threat to their lives than Adam.


    The word which sprang to mind as I soaked in what Adam had become was were-lion. He staggered forward, each clawed footfall heavy. I could only see the back of Adam as he continued his approach towards the screaming teenagers. The big cat going after mice.


    There wasn''t any time to think. Or, at least I didn''t give myself any time to think because I entered into a power stance as fast as I could and let out a hard yell.


    Become stronger! Become stronger! I thought, over and over, wishing my body to enter into the coiled up state.


    After a delay which lasted a handful of seconds I felt my body tighten up, every muscle and fiber of my being feeling as if it were being coiled. Like with George I had no time to mess around and the initial coiling state wasn''t going to cut it ¨C not against the beast Adam had become ¨C so I willed my body to enter into the next coiled state. There was a delay of maybe two seconds before my body relented to the order I had given it.


    Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!


    A year''s worth of tireless exercise and weightlifting expanded into being all over my body, stretching out my overalls. Just as I finished entering into the second coiled state I became aware of Blain beside me, also in a power stance, yelling, having done the exact same thing as me. His body was already muscled and powerful, as far as I could tell he was only entering the first coiled state which, for him, would likely still be stronger than my current state. I noticed his own muscles expanding just a little all over too.


    There was still more I needed to do with my power but there wasn''t the time to get ready, not if I was going to get to Adam before he reached the screaming teenagers.


    I broke into a run and for a microsecond I found myself in awe of how powerfully my body fired forwards like a bullet quickly gaining momentum.


    Thack! Thack! Thack! Thack!


    I ran full tilt towards the were-lion creature. Although I was rapidly approaching the were-lion-creature that was a stooped combination of muscle and ferocious beast, I hadn''t expected to draw its attention so quickly.


    Adam reared round to face me. He was about a half head taller than me now and much broader. For a moment it was as if his frame had blotted out the exercise room lights high above. There was just the face of a beast with hate-filled eyes that showed no uncertainty that it intended to murder me. I was facing a creature that seemed demonic in nature; it wasn''t just the face of a roaring lion because there was still enough malice-fueled human features among the fur and teeth and menacing eyes to strike genuine fear into my heart.


    The roar which came out of the creature''s mouth engulfed my ears and made me want to collapse onto the floor as if I were no more than a lump of jelly. It was the kind of roar which made me want to fall to my knees and beg profusely to be allowed to live, because surely no creature which could roar with such intensity could be mistaken in its anger.


    Its jaws opened wide, far too wide for a human, and tried to bite my face clean off. I yanked my head back as the momentum of my running carried me onwards; for a fraction of a moment I felt the heat of its breath and the fuzziness of its fur and, worse, just how strong and unyielding and real the creature attacking me was.


    I spun round as fast as I could manage. I tried to come to a stop but the grip of my plimsolls forced me to spin and slide backwards as if skiing in reverse for a half second. When I came to a stop the creature which had been Adam veered round to face me and was already moving forward with claws reaching to swipe at me. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Oh no, I thought, I misjudged the distance.


    I had no time to do anything, not even to throw my arms up to protect myself. In less than a few seconds I had thrown myself into the fray carelessly and there was no time at all to prevent at least one claw-swipe (or worse) from the monstrous lion-man.


    Blain came in yelling and struck the creature clean in the jaw with what looked like a large white glove. The creature''s skull gave a crunch and a pained roar escaped its maw. The creature staggered away but didn''t fall to the ground. It was dazed for a moment which was just enough time for Blain to join my side.


    His stoic gaze met my look of awe at what he had just accomplished. I had about two seconds to register that his hands were all white almost up to the elbow but seemed strangely rigid, his fingers fixed as if turned to stone.


    Bone, I thought, He''s turned his fists into hard bone.


    It was genius, in a way. What better means to fight for Blain than fists as hard and tough as bone? He threw his guard up like the professional boxer he was keeping his eyes on Adam.


    "Figure something out!" Blain yelled as he approached Adam.


    It took me a moment to realise he was speaking to me. I was frozen with indecision and awe as Blain and the monstrous lion-man set upon each other. The lion-man swiped and Blain swatted away the intended blow with his right fist. The lion-man, becoming increasingly furious with each failed swiped parried away, roared and clawed harder and faster.


    Blain parried blow after blow, seemingly in his element and strangely fluid and calm compared to the clumsy heavy blows of the lion-man.


    Blain stepped back with deft precision and the lion-man followed. The suddenness with which Blain threw his bone-handed punch at the creature''s face seemed downright cruel given how hard it hit. The lion creature was again dazed by the punch, the fury leaving its face only to come back again a moment later.


    Blain was winning the fight, at least in terms of skill and landing blows. But this wasn''t a fight that was going to be won on points. It looked to me that the blows, though hard, were only keeping the creature at bay rather than stopping it from being a threat.


    "Come on!" Blain yelled at me, sparing a moment to look in my direction.


    Crap, I thought, I''m freezing up. I need to do something!


    I thought of George and how hard I had tried to keep him safe and how the Pied Piper officers had made the effort come to nothing. Reminding myself of this came as a precursor to what I was about to do. All of the frustration and anger I felt at myself for failing to protect George overrode the fear that had taken hold of me.


    Do something now! I thought, and I willed my hands to bulb up like I had managed to do down on the fourth floor.


    It took a second for the heat to build up in my open hands which began to give off a constant yellowish light and an intense heat. I tried to ignore the fascination I felt at the way each of my fingers glowed with the heat and instead closed my fists and set my attention on Blain and Adam that were continuing their brawl.


    Before I could step in I noticed a sight that made me want to soil myself in fear.


    Holly, or the creature that had been Holly, a towering, broad, were-cougar was sprinting towards us with clawed hands raised. The speed of the sprinting despite the size and visible musculature of the cougar-woman was nothing short of nightmarish. Bits of her shredded overalls fell away like leaves in the wind as her clawed feet thundered on the exercise room floor.


    THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!


    She was a creature out of a nightmare; something which looked like it came crawling out of the bowels of hell. No creature with a face riddled with malice, ferocity, and a mask of wet blood could come from anywhere else.


    The hell creature wasn''t coming for me. It was coming for Blain who was so occupied with keeping the lion-nightmare at bay he either didn''t notice or couldn''t spare an instant to look the cougar-beast''s way.


    I rushed forward, screaming at the top of my lungs with fear. I moved beyond Blain, feeling his shoulder push against my back, nudging me forward just a little along with the rest of my momentum.


    The were-cougar engulfed my entire view along with her hellish beast-scream. The one truly lucid moment I had was one which may have meant the difference between me living and dying in that instant.


    Better move my hands wider, I had thought.


    My searing hot hands, like hot irons, met Holly''s huge and powerful clawed ones. If it was merely a contest of strength there was no doubt in my mind she would have crushed me like a tin can. But it wasn''t just a feat of strength. Our hands touched, fingers on the right hand even intertwining for a half second.


    Like throwing a hot pan under water I heard a sizzling sound fill the air. I felt the sizzle of my touch against Holly''s thick, leathery palm. She screamed that nightmarish human-cougar scream and thrashed from the searing touch of my bulbing hands. She staggered backwards, falling over with a heavy crash. I had a moment to be impressed with what I had done only to feel her huge clawed foot drive into my gut.


    Had I not been in my second coiled state I might have died from the impact. Instead my eyes bulged and my face reddened and I fought desperately to breathe. My stomach muscles cramped up and my lungs refused to work. The momentum of the cougar-creature''s kick sent me falling backwards, my back slamming down hard onto the exercise room floor. There was another kind of pain in my gut too.


    I reached to my gut and felt where there was a gash. There was blood on my fingertips.

 56. Vibrations

    The force of Holly''s kick had removed the concentration I had from maintaining the bulbed state of my hands. I almost hadn''t noticed my hands had returned to normal when I inspected the blood from the gash across my gut (which was just above my belly button). It hadn''t occurred to me that my bulbed hands were something that needed consistent concentration to maintain, but the kick from Holly to my stomach had forced me to only think about my inability to breathe.


    Holly was already recovering from the shock of being burnt by my bulbed hands and had rolled and started to climb to her feet. She was doing so far too fast for me to be able to recover myself. Her clawed-tipped kick had taken the air out of my lungs. I could hardly breathe let alone defend myself. I tried to imagine my hands bulbing up again but I just couldn''t spare enough concentration to will it to happen.


    Holly let out a growl that rang painfully in my ears. Any second now she was going to rip me to pieces.


    From between Holly''s legs I spotted the teenagers that had been her regular devotees to her sessions. Reece and Christopher had powered down from their monstrous states and were back to being their normal selves. They looked on in horror at what was happening, clearly not having expected or intended for things to get so out of hand. Beyond them several more teenagers were sitting on the ground with looks of dismay on their faces.


    Among them were Tiffany and Mikayla.


    Are they not going to help? I thought.


    They could see my life was in danger. They could see what Holly was going to do to me. Yet neither Mikayla or Tiffany were moving from where they were sat on the ground with horrified looks on their faces.


    I managed to breathe a lungful of air but that was the limit of what I could do with the short time available to me.


    Holly was upright but crouched low, with her huge arms outstretched and the palms of her monstrous hands touching the ground. Blood continued to leak from the three long gashes which had been driven into her face; her big yellow eyes were fixed on me with mad intensity.


    I considered rolling, as if floundering on the floor like some worm might help me get away, but the cramped muscles in my stomach and the pain in my back simply weren''t willing to accommodate what I was begging my body to do.


    The cougar-creature''s mouth opened wide, revealing horrible sharp teeth coated in blood, and another ear-piercing cougar''s shriek attacked my ears.


    Holly''s clawed hand stabbed into my shoulder, each claw carving into my flesh. The way her claws first popped through the overalls and then into my skin made me feel like I was a grape being bitten into. I had, despite the tear-inducing pain, a strange clarity of mind in that moment.


    I knew there was something, however small, that I could do.


    Ears. Pain, I thought.


    I let out a scream at the highest pitch at the loudest volume I could muster with my power. I felt a strange swelling feeling take hold of my throat, as the muscles within my throat had reshaped to better let out the scream; as if I was some kind of toad which could expand its throat capacity.


    The scream lasted for several seconds before I had no more breath to exhale. Holly immediately yanked the huge mass of her body away from me and put her palms to her ears. A wave of grunts and screams rose in the exercise area from everyone else too, because the shriek had been intense enough that even normal hearing was enough to feel the pain of the sound. The sound hurt my ears too, and felt like someone had pressed a hot needle deep inside my ear canal. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Holly shook her head and her yellow eyes smarted as if she were struggling to remain conscious. I could only imagine how intensely painful the sound must have been for her.


    Some of the blood from Holly''s face had fallen onto my mine and was threatening to obscure my vision. I lurched painfully to a sitting position and tried to rub the blood away from my eyes with my right arm. The pain at my right shoulder, between my right pectoral and armpit, was immense.


    I sucked in huge huffing breaths because the shriek I had made had taken every last bit of air out of my lungs. I wasn''t going to be able to shriek like that again for at least another ten seconds or more. Shrieking had been my unexpected trump card to buy myself some time and with that gone I had nothing else to spare to prevent Holly from murdering me.


    She recovered painfully quickly from the pain in her ears. Her long brunette hair whipped round as she fixed her attention on me yet again. Part of me had hoped the shrieking sound along with all of the things I had done to keep her at bay would have given her enough time to reconsider what she was doing. Surely the real Holly hadn''t intended for things to get this out of hand.


    And now I was going to die. Holly raised back her arm readying the swipe which would end my life. The last thing I was going to see was Tiffany and Mikayla still watching with horror from where they were sitting on the ground. I didn''t want the last sentiment I was ever going to have to be one of disappointment and a sense of betrayal but it wasn''t really up to me.


    Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!


    I could feel the slight difference in the air as Holly''s claws neared my head. I could feel the sensation of her shadow reaching over my face.


    Then I heard a sudden noise like the sound of an electric toothbrush and a sickening crunch and the cougar-creature going completely silent.


    My last ditch attempt to save my own life had been to fall back from the swipe at the last moment. I doubted it would have worked but needless I returned onto my back all the same.


    What I saw made my whole body convulse from the shock. The Scottish young man from before was standing within arm''s reach of Holly, his left plimsoll was an inch away from my face. In his grip was a long piece of wood, like a stake, which he had thrust into the cougar-beast''s throat.


    The pointed tip of the wood had pierced clean through Holly''s throat and out the other side. Blood leaked down the wood, down Holly''s body, and down the Scottish young man''s arms. I noticed too that the electric toothbrush sound was coming from the Scottish young man. His arms were vibrating along with the piece of wood he had stabbed through Holly''s neck.


    The were-cougar-creature seemed shocked at what had been done to it for a moment, thrashed pitifully with ever growing weakness, and then life left it completely. The Scottish young man let go off the piece of wood and his hands continued to vibrate. He closed his blood-soaked fists and the vibrating stopped.


    The mass of Holly''s dead body collapsed to the ground with a hefty thud. Within moments she was no longer the crazed beast she had become, but was back to her entirely normal human self; a young woman dead on the floor with a long piece of wood stuck in her throat. I was grateful she had fallen away from me so I didn''t have to see the instant her head slammed onto the ground with horrible finality.


    The Scottish Young man was breathing heavily. He looked at me and gave a nod. He didn''t look proud of what he had just done, in fact he looked horrified almost as if disgusted with himself. He looked at his bloody hands which were trembling.


    It caused me an incredible amount of pain to look over to where Blain was. To my surprise he was standing over Adam who was still in his transformed state, but unconscious. I could see the rising and falling of the creature''s chest, telling me it was still alive at least.


    Blain was breathing heavy but there was a clear triumph and sense of victory to the way he was standing over Adam. He had decisively beaten the creature down into submission. I noticed Blain''s hands of bone were slightly different than when I had first seen them; the knuckles had become larger, like pointed studs. Blain''s hands reverted back to normal, first the enlarged blood-stained bone-studs receding, and then the rest of white easing away as if submerging back into Blain''s arm.


    It was then, as if those outside had been waiting for the end of the fighting, that the double doors to the exercise area finally opened.

 57. Thumb Trick

    I had expected to see a mass of Pied Piper officers outside the exercise area with guns at the ready and Officer Black Hair (as I had come to think of him) leading the way in to murder each and every one of us; or at the very least those of us who had used our powers or transformed into something monstrous (they had murdered George for that).


    Instead it was Mike of all people who led the way inside with a mere three armed Pied Piper officers following in his wake. Mike had looked a bit rough the last time I had seen him and he looked even worse; his face was gaunt, his beard and head of hair unkempt, and his general appearance made him look like he had just rolled out of bed after a night of zero sleep.


    I felt a pressure at the wound in my shoulder and for a horrible moment I thought the wound was somehow opening up and getting worse, releasing yet more blood. To my surprise it was Tiffany who had her hand to the wound. I looked back and forth from her to Mike and the approaching Pied Piper officers.


    "Everyone line up against the wall," said Mike, pointing to the left-side wall.


    We did as we were told. Tiffany helped me to my feet and propped me up on the way over to the wall. She didn''t say anything, she wasn''t even looking me in the eyes. I could have walked, albeit slowly, without her help but I wasn''t going to refuse the help she was giving either.


    We reached the left-side wall and turned around to face Mike and the three officers. Blood was pooling a deep dark red from Holly''s throat where she lay dead on the ground. The murmurs among the lined up teenagers built with each passing second.


    Are they going to kill us? I wondered.


    For some reason it seemed unlikely to me. Maybe it was because of the lack of Pied Piper officers. Or maybe it was because it was Mike, and not Officer Black Hair, who was in charge of the small squad. Mike didn''t strike me as the kind of guy that would give killing orders. There was however a chance that I was wrong and we were about to be murdered for the chaos that had broken out in the exercise area.


    "I need volunteers for clean up," said Mike, "About five of you should be enough."


    Nobody put themselves forward. Mike, realising this, pointed out teenagers instead.


    "You," he said, picking out Blain.


    "You," he said again, picking out Tiffany.


    Mike carried on like this until the Scottish Young Man, Mikayla, and Jay were picked.


    "Go with this officer," Mike said, gesturing to the Pied Piper officer standing closest to him, "You''re going to need to get supplies for the clean up. Do everything he says and stick with him."


    The newly formed group followed the Pied Piper officer out of the exercise area.


    There came a sudden growl from Adam from where he lay on his back still in his were-lion form. The two remaining Pied Piper officers aimed their guns at his head.


    "Permission to terminate, sir," said one of the Pied Piper officers.


    "Wait!" I shouted.


    Mike and the two officers turned their attention to me.


    "Stay out of this," said Mike.


    "No please!" I said, clutching my shoulder-wound as more blood leaked from between my fingers, "He''s not dangerous. He just needs to wake up and he''ll go back to normal."


    I could see a twinge of sympathy in Mike''s eyes as he looked over my sorry state. The stomach area of my overalls was also caked with blood from the small gash Holly''s claws had punctured there. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Mike looked at the humanoid-lion-creature with its face bloody and beaten.


    "Stand down," said Mike to the officer.


    Both officers lowered their guns away from where they had been aimed at Adam''s skull. Mike gestured for me to come closer to him. I had powered down from my coiled up state and was freshly feeling the pain of my wounds; each step towards Mike made the wounds throb and the pain climb.


    I wanted to scream and panic about all the blood and the severity of my wounds like a little boy crying for his mother after scraping his knee; I had to fight this urge because Adam''s life was on the line.


    I reached Mike and stood before him. He towered over me and, up close, I could smell he likely hadn''t showered in a while.


    "I need this area good to go for any teenagers that need to exercise," said Mike, "You''ve got until the clean up is done to handle things; if not then it''s out of my hands. Do you understand, Burgess?"


    "Yes," I said, in a small voice.


    "Too easy," said Mike, and he patted me on the shoulder.


    I winced from the agony of the slap reverberations reaching my shoulder wound.


    "Far out," said Mike, "My bad."


    "It''s okay," I mumbled.


    I staggered my way over to where Adam lay. Up close I could see one of Adam''s eyes was swollen shut, and his face was lumpy and red-raw from the savage beating Blain had given him.


    I didn''t know how best to go about trying to wake Adam up so I just nudged him and hoped for the best.


    "Hey," I said, quietly, "Adam?"


    After several nudges Adam''s yellow eye opened and fixed on me. A growl, like the sound of a large wooden barrel being rolled, grew in Adam''s throat.


    "It''s okay," I said, forcing a smile.


    I had to think of something, anything, that might bring his human-self back to the fore.


    "Want to see a magic trick?" I said.


    The yellow eye widened and the growling stopped.


    "Okay, watch," I said.


    My right hand was trembling from the post-adrenaline rush and the loss of blood. I opened up my blood-stained right hand, showing Adam the back of it. I had my right thumb bent. Then using my other hand, which was also trembling.


    From Adam''s point of view it would look as if I were detaching my right thumb. It was the only pseudo-magic-trick I knew how to do (my Dad had shown me a few times) and performing the trick before Adam also happened to be the first time in my life I had tried doing the trick to anyone outside of my family.


    The lion-creature started to convulse and for a terrifying moment I thought Adam was going to attempt to attack me again. Instead I was able to experience what it was like to see a lion-man-creature laugh.


    I could hear the rattle of the officer''s guns behind me. They were ready to murder Adam at the first sign of him being a threat and I doubted they would care much if I were collateral damage.


    "You need to power down," I said.


    Adam''s yellow eye fixed on me and then searched its surroundings. As sanity returned to Adam, so did his human features. It was mesmerizing watching the predominant animal features which had taken hold of his face revert back to normal; it didn''t happen all at once, but instead slowly over the course of several minutes.


    "That''s not how you do it," said Adam once he was finally back to normal and sat upright.


    Half his face was still a swollen, red-and-purple mess. His good eye however had returned to its normal blue hue.


    Adam did the thumb trick how it was supposed to be done. After smiling at the novelty of seeing the trick done better than I had done it, I looked over my shoulder (again ignoring the immense pain from my wounds as best I could) and saw one of the officers was giving us his full attention, his finger on the trigger of his lowered machine gun.


    I turned back to Adam.


    "Listen," I said to him, "They will kill you if you change again. You need to stick with me."


    "Okay," said Adam, nodding, "I didn''t mean to change. I didn''t. I just lost control. Completely lost it."


    "I get it," I said, "Just learn your lesson okay? No more cat stuff?"


    Adam nodded. "Okay," he said, and I noticed his fangs were no longer there.


    He glanced over and flinched at the sight of Holly''s dead body.


    "Hey," I said, gripping Adam by the shoulder with my left hand, drawing his attention back to me.


    "Don''t look, you just need to stay calm okay?"


    Adam began to sob pitifully, saliva leaking out of the left corner of his mouth which was swollen. I kept a firm grip on his overalls.


    "It''s okay," I said, "Everything''s going to be-"


    My eyes grew heavy all of a sudden and I felt myself fall backwards as if I were a puppet that was no longer attached to the puppeteer''s strings. Then everything went dark and all sound faded to silence.

 58. Blood Transfusion

    When I regained consciousness I was sitting upright against the wall a few paces from the entrance to the exercise area. A heavy drowsiness had taken hold of me. I wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.


    "Stay awake," said a familiar voice.


    It was Mike. He was crouched beside me. Time jumped forward in intervals each time the darkness covered my eyes.


    I caught a glimpse of the five that had been chosen to clean up Holly''s dead body carrying her onto a large piece of blue tarp. Buckets of soapy water and mops were being used to water down the blood; so much blood.


    Mike ripped apart my overalls above the waist with his bare hands and was busy cleaning and then stitching the wounds on my gut and shoulder. I couldn''t feel the sting of the needle piercing my skin but the tugging sensation was there.


    Although it felt like mere minutes to me, the clean up of Holly''s body, and Mike tending to my wounds, must have taken much longer.


    I couldn''t understand what was being said by those around me beyond that I was the topic of conversation. I could at least understand my name was being said between the other sounds which refused to be understood by my brain.


    Another lapse of consciousness and I wondered for a moment if I had died because a sudden weightlessness had taken hold of me. It was as if my eyes were being pressed shut because it took all of the little concentration I could muster to force them open.


    Blain was carrying me and so was the Scottish Young Man; the ceiling of one of the white corridors trailed above me as if I were a patient being moved on a stretcher through a hospital.


    Back to the fourth floor? I wondered.


    That didn''t sound too bad. I liked it down there. After what had happened with Holly I was already prepared to take a nice long break from the third floor again. I had returned for all of one day and another death had taken place. Things were getting worse, the momentum of blood and misery and murder picking up. If things continued like they were then I had no doubt what Sophie had told me in her secret note was true: the Pied Piper officers really were planning to kill us all.


    They set me down on a chair in the cafeteria. I lost consciousness again and when I awoke from the latest lapse I was aware of a dull ache and an uncomfortable pinching sensation at the inside of my arm. A tube of red was stuck into my arm with a bit of tape covering where the needle, or whatever it was, pierced into the vein.


    My wounds must have been stitched because there were large white bandages stuck over them. I didn''t like having the top half of my skinny-fat body on show as it was (I had next to no chest hair for one) and my body simply wasn''t something I took much pride in.


    The cafeteria was empty save for one familiar face. Tiffany, who was sitting beside me with a tube also in her arm; there were bags filled with blood situated atop a metal frame between us.


    She was looking at me with concern. Her face was still prettied up and it was still strange seeing her with long brunette hair which went down beyond her shoulders. She hardly looked like the Tiffany I first met.


    "Burgess?" she said.


    I noticed her fangs were gone.


    "Hey," I whispered.


    My throat felt hoarse and dry and swallowing hurt.


    "Here," she said, handing me a plastic cup filled with orange juice.


    I took it and took a sip. It felt good tasting something so sweet.


    Tiffany forced a smile, pointing to the blood bags.


    "We''re a match," she said.


    "I don''t know my blood type," I said.


    "They do," said Tiffany.


    "Are you okay?" she said.


    "What do you care?" I said.


    I didn''t want to sound so venomous but I was somewhat out of it from the loss of blood and the post-adrenaline emotional swing that had taken hold of me. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Tiffany looked hurt.


    "I care," she said.


    "I don''t think you do," I said, my words sounding dry and raspy; I took another quick sip of the orange juice, then said, "You went off with Holly, grew out your fangs, pretty much acted like we hardly know each other. What are you playing at?"


    Tiffany looked at me then lowered her eyes a little lost in her own thoughts.


    "I don''t know what I''m doing," she said, "I didn''t ask for any of this, Burg."


    "Is that your excuse?" I said, struggling to remain still because of the sudden rage which was threatening to make me get up from my seat.


    "Back before we got here we made a promise to look out for each other. Then you join up with Holly of all people," I said.


    "I just wanted a break from all this crap, Burg," said Tiffany, matching some of my intensity, "Do you think if I didn''t care about what happens to you I would be here giving you my own blood?"


    "I saw you," I said, "I saw you and Mikayla watching, doing nothing when Holly was about to rip my face off. I''m not going to forget that."


    Tiffany''s eyes welled up with tears but also a different kind of intense fury.


    "Oh excuse me," she said, "Holly turned into a monster. I don''t know who you think I am, Burgess. I''m not someone that knows what to do when things go bad. I freeze up. I''m terrified, Burgess. I just want to go home and be with my son."


    She started to sob into her palm. A part of me still felt indignant about her cowardice; her refusal to get up and try to help me in my moment of need. If it hadn''t been for that Scottish Young Man then I would be dead; then what use would Tiffany''s tears be then? Another part of me however understood where Tiffany was coming from. Nowhere in our agreement had she agreed to fight to the death for me. Maybe I was asking too much of someone who, like she said, wanted to return to a normal life and get back to her son.


    "I''m sorry," she said, "I''ll try and do better next time. I''m just scared."


    Tears stung at my eyes and my body convulsed from the fresh onset of a maelstrom of emotions threatening to make me spiral. It was strange however how calm I could be in moments of life or death peril compared to how on edge I felt when things calmed down.


    "It''s okay," I said, though I wasn''t sure I really believed the words coming out of my mouth, "Tiff, you need to understand something about the situation we''re in."


    Tiffany looked up at me, the cheeks on her pretty face shiny from the tears.


    "We''re not going to be able to go home and live normal lives," I said, "Not only are we under arrest here but the world is going to know what people like us can do. If what happened with Holly and George is happening all over the world then you''re not going to be able to return to a normal life with Ashton. Do you understand?"


    Tiffany''s eyes told me she did understand but she was also soaking in the reality of what I was trying to get through to her.


    "From now on," I said, "Everything is life and death. You can''t just sit back and hope things are going to get better or return to normal. We don''t have that luxury anymore."


    Much of what I was saying to her I was also telling myself. I needed to hear myself say it just as much as she needed to hear it too. I almost couldn''t believe I was the one saying the words coming out of my mouth. I understood the things I was saying on a deeper level so it felt strange to put my anxieties into fixed words.


    "What about Ashton?" said Tiffany.


    I didn''t want to have to answer this question. I didn''t have an answer for it beyond the obvious.


    "Tiff, look," I said, "If both of his parents are in prison, especially one that is seen as a major threat to society, then what normal life could you provide for him?"


    "But you don''t understand," said Tiffany, "I can''t leave him with my mother. He shouldn''t have to go through what I went through with her."


    It''s over, Tiffany, I thought, but couldn''t bring myself to say it.


    "I''m not going to get to go back to a normal life with my family," I said, "Not after all this. How could I? How could anyone here go back to their families? We have to¡­" I struggled to say the words, "...we have to accept that."


    "I should never have left him," said Tiffany, "I just wanted a break from everything at home."


    "You''re not to blame," I said, "If you refused to be evacuated then you would still be a criminal. There''s no way the Pied Pipers are going to let any of us live normal lives."


    "I can''t do this, Burgess," said Tiffany, sounding at the end of her tether.


    "Neither can I," I said, "But what''s the alternative?"


    "No," said Tiffany, sitting upright and sniffling with a new steely resolve in her eyes, "It''s not over. Things look bad, like, because we''re in it, init? But with time things can go back to normal. Or, if like, not back to normal, then we can at least make it so they don''t have us trapped here like rats."


    "Maybe," I said, something in her resolve made me think that maybe she could be right.


    "If they think I''m just going to let them decide everything for me then they''ve got another thing coming, init?" said Tiffany, "I ain''t going to just accept what they''re doing to us."


    "Good," I said, relieved to see some new life in Tiffany for once. Seeing the resolve on her face, or maybe just the denial to accept how things were going to be, made me realise just how bitter and hollow my hopes of things getting better had become. We were deep in a dark hole and as far as I could tell no amount of hard climbing was going to get us back to the surface. It was only a dogged, gritty refusal to do nothing at all that was keeping me going. I simply refused to die at the hands of the Pied Piper officers and to let the story of my life end in some grim underground facility.


    "I''m not dying until I see my Mum again," I said, "I don''t care what they throw at me."


    "I''m not going to make any more promises to you, Burg," said Tiffany, wiping away tears from her eyes with her fingertips, "Like," she said, "Things aren''t going to change until I make them change."


    "That''s more like it," I said.

 59. Creature Comforts

    It was early morning and three days since the Holly and Adam incident. After receiving the blood transfusion from Tiffany, and after Mike had removed the needle in my arm and had taken the time to lead me back to B-6, I had spent the majority of my time resting.


    The only times I left B-6 was to use the bathroom; Blain had asked for permission to bring me food from the cafeteria in the morning and in the early evening. Breakfast had sausages which I was certain weren''t made of actual meat but some kind of vegetarian substitute, as well as hastily made mash potato with a single fried egg to go with it. Dinner had been a tiny cheese pizza made of some kind of barely edible dough, with a side of hash browns which, though oily tasting, weren''t so bad. Blain was tired of me thanking him for bringing me the food each day; each time he would mumble ''''It''s nothin'''' and would go lay down on his bunk.


    Reece and Christopher talked endlessly in B-6 and sat on the same bunk. None of their conversation could be heard by Blain or I however because they were using the heightened hearing trick to avoid their conversation from being picked up by the Meter devices. I didn''t need to heighten my own hearing to know what they were talking about; their hatred of the Pied Piper officers and the facility was becoming nothing short of radicalized. Holly''s death, rather than deter them from keeping their fangs instead emboldened them. They were planning something and neither Blain nor I were invited to learn what it was, though it was easy to guess. I couldn''t see Reece or Christopher settling for anything short of a revolution at the facility to regain their freedom.


    I wanted to warn them against it but I was in no condition to deal with the consequences of riling them up. If either of them transformed into monsters within the confines of B-6 I doubted I would be able to defend myself or get away in my wounded condition. They were hellbent on doing things their way and I simply didn''t believe anything I might say would get through to them.


    I had my own thoughts on escape. Sophie''s revelation of an exit somewhere in the exercise area was the small piece of hope in my mind that an escape might be possible. The thing was, any escape plan from this facility was going to need to be meticulous to have the faintest hope of working. There were simply too many things which could go wrong. If we tried to escape and failed then the odds of us being murdered by the Pied Piper officers was close to certain or, at the very least, had to be treated as certain because in no way did I believe they would be merciful towards us in the event we failed to escape.


    The dread of knowing there were poisonous gas canisters hidden in the walls of the facility made it almost impossible for me to sleep. Just knowing that at any moment we could all be murdered was enough for me to stare off into space as if my mind had short-circuited.


    This was too much. Way too much for someone like me. I wasn''t cut out for life or death scenarios. I wasn''t even cut out for regular life; doing well at school, making friends, doing well at sports, being artistic; I wasn''t good at anything normal so trying to handle being imprisoned at a facility among superhuman teenagers was so far beyond my capabilities it was a joke.


    And yet I had no other option but to persist in the hope things could get better.


    On the third morning since the Holly and Adam incident a Pied Piper officer approached the doorway to B-6.


    Reece and Christopher had heard the officer coming and had returned their pointed ears to normal. Blain was busy doing push-ups and was continuing to do them. I was sitting on my bunk staring off into space as usual.


    "Burgess O''Bannon," said the officer.


    "Yes?" I said.


    "Come with me," said the officer.


    I rose from my bunk and followed the officer, knowing better than to bother asking where he was taking me. It was easier to walk since my wounds had already started to heal at a rate which I knew must be superhuman. I wasn''t healing super fast like a superhero from a comic, but I was certain that when I slept (however briefly) my body accelerated the healing process enough for me to notice once I woke up and inspected the wounds. At the current rate of healing, assuming I continued to get only brief instances of sleep, I figured I might be completely healed of my current injuries in a fortnight; though this was only a vague guess with little more than guesswork on my part.


    The Pied Piper officer led me through the empty white corridors; all the other teenagers that weren''t sent to the exercise area were still under curfew and were tucked away in their blocks like vampires hiding from sunlight. The officer led me to the small room where I had previously had a chance to speak with Mum on the phone. On approach I spotted Abigail sitting inside at the table. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The officer gestured with his head for me to enter.


    Twat, I thought, being sick of being ordered about by Pied Piper officers, and then I entered the small room.


    Abigail smiled and greeted me like we were family. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a firm hug before easing back. It felt strange to be comforted like this by her, but also really nice and very welcome; she smelled nice too, one of those girly perfume-y smells, though exactly what the fragrance was I had no idea.


    We both sat down within arm''s reach of each other.


    "Didn''t I say something about staying out of trouble?" she said.


    "Yeah," I said, "Sorry."


    "How are your injuries?" she said.


    "Better," I said, "I think I should be healed up within a fortnight. Maybe."


    "It''s unbelievable," said Abigail, shaking her head, "They didn''t tell us they were giving Holly special permission to hold her classes in the exercise area. Dad and I had other business to attend to so they had done it whilst we were away."


    The frustration was clear to see on Abigail''s face. She rolled her eyes, shook her head, and fidgeted, tucking a lock of hair behind her left ear.


    "Why am I here?" I said.


    I didn''t want to sound uncaring but I was so far beyond feeling like my normal self I simply said what was on my mind.


    "Good news," said Abigail, "I''m sure you remember your last conversation with my Dad?"


    I nodded, recalling how angry and appalled Robert Hoffman had been over George''s murder, and the things he had revealed to me about the reality of things going on at the facility; in particular how the Meter devices and the whole story of teenagers spontaneously-combusting being a lie. That encounter had ended with Robert hinting at a possible way out of the facility. I hadn''t forgotten.


    "Tonight," said Abigail, "There''s going to be a special dinner and you''re invited to attend."


    The words ''special dinner'' made me all the more aware of how starved I was of so many things. Not just nice tasting food (which to me was fast food and junk food), but also the simple joy of being able to sit back on a comfortable sofa and binge some TV. I missed my creature comforts dearly.


    "Why me?" I said, again feeling so mentally exhausted by my own overthinking of everything going on I spoke the first thought which came to mind.


    "That will be explained at the dinner," said Abigail, "It won''t be here at the facility. It''ll be outside. Trust me, Burgess, you''ll want to go."


    A sudden rage filled me, taking me by surprise. For a moment I wondered where it had come from only for me to remember it was Abigail who had offered me to come to the facility in the first place. She had made it sound like an incredible opportunity not to be missed. And here we were again.


    "Burgess?" she said, "What''s wrong?"


    For a moment I thought I might be able to hide how angry I felt but it must have been clear to see on my face. Abigail, as if reading my mind, pieced together what it was that was making me angry.


    "This isn''t like last time, Burgess," she said, placing her hands with the nice manicured nails onto the table to emphasize her point, "This dinner is under my father''s domain of influence. There won''t be any nasty surprises."


    I didn''t believe her for an instant. What did take me by surprise however was her hand touching mine. I felt a strange sensation like butterflies in my chest followed by the feeling of the ground beneath my seat not feeling quite so firm.


    "You don''t have to go," she said, "But trust me, Burgess, you don''t want to miss this opportunity."


    Her large eyes stared deeply into mine.


    "And you don''t want to stay here," she said, "You really don''t."


    Her thumb massaged my wrist for a few moments before she saw something over my shoulder and eased her hand away; I didn''t look over my shoulder but it seemed likely there was a Pied Piper officer keeping watch outside who must have started to turn around.


    "What about after the dinner?" I said.


    Abigail''s eyes searched her lap as she considered her words carefully.


    "Don''t worry about that for now," she said.


    She checked her watch then looked at me with a sense of urgency.


    "What''ll it be, Burgess?" she said, "You coming?"


    I stared back at her weighing my options. I didn''t trust her, I didn''t trust Robert Hoffman, and I didn''t trust any of the Pied Piper officers or facility staff, including Mike. My thoughts were fixed on finding a way out of the facility; not just for me, but for everyone else too, somehow. What I lacked was information; the more I knew about what was going on at the facility and the outside world the more informed my decisions would be. For that reason, and perhaps because a part of me wanted to hold Abigail''s hand again, I gave a slow nod.


    "Okay," I said, "I''ll go."

 60. Shut Up

    I had been given a new set of overalls to wear shortly after my blood transfusion since Mike had ripped the upper half apart to administer the stitches and bandages. It had been three days since then and I hadn''t showered. After my conversation with Abigail, I asked a Pied Piper officer for permission to take a shower which was granted. I had to be careful washing because I didn''t want to mess with the bandages Mike had put in place, so instead I stood close to the falling shower water cupping handfuls and cleaning myself that way. The Pied Piper staff must have decided hot water was too much of a luxury since the only water which came from the shower head was a constant lukewarm temperature bordering on cold.


    I returned to B-6 and found Blain doing one-armed push-ups beside his bunk.


    "57¡­58¡­59¡­60," he said, finishing the exercise and standing up.


    There was the sound of a loud clap as we both took a firm grip of the other''s hand; his hand engulfed mine and I could feel the considerable difference in our weight and overall strength vastly in his favour. I felt tightness and the threat of more pain flaring up in my right shoulder and my stomach from the tension of my muscles tugging at the stitches holding my wounds shut. Blain eased off first and sat on his bunk.


    "What''s good?" he said.


    I wondered whether I wanted to tell him about my conversation with Abigail and decided I didn''t have a particular reason not to mention it.


    "Abigail''s invited me to a dinner tonight. Robert Hoffman''s hosting it," I said.


    "Good, good," said Blain, scratching his temple and smirking, "I got an invite for that yesterday."


    Oh, I thought, so he just neglected to mention that until he knew I was going too. How nice of him.


    "Are you going?" I said.


    "Yeah," he said, "Tiff and Mikayla are going too."


    I felt a stabbing pain in my gut as it tensed, tightening up the stitches there. My mind raced trying to make sense of why all four of us were being invited to the same dinner. I fell into silence trying to figure out what it was about the four of us that made Robert Hoffman decide we were worthy of being invited.


    I moved over to my bunk and sat down. I found myself staring into space. Blain kept his attention fixed on me. There was something about his look which made me feel like I had to say something to avoid any more potentially awkward silence.


    "I don''t know whether it''s a good thing or a bad thing we''re all chosen to go," I said.


    "What could be bad about it?" said Blain.


    I could tell by the way he was asking he was just as unsure about the whole thing as I was. As tough as Blain was I couldn''t help but notice how young he looked as he gazed at me with barely disguised apprehension.


    "Have you talked to Robert much?" I said.


    "Some," said Blain, "Had one long session with him. Seemed like he was trying to figure me out."


    I nodded.


    "Yeah," I said, "Me too."


    "Do you trust him?" said Blain.


    "No," I said, "Not at all."


    I sat down on my bunk and after a few minutes laid back and stared up at the ceiling.


    I daydreamed about turning on my lightbulb hands and racing down the white corridors, dispatching one Pied Piper officer after another like some super powered assassin. I optimistically simulated in my mind reaching the third floor checkpoint (with dead or severely burnt and wounded Pied Piper officers in my wake.) I tried the scenario but with Blain added in and found that, even at my most optimistic, I just couldn''t see a way for us to get beyond the third floor checkpoint without getting gunned down. We were growing in our powers but we were still so far off from being able to ignore the threat bullets posed.


    I smirked at that thought. I was assuming that, eventually, I would become powerful enough that bullets weren''t going to be the concern they currently were. There were a lot of assumptions which were being made for that to be the case; for one I was assuming my power would just keep growing; for all I or anyone else knew (as far as I could tell) our powers could have already reached their limit. If that were the case then even if we could somehow escape the facility we would always be at the mercy of the governments of the world hunting us. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    I shook my head like an etch-a-sketch to clear up my mind, starting over. I decided to stick to what seemed the best option for escape: Sophie.


    Sophie had somehow discovered a possible hidden exit leading deeper down into the facility which might be a means of escape.  Assuming she was right and assuming there was no dead end somewhere deeper below, that would mean our hopes after escaping the facility were fixed on surviving long enough with the use of our powers to outrun the Pied Piper forces and whoever else might come for us.


    If only I could test out my powers without risk, I thought. There were things I was tempted to try. Changing my voice and maybe my facial structure were two ideas I had; maybe changing my hair colour too. If I could change my physical appearance then hiding from the Pied Piper officers would be much easier, in theory, at least. The problem however was the addictive nature of the power.


    George had given into the promise of his own inner mental struggles stopping by letting the power take control over him; and he became a monster. Adam and Holly had tried to embrace their darker animalistic sides in some Jungian sense only to also lose control, also becoming monsters.


    I had also seen how Jay and Amar had become addicted to using their powers of freezing and changing their eye colours; something they seemed to have tempered because they had swapped their way of using the power for Holly''s way.


    And I had felt it too. The seemingly unending desire to tap into the coiled state. Even laying on my bunk, a part of me wanted nothing more than to get up and get into the coiled state. I was sure my heart would leap with joy at the sight of my Meter turning orange; that was how bad I wanted to go into the coiled state again. Having an excuse to enter the coiled state when Adam had lost control of his power had been a very welcome one; how could I not enjoy powering up and bulbing up facing down a were-lion man and a cougar-cat-woman? It was scary, sure, but also easily one of the most exciting experiences of my life.


    As nightmarish as that whole experience had been, in hindsight, I found myself replaying what happened over and over as if it were a favourite movie of mine, and I was the star. The satisfaction I felt upon remembering how my bulbed hands scorched Holly when she had tried to attack me hadn''t faded even after three days.


    What kind of psycho was I to take pleasure out of something like that? In the game of using our powers I had out-powered her, for a few moments at least, and the joy I was taking from it was concerning; and yet another part of me wanted to not care how much I enjoyed the whole experience despite how much I tried to guilt myself into thinking it was all something to be upset about.


    Stay miserable, I thought, because you don''t want to get addicted to the rush of fighting for your life. You''ll become a psychopath in no time.


    I remembered back to how I had laughed and fought back against Tommy which, in a way, felt like a long time ago. I had enjoyed breaking his nose far too much. Worse, in the moment, I felt completely justified in doing it.


    Reece and Christopher returned from the exercise area two hours later. They sat on their bunks and rested and Blain and I sat in silence too. Shortly before it was time to leave for the Hoffman''s special dinner a conversation sparked up between Blain and I.


    "That thing you did with your hands was sick, bruv," said Blain.


    He was still looking up at the ceiling with his hands resting behind his head. I was doing the same.


    "Thanks," I said, aware of Reece and Christopher listening in on our conversation. I wondered if they were going to take offense considering it was Adam and Holly who had been our adversaries.


    "Did you turn your hands to solid bone?" I said.


    "Yeah," said Blain, "Pretty sick, init?"


    "Yeah," I said, "Makes sense given your boxing background. Made you pack even more of a punch."


    "Can you both shut up?" said Reece, suddenly.


    I looked to Blain, who hadn''t moved at all except for his eyes moving to one corner, fixing on Reece.


    "Sorry," I said, trying to diffuse the sudden tension, "We weren''t trying to make light of what happened with Holly."


    "Yeah you better not be," said Reece.


    I sat up on my bunk. There was something to the way Reece was speaking that told me that, though he was angry with us, it wasn''t the kind of anger that made me fear he might suddenly transform into a monster. He was annoyed, but very much in control of his temper.


    Bootsteps alerted us to the arrival of two Pied Piper officers.


    "O''Bannon, Penniman, time to go," said one of the Pied Piper officers.


    "Where are you going?" said Reece.


    "Shut up," said Blain.


    And then we both left with the Pied Piper officers with Reece and Christopher watching us go from their bunks. It felt good to be chosen for special treatment and to have a small win over Reece and Christopher, but another part of me wondered if, by the same time tomorrow, I might wish to have stayed behind with them after all.

 61. Goodbye?

    The Pied Piper officers collected several more teenagers on the way to the third floor checkpoint. Among them was Jay and Amar. Both were quiet and only glanced in Blain and I''s direction before walking ahead of us.


    Two more boys who I had seen around but didn''t know anything about also joined our growing group. The Pied Piper officers called out their surnames outside their block.


    "Blayney, Soot" said the officer, "Time to go."


    A tall, skinny, young man emerged from the block first. He had a head of short curly hair and a smile which showed a pristine upper row of teeth. There was something elf-ish and innocent about his boyish face.


    The other boy was round-faced and shorter than me. Although he was clearly around the same age as the rest of us teenagers, there was an older, tired kind of maturity about him. His demeanor reminded me of a middle-aged man unhappy with life but begrudgingly getting on with things: I could relate.


    We all continued on, the two new additions walking ahead of Blain and I. As we continued towards the third floor checkpoint I wondered what it was about these two boys that Hoffman decided was worth inviting them to the special dinner. I also wondered what Hoffman saw in me, but that was such a tired, run down thought burned into my mind I hardly paid it much notice.


    A half dozen more additions, three more boys, three more girls, were added to the mass of our group. I recognised their faces but, like the two other boys, didn''t know anything about them.


    Continuing on with everyone else, I found myself struggling to stay present in the moment, instead losing myself in my thoughts wondering if this might be the last time I would ever be stuck in the facility. It made too much sense to me that Robert Hoffman was going to offer us a way out of life at the facility. He had already said he would be able to find a way to get me out, but I hadn''t expected him to extend this offer to multiple teenagers. In some small way I had liked thinking myself to be specially chosen by Robert because of the potential he saw in me, but my suspicion that he was likely saying the same kind supportive things to the other teenagers was probably right too.


    The last of the teenagers joining us were already at the third floor checkpoint. I felt a swell of excitement at the sight of seeing Tiffany. She stood with her arms folded next to Mikayla and they were both looking in our direction.


    "Hey," said Tiffany, as I reached her and Mikayla.


    Unexpectedly she embraced me in a hug. I hugged her back before I felt something hard jab into my shoulder.


    "Stand apart," said one of the Pied Piper officers.


    I nodded, and stood apart from Tiffany. The others around us also made sure to create some space between themselves and everyone else.


    "Hey," said Mikayla.


    At first I thought she was talking to me, but that was dumb of me because she was talking in a particular, girly kind of way. She was looking over at Blain affectionately.


    "Hey," said Blain, smiling back at her. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Blain''s smile made Mikayla look bashful all of a sudden and she looked away. I noticed she, like Tiffany, no longer had her fangs. What a relief.


    We were moved through the checkpoint, having our bodies scanned and searched. I had been through this check several times. I wondered what it was they were thinking we might be trying to smuggle out.


    "Don''t we need these?" said Mikayla in front of me.


    The Pied Piper officer that was standing at the end of the checkpoint had taken Mikayla''s Meter device and placed it in a plastic tray to go along with the others that had been taken.


    The officer ignored Mikayla and then it was my time to have my Meter device taken.


    Good riddance, I thought as it was taken off my wrist.


    My stomach gurgled, reminding me of how hungry I was. The food in the facility had taken a considerable downturn since the MICE act was put into place. The Pied Piper officials no longer seemed to care about our comfort at the facility because they no longer needed to. In my wildest dreams I hoped we would be given fast food to eat; a big greasy cheeseburger, with oily fries, and cola with ice in it; and lots of tomato sauce. A boy could dream. I was so hungry I was sure I would be grateful for whatever meal was going to be served.


    The elevator was already open and some of our group were already standing within. My stomach clenched at the sight of the officer already standing in the elevator. It was officer Black Hair. He lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes as our gazes met. I had to look away first for fear the anger and hatred I had for him would be clear to see on my face. I tried to tell myself that officer Black Hair wasn''t an immediate threat, but my body felt differently. I could feel the anxiety in my body climbing, my heartbeat quickening, and a fresh sweat breaking out, particularly under my armpits.


    He was the one that had given the order to kill George and, if Abigail hadn''t intervened, he would have killed me too. Although I didn''t know this one hundred percent certainty, it seemed an obvious truth that wasn''t worth trying to deny.


    All of the teenagers filled the elevator, along with several Pied Piper officers. The elevator began its way up towards the surface.


    None of us teenagers dared make a sound for fear of being in such close proximity to the Pied Piper officers who had their hands on their machine guns (except for officer Black Hair). It felt strange to be moving upward in the elevator knowing the third floor was sinking away along with everyone on it. What if it really was the last time I would be stuck down on the third floor? What would happen to all the teenagers still down there? I hoped Sophie wasn''t right.


    I found myself thinking back to when I had first questioned myself over whether or not to go along with the evacuation. My friend had warned me against it as best he could, and he had been right not to let himself be evacuated. That decision to go along with the evacuation had led me to Lintern Village, where Abigail had given me the offer to become a willing participant at the facility; back then she had promised two thousand pounds a week and a comfortable stay. I had chosen to go along with it alongside Tiffany; we had promised to stick together after all.


    And now we were leaving the facility, perhaps only briefly, but there was a good chance we might be able to leave it for good; no escape plan necessary.


    Officer Black Hair spoke up, knocking me out of my reverie.


    "Listen up," he said, "When we exit this elevator you will not try to do anything of your own accord. We will direct you to where you need to go. If anyone here attempts to leave the group or in any way attempts to leave our sight, we will take lethal measures. This is your only warning. Do not test us."


    Everyone remained silent after this warning. It was hardly needed but still came as a sober reminder of how much danger we were in and how little freedom we currently possessed.


    Finally, the elevator reached its endpoint. The elevator door slid aside and I breathed in my first real breath of fresh, clean air in weeks, and braced myself against the chill and what was to come.

 62. Temporary Construction

    The floodlights which lit the immediate outside were glaringly bright as if we were about to walk onto a football pitch. The Pied Piper officers ushered us forward. As one large group all of us teenagers, us mice, were lined up against a railing and counted by one of the officers. My stomach found the metal railing; I winced from the pain of having my stitched wound pressed against it and eased off it, choosing instead to grip the railing with both hands; the railing was wet and the air felt thick with vapor because it must have recently rained. The smell of the air was bliss compared to the sterile confines of the third floor.


    I gazed down, noticing we were in a high position compared to a maze-work of temporarily erected metal paths and buildings reminiscent of what one would find on a construction site.


    There were dozens of Pied Piper officers and well as other workers in high-visibility clothing busily going about their tasks. The Pied Piper officers in charge of leading our group led us down the left-most side of the mountainous basin we were in. I had to concentrate on not falling over and slipping on the wet metal path on the way down. Although it was dark beyond the floodlights I was able to get a sense of what lay beyond the basin we were in: fields, huge sweeping fields; farmland most likely.


    On our way down the other Pied Piper officers, officials, and high-visibility workers continued with their work but weren''t shy about shooting quick glances our way.


    We reached the lower area paths that we had seen from higher up and continued on. The workers stopped what they were doing as we moved down the main path two at a time. I did my best to ignore them despite the loathing I felt for them; these people, however they had come to be affiliated with the facility and the Pied Piper''s Return operation as a whole, were in some way responsible for the bad things that had already happened, and were to happen. I wondered how many of them were aware that the whole blowing up thing was a lie. I then wondered how many of the teenagers chosen to be a part of the special dinner were also aware of the lie; had Robert  told them? Had they figured it out themselves?


    My gaze landed on a series of large cylindrical machines lined up along the right side of the basin. I counted eight in total. They were each about as big as a small truck; there were several attachments on each cylinder and there appeared to be round, mechanized doors to each as well, with gas-pistons as the means of opening and closing them.


    We passed by the eight cylindrical machines and up along the edge of a very wide metal ramp, which I imagined construction vehicles used to get in and out of the basin we were leaving.


    On the way up I kept an eye out for Blain, Tiffany, and Mikayla. There was no telling what the Pied Piper officers might be up to, even if under the orders of Robert Hoffman; there was a chance some of our group could be led away for some malicious reason. Tiffany was two side-by-side teenagers ahead of where I was, walking beside Mikayla. Blain was to my right.


    I also noticed ahead of us were Jay and Amar; seeing them walking together in silence hit me with a wave of melancholy. For a little while in the facility we had become something like friends, talking about the onset of our new powers; they had been the ones to first demonstrate to me that powers which seemingly defied conventional logic were real. But they had steadily grown addicted to using their powers and I couldn''t continue on that path with them. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Maybe this special dinner would be an opportunity to talk with them again. Maybe the temporary friendship we had before could be salvaged?


    I looked over my shoulder and saw the staff that had stopped to let us by had gone back to work. It was then I saw one of the cylindrical machines opened up, making a decent amount of noise. Before our group was made to turn the path to our left I spotted what lay inside the cylinder: it looked like a stretcher made of dark, rusted looking metal. I realised then what the machines were for and felt vomit rise up in my throat. I swallowed it down and kept pace with the others.


    "You alright?" said Blain, beside me.


    I shook my head in a ''no'' gesture and raised a hand for him to leave me be. Thankfully Blain relented.


    We moved in single file up a very long upward flight of metal steps.  Large, natural rock walls prevented any exit on either side on the way up. Once at the top, our group spread out in a loose formation, with several more Pied Piper officers waiting for us with machine guns in hand.


    The Pied Piper officers at our rear followed us all the way up, making sure none of us might double back.


    At the top, perched close to the edge of the mountainous peak we were on, lay a large temporary building. It was three times the size of the temporary buildings which had been erected at my primary school whilst construction of a new wing of the school was being done.


    Lights were shining a bright golden light from within the building. We were all counted again by a Pied Piper officer, then we were once again ushered forward. At last we reached the building and, after going up a short ramp, passed through the doorway and into the building proper.


    The inside of the building was at odds with the functional, modern equipment and constructions we had just passed.


    "Wow," said Jay, ahead of me.


    The rest of us seemed to share his sentiment. I felt a similar feeling like what I had felt when at the depot way back at the start of the evacuation; a curious wonder at what might soon come. Back then my wildest optimism was hoping to be somewhere near nature; here on the mountain (or perhaps it was just a very big hill with lots of huge rock formations), we were near nature; albeit also deep below ground so we couldn''t actually enjoy any of it. Now, us specially selected teenagers were like school children on a trip; for a few brief seconds I found myself forgetting all the nightmarish things which had happened and just took in the sight in front of me.


    The inside of the building was made out to look like a lavish restaurant; with numerous round tables, with chairs tucked into them; the tables were laden with cutlery, place mats, and drinking glasses. The floor was carpeted and there were even curtains at the square windows. There was something uncanny about the whole thing however; at first glance it did look like a fine dining restaurant experience, but the more I trained my eye on the space the more I noticed the little off-details that gave away that it was merely made to look like a restaurant within the constraints of the mobile building construction.


    My mind worked hard to fathom how and why such lengths had been gone to by Robert to create this facsimile of a fine dining experience; the money, man-hours, attention to detail; none of what lay before us looked like an easy thing to put into place.


    Although I knew this special dinner was important to Robert Hoffman, only upon seeing the lavish space set out for us did I feel the real weight of it. Either that, or this space was routinely used for other higher ups, officials and such, wanting to wine and dine away from the unappealing construction going on nearby, as well as the depressing architecture of the facility. But I doubted this was the case. Knowing the little I did about Robert Hoffman, this was all for us.


    Which begged the question: what did he want?

 63. P.U.N.C.H

    Blain, Tiffany, Mikayla, and I sat together on one of the tables. The one we picked was located at the back left corner of the room. Blain settled into his seat on my right, and Tiffany into hers on my left, and Mikayla sat right of Blain. The one remaining seat at the table was taken by the tall, skinny boy with pristine teeth; his surname was either Blayney or Soot, since those were the names called out by the Pied Piper officer at the time he exited his block.


    "Michael Blayney," said the boy in a Welsh accent.


    He smiled elfishly and offered Tiffany a hand to shake, which she did, and he in turn shook all of our hands with the vigor of a politician. A wave of different readings of Michael crashed into my mind, leaving me a little dazed.


    On the one hand I felt as if his whole demeanor screamed ''psychopath'', or ''sociopath'', or something along those lines. His hand was firm and warm to the touch and his eyes beaming with friendliness, and yet there was something about him that didn''t add up.


    Whilst the other teenagers took their seats at the other tables I figured out what it was about Michael that didn''t make sense; quite simply we were, presumably, all afraid and wary of what this special dinner might entail. And we were all prisoners at the facility, separated from our families and friends; I couldn''t speak for what Michael had experienced but I had seen two teenagers at the facility killed in less than a month. For this reason, and many more, I had every right to be stressed and prickly and unwilling to engage in friendly handshakes and conversations. He seemed to hold none of the same apprehension.


    You''re probably overthinking it, I tried to tell myself. My initial reading about Tiffany had been wrong after all. Way back when I had first met her I had counted her as someone to avoid, someone untrustworthy, and that first impression had been proved wrong. She was kind, and at times she had looked out for me and stayed true to our promise to stick together and to look out for one another. She hadn''t done so perfectly, but that was only reasonable since she was a human being and human beings often fell short of idealistic expectations.


    I was taken out of my reverie because I felt a twinge of something sharp inside my right plimsoll.


    I leaned down and dug a finger into the shoe and found the little stone which was causing the problem, flicking it out. On my way up however I couldn''t help but notice Blain and Mikayla were holding hands beneath the table. I sat upright and pretended as if I hadn''t seen what I just saw.


    My heart did a little leap to think Blain and Mikayla were becoming an item, especially after Blain had been so intent on bringing her away from Holly and her group before. I felt the urge to congratulate them or something but knew that would probably just result in an awkward silence, so I decided it better to mind my own business.


    "This is mighty fancy, isn''t it?" said Michael, smiling.


    "It''s done up so nice," said Tiffany.


    She hugged her stomach as if cold and searched the room with her eyes.


    "I don''t see, Robert," she said.


    "Oh I''m sure he''ll come along shortly," said Michael, "I suppose he''ll want to make an entrance."


    The sound of a drinking glass being dinged three times drew everyone''s attention to the front of the room. There stood Abigail who was dressed in her usual smart, business-woman-esque attire; she was the one who had dinged the glass in her hand with a fork. Beside her stood a short man wearing a backwards baseball cap at odds with his otherwise traditional chef attire; he looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. I recognised him as the head chef that had taken to overseeing the work done by the volunteer teenagers working in the kitchen at the facility.


    "Welcome everyone," said Abigail, "Tonight you will all be treated to a three course meal; cooked by our wonderful chef, Mr Tremblay; whom some of you may already be familiar with."


    "Please, call me Danny," said the chef, smiling.


    "Well, Danny," said Abigail, "Over to you."


    "Thank you, Abigail," said Danny, his accent the Canadian one I remembered hearing before, "We have a selection of dishes for the meals, you will all be asked your preference of chicken, beef, or fish; there''s plenty of all so please choose what you''ll be most satisfied with. Enjoy your meal everyone, thank you."


    Danny doffed his head and after a quick glance to Abigail he headed out of the room, leaving through a door which I could just make out led into the adjacent kitchen. The smells of various delicious foods wafted out of the kitchen, making the hunger gnawing inside my stomach even worse.


    "What would you like for your main course?" said a small voice.


    It was very familiar. I glanced up and saw it was Daniel, balding but also long-haired Daniel who I had shared a block with at one time. He was still wearing his overalls like we all were, and in his hand was a computer tablet to take down our preferences.


    "Daniel?" I said.


    His eyes didn''t meet mine. I noticed his hands were trembling just a little.


    "Daniel, are you okay?" I said.


    His eyes opened wide for an instant and fixed on me. He shook his head in a ''no'' gesture and then, as if to clarify the gesture, he said, "I''m here to work. Please tell me what you want."


    A fresh onset of adrenaline and rage filled me. Were the Pied Piper officers, and Abigail and Robert by extension, getting other teenagers to fill the role of waiters for the rest of us? Was Daniel going to have to take our orders and watch on as we ate a delicious meal, all while he went hungry?


    "Please, I need to do this quick," said Daniel.


    I could tell Daniel was a few seconds away from entering into a full on panic attack. His face was reddening from the stress.


    "Chicken," I said, if only to ease Daniel''s torment.


    "And drink?" he said.


    "What are the options?" I said, feeling myself stuck in the absurdity of the back and forth I was having with Daniel. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "Red wine, white wine, cola¡­" said Daniel.


    "Cola," I said, "Thank you."


    The others made their orders and they seemed less uneasy about Daniel being our waiter than I anticipated. Once Daniel had moved over to the next table I leaned forward in my seat, drawing the attention of the others sitting around me.


    "That''s messed up," I said.


    "What is?" said Mikayla.


    I flinched. Wasn''t it obvious?


    "Daniel," I said.


    I gestured to the other waiters taking orders, all of whom were teenagers that were also under arrest at the facility.


    "What else are they going to do?" said Blain, "They''ll probably get something to eat for doing this."


    "It''s the principle of the thing, man," I said, "It''s messed up."


    "I''m going to agree with Burgess on that one," said Michael, taking the napkin in front of him and laying it over his lap as if he were no stranger to fine dining, "It''s in bad taste."


    "And we sure they''re not also a part of this?" said Tiffany.


    "Maybe they are," I said, "But I doubt it."


    We didn''t have to wait long to receive our meals. We were all given soup with warm crusty bread as a starter. Daniel and the other waiters were the ones to bring out the meals and to set them down. They did so well enough I imagined they had been given a crash course from Danny Tremblay on how to wait tables.


    As much as I was against what I was seeing regarding the waiting staff, I was still a hypocrite because I finished every last drop and crumb of the delicious soup and bread.


    No sooner had we all finished the soup and bread did the main courses come. My meal was half a roasted chicken, with a hefty helping of buttery mashed potato, with lots of greens. We all dove into the meal like pigs to a trough; we ate with only the sound of our contented sighs and chewing to fill the silence which had taken hold of the room.


    Halfway through the meal Daniel arrived back at the table with a tall glass of cola, as well as the drinks for the others (Blayney chose red wine, and Tiffany, Blain, and Mikayla chose white wine.)


    That first sip of the cola was immensely satisfying. The cool, bubbly, sting of the cola hit just right. I considered pacing myself with the cola to enjoy it for longer, but that notion was quickly forgotten as I gulped it down in less than a minute.


    And, just when I thought I was satiated enough, the waiters took our empty plates and returned with tall glasses filled with ice cream sundaes drizzled in hot fudge sauce. For a brief instant it occurred to me the food might be poisoned, as if for some mad reason Abigail and Robert Hoffman had decided to use the occasion to elaborately poison us all. The sundae tasted so good I simply couldn''t bring myself to not eat every last bit of it, potentially poisoned or not.


    Daniel took the plates and empty drink glasses from our table away for what was likely the last time whilst all of us sat back in the midst of food comas. My mind drifted towards returning back to B-6 and getting a good night''s sleep, only to remember that there was a good chance I wouldn''t ever be going back down to the third floor of the facility ever again. The notion of potentially going back to the third floor, back to the white walls, terrible food, the confinement, and the constant terror of being murdered at any moment sobered my thoughts.


    A whirring sound drew everyone''s attention to the front of the room. A projection screen was being lowered down. Earlier, whilst eating, I noticed a projector fixed to the ceiling. The dinner phase of the night was over.


    "All stand," said a Pied Piper officer loudly from the back of the room.


    Everyone, including me, hesitated before doing as we were told. Once we were all standing Robert Hoffman entered into the room through the doorway which led to the kitchen. He looked the same as usual, wearing a baggy, tan-coloured suit. He smiled as he approached Abigail, the two giving each other a quick hug.


    Abigail, who hadn''t sat with the rest of us during the dinner, took a seat at one of the tables at the front and faced her father. For a moment I saw Abigail look my way, her gaze lingering for a half second on me before facing Robert again.


    "Hello, everyone," said Robert, "Danny''s a great cook, isn''t he? I would like to thank Danny for his hard work this evening."


    Robert started to clap, and half the room joined in clapping too. Everyone at our table refrained from clapping with the exception of Michael Blayney, who clapped extra loud.


    Danny Tremblay was standing at the kitchen doorway bowing his head bashfully at the clapping.


    Are we seriously doing this? I thought, hating that we were all pretending to be at some society dinner and not currently under arrest.


    "And thank you, Abigail, for arranging everything tonight," said Robert.


    More clapping, with even more of the room joining in this time; including Mikayla and Tiffany.


    It seemed to me Abigail looked uncomfortable with the applause but took it gratefully.


    "Thank you, Dad," she said, with her hand pressed over her heart.


    Robert gestured for us all to sit back down, which we did.


    "Alright, okay, let''s not waste any more time, let''s get down to it, right on it, let''s go," said Robert, working up momentum.


    "I didn''t bring you all here just for some fancy schmancy dinner," he said.


    He waited a moment, letting silence fill the room, then said, "You''re here because you''re special. And I don''t mean special because of your powers. That is something special, no doubt. But I''m talking special about who you all are."


    Robert walked slowly over to a chair where Jay was sitting and put his arm atop the back of the chair.


    "Some of you I have already spoken to one-on-one, others I haven''t yet had the pleasure. But I have been keeping a close eye on each and every one of you during your time at the facility because I have been on the lookout. On the lookout for what, you ask? Potential. Talent. That special something. Something that you all possess."


    Robert brought a finger to his lips as if contemplating what he intended to say next.


    "The world is not ready for the tidal wave of change that is soon to crash upon it," he said, "And this tidal wave is, of course, the introduction of powered individuals across the world into society."


    "In practically every country across the world powered individuals are now seen as a menace."


    Faking teenagers exploding was something the Pied Piper''s Return operation had done to scare the public into giving up their children to the government, I thought, indignantly.


    "I want you all to understand something," said Robert, "As hard as the Pied Piper''s Return operation has tried to find and identify powered individuals, there are tens of thousands of powered individuals which have likely evaded detection across the globe; and this is a very conservative estimate, mind you."


    Robert moved away from Jay''s chair and returned to the front of the projection screen. He clasped his hands together.


    "My point is this: let''s assume that tomorrow you were all no longer under arrest at this facility and you were all to return home to your families. As things stand right now you would not be able to live a semblance of the normal life you once knew, precisely because of the prejudice against powered individuals which has newly taken root in society."


    I looked at Tiffany to gauge how she was taking in this information and saw she was breathing heavily, clearly emotionally affected by what Robert was saying; her mind no doubt on her finding a way to be with her son again.


    "You are all here today because you have been compliant with the Pied Piper''s Return operation," said Robert, "And I know, I know, it has not been an easy road. I do not agree with much of how things have been run at this facility, but much of what goes on here is not under my jurisdiction. What I want to broach with you all tonight is a question which can''t be avoided; what will your future look like in this new world that is already here? How far into your future can you see?"


    Robert retrieved a small remote from his pocket and thumbed a button, turning on the projector.


    He then said, "This evening I''m going to present you with an offer to participate in the first program of its kind."


    The projector came to life and Robert stepped outside of the light.


    An anagram written in bold red letters filled the screen.


    "Welcome everyone," said Robert, "To the P.U.N.C.H program."

 64. Even Distribution

    I took a moment to gauge how the rest of the teenagers in the room were absorbing what Hoffman was saying. Everyone was listening with rapt attention like shareholders at a boardroom meeting.


    "So what is ''Punch''?" said Hoffman, glancing at the bold red acronym projected beside him.


    He thumbed a remote button and the words faded away to be replaced by a singular P.


    "Protect society from powered individuals who use their powers maliciously," said Robert, reading out the scrawl of text which flowed out beside the large bold P.


    Robert pointed with his remote holding hand once, twice, then a third time making sure to doff his hand to everyone sat listening to him.


    "This is the stuff of super-heroes," said Robert, "Can you believe it? The world is going to fall into chaos if righteous super humans don''t stand up and fight the good fight. For a while I''m sure the police and militaries of the world will keep the powered individuals of society in check but, if we follow the logical conclusion of how all this will work out, there will come a time when it will be up to the likes of everyone in this room to keep the peace. To protect not only your loved ones, your friends, your families, but also your country and the entire world."


    Robert drew his hand back and shoved his other hand casually into his pocket.


    "It sounds dangerous, I know," he said, "There will be casualties. It''s inevitable. But the other option is to stand aside and let those who don''t follow the rules, the good-for-nothings, to take over. I refuse to let that happen, which is why I am personally leading the British extension of the P.U.N.C.H program."


    So it''s international,  I thought. I pictured in my mind''s eye similar presentations being made elsewhere in Britain, America, and anywhere else the Pied Piper''s Return act (or their local equivalents) were instituted.


    Robert thumbed his remote and a bold letter U emerged onto the screen, followed swiftly by the next sentence.


    "Use the abilities of powered individuals for the greater good," said Robert, reading it aloud.


    His eyes scanned the room for a moment, and then he said, "This means to use your abilities for the greater good. In this context the greater good means the safety and keeping of the peace from the tyranny of powered individuals who refuse to obey the law."


    "Simply put," said Robert, "Any powered individual in society must make themselves known and submit to the conditions of the MICE act, as well as the future acts which will be put into place for the safekeeping of society in the years ahead."


    Robert thumbed the remote button again and the next letter emerged; a large N.


    He read the next sentence which followed aloud, "Nurture scientific study of powered individuals."


    He smiled, nodding as if agreeing with himself.


    "Your time here at this facility has not been wasted. We have already learned a lot the nature of the power you all possess. For instance, a test was carried out at this facility which, we think, hints at the underlying nature of the power. Would you all like to know what it is we discovered?"


    Half the room, including myself, nodded, wanting to know.


    "Here we go," said Robert, thumping a button on the remote, the slide changed over to a picture of six teenagers, some familiar (such as Jay and Amar), as well as four others I vaguely recognised who weren''t currently in the room. They were in a laboratory-like space which must have been somewhere on the second floor of the facility.


    In the still image the teenagers present had their hands glowing bright like lightbulbs. Each teenager held a length of metal pipe each connected to thick cabling.


    Robert played the clip, showing all six teenagers concentrating and holding the metal rods. The clip lasted several seconds before Robert paused it. It looked just like when I used my hands to bulb. A part of me felt let down bulbing was no longer unique to me. I wondered if they had gotten the idea for the experiment after seeing me bulb up my hands.


    "In this experiment we asked our test subjects to create heat with their hands. The result, as you can see, is each test subject wielding an incredible amount of heat, save for some light sweating. But this isn''t what is interesting about the experiment. What is interesting here is that, after several hours of renewed effort and practice, every test subject equally achieved a peak temperature of 450 degrees Farenheit." Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Robert let this information settle in for a moment. It immediately lodged into my mind what it must have meant.


    "Yes," said Robert, smiling, revealing his upper row of teeth as he bit into his lower lip.


    "This power you all share has an even distribution," he said, "When this test was run again a week later the test subject''s new peak reached 455 degrees Farenheit."


    "Which means," said Robert, raising his voice a little, "With each passing day you are all becoming stronger, growing into your powers at an even rate. This of course is a limited test and should not be considered conclusive. We haven''t even begun to scratch the surface of understanding what this power is; together, with your continued cooperation, we can unravel its mysteries."


    Before I could really take the time to digest this new information, Robert pressed on. He thumbed the remote in his hand and the next bold letter emerged, going back to the slowly building acronym: the letter which emerged onto the screen was of course; C.


    "Create a positive public opinion of powered individuals," said Robert, reading out the sentence scrawl.


    "Being powered doesn''t make you evil. Nor does it make you good," said Robert, he then waved his hand as if smelling something foul, "Although the notion of good and evil is archaic, in the public sphere what matters is making sure society trusts powered individuals that serve their best interests. It will be up to all of you to change public opinion on powered individuals by setting a good example. Next!"


    Finally, Robert clicked for the last letter to emerge, finishing the acronym: H.


    "Handle threats foreign and domestic in global unity," said Robert.


    He pocketed the remote and then folded his arms.


    "It is not just powered individuals that will need to be kept in check. With your abilities you will have the responsibility of policing all ne''er-do-wells; powered or not. This will be an exercise in global unity for the betterment of mankind; those who resist change can''t be allowed to hold back progress towards a better world."


    I felt a headache coming on something fierce. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose for a moment in an attempt to alleviate the ache at the front of my mind.


    "Now," said Robert, "That''s the acronym explained. Another thing I would like to mention is that this isn''t all about violence. There is more at work here than making you super human police. That''s small-time thinking."


    Robert extended his arms wide.


    "As you continue to prove your dedication towards the PUNCH program, we will use our considerable influence in the corporate and political sphere to place you in positions of influence. Some of you may have a knack for politics; that''s if you want to bring about significant political progress; others may want to push forward in the world of business, or entertainment; as you work with us we will work tirelessly to help you reach your ultimate potential; quid pro quo."


    Robert put his hands into his pockets and surveyed the carpet for a moment before looking up.


    "This won''t be the dynamic you have experienced at this facility. For a time we will need to heavily supervise your participation in the program, but only to facilitate your independence and growth as individuals. In time we want you to lead the way. Because you are our future."


    And with that Robert took the remote out of his pocket and turned off the projector.


    "That''s it," he said, "That''s the pitch. I''ll take any questions you have now, please raise a hand if you have a question and Abigail will give you the go ahead."


    For a moment nobody raised a hand. Then, to my surprise, Tiffany raised hers.


    "Yes," said Abigail, giving Tiffany permission to speak.


    "If we take part in this will we be able to see our families? Will we be able to support them?" she said.


    Robert rolled his eyes.


    "Of course!" he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if the promises made to us about two grand a week weren''t reneged on, "At first you''ll be given an ample salary, and over time the amount of money you''ll earn through this program will cease to matter, because you''ll have something even greater; leverage. You''ll be able to call the shots and decide the terms of your involvement with the program. From the outset we will establish a safe location for regular family visits, as well as financial compensation to make sure you''ll have peace of mind that your loved ones have everything they need to thrive; none of you should settle for anything less given the potential you all hold."


    I felt tears stab at my eyes. The notion that I could be with my family again, there for them, financially providing for them, struck me deeply. I could see Tiffany nodding slowly, seemingly satisfied with having her question answered.


    Michael Blayney raised his hand and was given the go ahead by Abigail.


    "Thank you," said Micheal, "Will there be training?"


    "Yes," said Robert, "You will receive the best military training in the world; given the best equipment; combined with your growing powers you will all become forces to be reckoned with. And this includes training in the political sphere if that is what you wish to navigate and have an aptitude for. It may seem far off now; the world will need new political leaders; we already have political personnel in place throughout the world in high positions of power; the very highest, even. This means you''ll be learning from the very best in every facet of your journey."


    "That is excellent, thank you," said Michael.


    Robert gazed around the room for the next hand. Mine was raised.


    "Yes," said Abigail, "Go ahead, Burgess."


    "So," I said, my heart thumping madly in my chest, "Do you really think we''re going to buy this crap?"

 65. A Great Man

    I expected to find Robert angry at what I just said, instead he looked delighted.


    All the other teenagers in the room were looking at me. I stood from my seat.


    "Oh Burgess," said Robert, digging into his blazer pocket, "Is there some part of this you disagree with?"


    I considered the question. As I did I caught a glimpse of Tiffany, Blain, and Mikayla looking up at me with shocked expressions; none of them had expected this from me. In fact, I was surprised myself.


    "All of it," I said, clenching my fists.


    I wasn''t interested in saying something clever. Nor did I need to know anything more about the program to know I didn''t want any part of it. I simply had one question.


    "What happens if we refuse?" I said.


    Robert retrieved a small blue book from his blazer pocket which he rubbed with his thumb.


    "Well," he said, "If you refuse then you''ll be sent back to the facility for an indefinite stay. This offer is only valid whilst you''re standing inside this building."


    "I refuse," I said, "You can take me back to the facility. I''m not interested."


    Again, rather than seem angry or even annoyed at my refusal, Robert maintained his enthusiastic smile.


    "If that''s what you want, Burgess, then so be it," he said.


    He gestured with a hand to the door.


    "There''s the door," he said, "That is, if you really have the guts to turn your back on the opportunity of a lifetime; on the great man you could become."


    I looked over my shoulder to the closed door. Rain fell thick and heavy, drumming against the door and the roof of the building.


    "Burgess?" said a voice close to me.


    It was Tiffany.


    My heart sank. Because I knew just by the way she was looking at me the decision she had already made.


    "I''m not staying," I said, "Are you coming with me?"


    A tear ran down her cheek as she shook her head in a ''no'' gesture.


    I looked at Blain. His upper lip was pulled back as if he were starting to snarl.


    "Don''t be stupid, bruv," he said, "Sit down."


    Seriously? I thought, Are they seriously going to go along with Robert''s program?


    I locked eyes with Mikayla beyond Blain and, after a moment, she simply squirmed in her seat and looked away. I became very aware of my eyes moving in their sockets, searching the room for anyone that might decide to leave with me. I spotted Jay and Amar but they simply looked on with little to no emotion evident on their faces.


    "Robert?" said Abigail. She had stood up and approached her father''s side.


    "Yes, dear?" said Robert, his amused look replaced with concern.


    "Can we talk with Burgess in private for a moment?" she said.


    Robert looked over to me.


    "Would you spare a moment, Burgess?" he said.


    There wasn''t anything else for me to discuss with them, but the look on Abigail''s face made me decide to give them what they wanted. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    "Come on, Burgess," said Abigail.


    She hugged her waist and walked through the doorway which led to the kitchen. Robert put his hands into his pockets, turned, and followed after Abigail. With a final look to Tiffany, Mikayla, and Blain, I walked around the table and across the room, passing through the same doorway.


    Abigail was within arm''s reach of me the moment I stepped into the kitchen. Robert stood behind her leaning against the counter-top still holding his little blue book.


    "Burgess what the heck are you thinking?" said Abigail, stooping forward like some upset big sister.


    "I can''t go along with this anymore," I said.


    "Burgess, you know what will happen if you go back to the facility," said Abigail, "This is your only chance to get out before they kill all of the mice left down there."


    "And you''re okay with that?" I said.


    "Of course not," said Abigail, "But we can''t save everyone. We''re giving you a lifeline, Burgess. If you don''t take it then there''s no second chances. It''ll be over for you."


    Abigail was trembling a little as she spoke. It seemed strange to me that she cared so much about my decision to leave. Was it all an act, I wondered, or was it genuine? I could never tell with her.


    "Think about your family," she said, "You''ll never see your mother again. She''ll never see you again. At least with us you''ll be able to keep her in your life. Don''t throw your life away, Burgess."


    "I don''t trust you," I said, shaking my head, "You just keep making empty promises."


    "I know, I know," said Abigail, "I''m sorry. Things keep changing and we''re trying to stay ahead of things. If you only knew how many strings we''ve had to pull to make this program happen, Burgess. Look, my Dad wants everyone who is sat out there to be a part of this program but he wants you the most. He can see there''s something special about you. Isn''t that right, Dad?"


    "That''s right," said Robert.


    He pocketed his book and walked slowly towards me. He passed Abigail and then placed a hand on my shoulder.


    "You don''t trust us," he said, speaking in a low, fatherly tone,  "And that''s good. You should never trust anybody in this life. But I''m asking you to please reconsider, Burgess. From the bottom of my heart I know you''ll do great things. I know you''re trying to find your way in the world, son."


    Robert placed his other hand on my shoulder and said, "Let me be a father to you."


    I looked into Robert''s eyes and felt the sincerity of his words. It was so strange to think that someone believed in me so fully, especially when I never believed in myself.


    Let me be a father to you, Robert had said.


    Up until the very moment Robert said those words I had always had a chip on my shoulder when it came to my father, for numerous reasons; disappointment, starting to see the things I didn''t like about myself having grown out of the things I had picked up from being around him; feeling as if I hadn''t been given the proper fatherly role model to know how to be a man myself.


    And yet, with a painfully simple clarity which made me start to cry, I realised I would take my simple, incredible, loving father over a manipulative man like Robert Hoffman any day. I knew at the very least my Dad was a good man, kind, hardly ever had a bad word to say about anybody; never the center of attention but always someone worth knowing, and certainly good company. He wasn''t anyone important, not a ''great man'' by anyone''s standards; but he had been a great Dad. I didn''t often think of my Dad and yet, stood eye to eye with Robert Hoffman, I had never appreciated all the things my father was more.


    For a brief instant I remembered sitting on the old red couch in the upstairs living room watching TV with my Dad. A simple memory, but one of my happiest.


    I stepped backwards out of Robert''s reach. For a single moment I saw rage fill Robert''s face, which made him look much older, the lines in his face deepening. And then he started to laugh merrily. Abigail didn''t seem to share his joy.


    "''He will reject the call''," said Robert, and then he said it again, much louder, "''He will reject the call!''"


    "Very well, my boy," said Robert.


    "Dad-" said Abigail.


    "-no, dear," said Robert, raising a hand, "That''s enough. We''ll respect Burgess''s decision."


    Robert looked beyond me, "You can take him back, Freeman," he said.


    I looked over my shoulder to see two Pied Piper officers, one of them being officer Black Hair, who I now knew to be Officer Freeman, who looked at me with a cold gaze. For a brief second I almost chickened out. I almost went back on everything I had said, ready to beg Robert to let me be a part of the program. But I just couldn''t bring myself to do it. I knew right from wrong; my parents had taught me that much.


    Without saying a word, officer Freeman took a hold of my shoulder and led me out through a different door than the one I had entered in from. Another officer followed beside me, ready for me to cause trouble should I try and make a break for it.


    Outside the rain fell thick and heavy and the night was incredibly dark, with strong gusts of icy wind buffeting us. Officer Freeman led me on through the dark towards the long, narrow steps we had taken to reach where we were.


    It was easy acting brave in front of Robert and Abigail, and all the teenagers in the room that were going to go along with the program; but outside, in the cold, black night, I started to doubt myself.

 66. No Return

    On the way back to the facility trudging down the slick wet steps with tall rock walls on either side, and with the rain falling thick and heavy in the blackness, I found myself hoping Blain, Mikayla, and Tiffany (especially Tiffany), would have had a change of heart. I imagined Tiffany racing to come find me, at the very least begging me to join her in her decision to be a part of Robert Hoffman''s PUNCH program; but she didn''t come after me. None of them did.


    I was soaked through by the time the Pied Piper officers led me back to the entrance to the facility. None of them said a word to me but they made it clear how little they cared about my well-being, because every other minute they shoved me to make me pick up my pace.


    My stomach lurched upon entering the elevator which, hours before, I had hoped I never would have to see again. The descent downward towards the third floor almost didn''t seem real. It was cold, made worse because every inch of me was dripping wet. I shivered, facing the floor, knowing full well I wouldn''t be getting any sympathy from the Pied Piper officers.


    We reached the third floor. After going through the checkpoint, where a Meter device was put back onto my wrist, I was marched back to B-6.


    Christopher and Reece were sitting atop their bunks, bleary eyed, having woken up a little to see who might be approaching their block. Neither Reece or Christopher spoke as Officer Freeman gave me one last shove into B-6, then promptly left with his fellow officers.


    Too numb to care about how drenched I was, I moved over to my bunk and laid down. A few minutes of sitting in the dark staring up at the ceiling later, I heard Reece ask me a question.


    "Where''s Blain?" he said.


    He''s gone, I thought. The words however didn''t leave my mouth. I simply rolled over to face the wall and, somehow despite all the thoughts swirling around in my head, drifted off to sleep.


    I woke hours later feeling awful. I still felt full from all the food I had eaten the previous night. I eased myself up to a sitting position, aware of the clingy damp fabric of the overalls I was wearing.


    "Ah-chew!" I sneezed, wiping my nose, which felt runny.


    Great, I thought, I''ve caught a cold.


    "Burgess?" said one of the two.


    It was Reece.


    "Yeah?" I said, tiredly.


    Reece squatted down beside my bunk, looking concerned.


    "We asked you last night about Blain, but you seemed tired, maybe you didn''t hear us ask," he said.


    I didn''t object to what Reece was saying, so he continued.


    "Well," he said, "Where is he? What happened?"


    "You know Robert Hoffman?" I said.


    Reece nodded. I spotted Christopher beyond Reece, sat with his arms wrapped around one knee.


    I told Reece and Christopher a casual gist of what had happened at the special dinner. I didn''t particularly care what either of them thought, but I felt the need to tell someone else about it.


    "So you''re the only one who decided not to be a part of it?" said Reece. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    I nodded.


    Reece offered me his hand to shake, the way Blain would offer me to shake his hand.


    "Good job sticking it to them," said Reece.


    I looked at Reece''s offered hand but didn''t take it; I wasn''t going to forget that it was partly because of his and Christopher''s stupidity that my life, and Blain''s, had been close to being cut short because of their choice to go along with Holly''s beliefs.


    Ignoring Reece''s offered hand, I got up from my bunk and walked to the doorway.


    "You know," said Reece, his words sour from my refusal to shake his hand, "Maybe you should have joined the PUNCH program."


    "Oh yeah?" I said, looking out to the empty white corridor.


    "You''re just sitting around waiting for the officers at this facility to make their move," said Reece, "If you''re not going to do something about being stuck here then you might as well have taken up Robert''s offer."


    I had to be careful about how I phrased my words because I had the Meter device strapped to my wrist.


    "I guess I got sick of compromising," I said, "It''s how I ended up here in the first place."


    "You might not agree with what we believe in-" said Reece, before I cut him off.


    "-what was that again?" I said, facing him a little.


    "Our powers are a privilege," said Reece, "A privilege which will give us the means to change the world. To make progress towards an inclusive future for everyone."


    "Huh," I said, "I wonder why Robert didn''t choose you two for his program? You''d fit right in."


    "I can tell you why," said Christopher, speaking up from behind Reece, "We don''t have to listen to some old bastard telling us how the world should be. We''re the next generation, so we''ll decide what future we want to make for ourselves."


    I shook my head a little whilst grinning mirthlessly, "How do you find the energy to care?" I said, "I''m just trying to get through the day, not change the world."


    "It''s called having empathy," said Christopher, "You should try it sometime."


    "Yeah," I said, dismissively, "Maybe I should."


    I recognised Mike''s voice on the speakerphones dotted throughout the third floor.


    "B-block mice, make your way to the cafeteria for breakfast," said Mike.


    This call was repeated three times.


    Reece climbed to his feet and stood beside Christopher. They embraced each other in a hug and then, growing longer claws on their newly enlarged hands, they carved with their nails a sentence onto the wall.


    With the sentence written the pair looked at each other the way professional athletes look at their teammates before a big game.


    My stomach lurched at the sight of what they had written there. They started to leave the block but I stood in their way, wincing a little from the pain of throwing both my hands up.


    "What are you going to do?" I said.


    Reece and Christopher were on me in an instant, pinning me against the wall, their hands furred and clawed.


    "Keep your mouth shut," said Reece, his eyes feline and yellow and inches from my face.


    I felt claws at my throat hard enough that I felt the need to check for blood, but dared not move with the claws still digging there.


    "Are you going to say something?" said Reece; his teeth were fanged, and his face was taking on an increasingly feline quality by the second.


    "I won''t say anything," I said in a shaky whisper.


    "You better not," said Reece, "Don''t get in our way."


    His feline qualities diminished away a mere moment before a Pied Piper officer came patrolling past the block. The officer stopped to stare at us.


    "Is there a problem here?" said the officer.


    For a moment I considered telling the officer what Reece and Christopher were planning to do. I didn''t have a full picture of what they intended, only that it was going to happen very soon. Maybe within the next ten minutes.


    Telling the officer what they might be planning was likely going to speed up what the pair had planned, so I chose instead to keep my mouth shut; not because they had threatened me, but because it seemed the only way to buy myself time to make a move of my own.


    "We''re fine," I said, "Just heading to breakfast."


    "Get moving," said the officer.


    The officer stood waiting for us to leave our block, and followed behind us on the way towards the cafeteria. For a horrible moment I thought he might spot what Reece and Christopher had written on the wall, which read: Christoper & Reece Were Here.


    Like me last night they had no intention of returning to B-6.

 67. Reaping

    The B-block corridor was already filled with a dozen sleepy-eyed boys shuffling towards the cafeteria.


    Some of the boys, who I recognised as being participants in Holly''s ''mindfulness'' group, weren''t so sleepy-eyed. Instead they watched every move Christopher and Reece took like wolves watching their pack leader.


    Christopher and Reece were walking a step ahead of me just out of arm''s reach of the Pied Piper officer who had made sure we left B-6 on schedule.


    I found myself mentally thrust into my immediate surroundings as if hyper aware of the trouble that was about to begin. There was no room in my mind to think through a possible solution; as if the time to have conjured one up had come and gone.


    We reached the end of the B-block corridor and entered onto the next. A dozen more boys were walking ahead of us, some of whom took quick glances over their shoulders. The barely disguised looks of anticipation on their faces made it seem painfully obvious they too were intending to be a part of Christopher and Reece''s revolution.


    The Pied Piper officer leading Christopher, Reece, and I along the corridor came to a sudden stop. He held a finger to the security earpiece at his left ear.


    "Repeat that?" said the officer.


    After a moment the officer, before casual in his demeanor, turned quickly to face Christopher, Reece, and I.


    The officer held his machine gun at us, flicking off the safety. We all froze, including the boys ahead of us and behind. There were about twenty boys in the corridor, with around four (that I had spotted) Pied Piper officers who had also been given new information and had raised their guns at the teenagers nearest them.


    "You boys want to explain why your heart-rates are going through the roof?" said the Pied Piper officer ahead of me.


    Crap, I thought, they''ve been tracking our heart-rates the entire time. If over a dozen boys are anticipating violence at the same time the Pied Piper officers would be sure to notice.


    There was maybe a moment or two where Christopher and Reece might have called off their revolution. By not accounting for the Meter devices picking up their heart-rates, they had lost the element of complete surprise against the Pied Piper officers. But no harm had been done, no transformation undertaken.


    There was still a chance for them to think better of their revolution which I was sure was doomed to fail.


    After those two moments were up Christopher and Reece began to transform into their beastial selves.


    The Pied Piper officer opened fire.


    The sound of the gunfire was painfully loud. Flashes, almost forming fiery rings in mid-air formed in unison with each bullet sailing out of the gun.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    I caught a glimpse of the Pied Piper officer''s face pinched tight as he stood firm against the kick of the machine gun after each bullet fired.


    I was directly in the firing range of these bullets for a quarter of a second before Reece, already in motion, filled up my field of vision.


    He was already transformed into his were-cat form; halfway between his normal human form and the full, beastial form Holly and Adam had taken on.


    I couldn''t see the bullets ripping into his chest, but I could see the way his body shook violently from the impact of each one; strings of blood springing up from his chest after each bullet tore into him. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Reece had given a feral shriek upon transforming into his half were-cat form. The bullets cut this shriek short in an instant and he fell lifelessly to the floor.


    Christopher had lunged at the Pied Piper officer at the same time Reece had. The officer was helpless against Christopher''s might, finding himself pinned against the wall and the gun wrenched from his grip.


    For a fraction of a moment I thought Christopher was going to sink his sharp teeth into the officer''s neck. Instead he yanked the officer closer and then, standing behind him, brought a clawed hand to the officer''s throat.


    More feral shrieks and gunfire mingled up and down the corridor. Ahead I saw two more boys, transformed into their beastly ''shadow-selves'', dead on the floor.


    The other transformed boys ahead and behind us, who had set upon the Pied Piper officer nearest them, also had their claws at their particular officer''s throat, and had taken possession of their officer''s guns.


    In less than a minute the commotion all around had come to a stop. Although I hadn''t done anything myself, I stood panting, eyes-wide, at what I had seen and what I was continuing to see.


    All four Pied Piper officers in the corridor were standing at the mercy of the teenage boys who had begun their revolution.


    "Who''s got the gun now, you prick?!" yelled one of the teenage boys up ahead before driving the back of the gun into the officer''s mouth, surely knocking out some teeth.


    "Don''t forget their handguns," said Christopher.


    I hadn''t noticed the two boys standing close behind me. One of them raced to the officer held captive by Christopher and took the handgun holstered at his thigh.


    Christopher''s eyes lowered to look at Reece, who, still in his half were-cat form, was dead.


    He had died with his yellow eyes wide-open.


    "Have you lost your minds?!" said the officer at Christopher''s mercy.


    Christopher dug his claws deeper into the officer''s throat, causing blood to leak in red lines.


    "Speak up again and I''ll rip your throat out," said Christopher, the otherworldly tone to his voice making his threat all the more menacing.


    The officer, heeding the warning, nodded as much as he dared.


    It was then the alarms began to blare out across the third floor. The lights within the corridor turned red.


    "What now?" shouted one of the boys; he, like the fifteen or more boys that had taken part in the revolution, was also in a monstrous, half-feline form.


    Christopher hesitated his answer, then said, "We stick to the plan. Let''s go!"


    Christopher kept his grip at the Pied Piper officer''s throat, forcing him to walk backwards. The other transformed boys kept pace, keeping their guns raised and a frantic look out for any more Pied Piper officers.


    The boys who had no idea any of this was about to go down lingered, wide-eyed and afraid in the halls. Some started to move with the rest of the transformed boys down the corridor in the direction of the cafeteria. Some remained at the doorways to their blocks.


    I continued on along the corridor with Christopher and the rest moving that way. I had feared Christopher might have seen me as an enemy to take care of, but it seemed he was paying me no mind at all.


    Christopher reached the end of the corridor and met with the other transformed boys who also had newly acquired guns and Pied Piper officers at their mercy. The strength each transformed boy owned thanks to the power was clearly on display; each of the boys effortlessly held their Pied Piper officer captive. Seeing this was like looking at some upside-down version of reality where animal-people hunt humans for sport, and each frightened officer was their hunting prize; made all the surreal by the way they were all bathed in red flashing light.


    "Keep moving," shouted Christopher over the sound of the wailing sirens.


    Christopher (followed by the transformed boys) had begun to move off towards the cafeteria but stopped when he saw I wasn''t following. His shiny black eyes, tinged with red, followed me as I moved to where the corridor we were in led left, towards A-block, instead of right, towards the cafeteria. His eyes searched for an answer as to what he should do about me.


    I raised my hands up in an effort to make it clear I had no intention of getting in the way of his revolution.


    Finally, Christopher turned away, continuing with the others down the corridor towards the cafeteria.


    As soon as Christopher''s back was turned I broke into a sprint. I needed to get to A-block. Fast. If my guess was right, we had mere minutes, if that, before the entirety of the third floor was filled with the poisonous gas from the canisters inside the walls.


    I could only hope Sophie hadn''t lied about a way out of the facility.

 68. A Push of a Button

    The sound of feral growls and gunfire sprang up over and over again. The sirens continued to wail and lights bathed the corridors in intermittent flashing red. I ran as fast as I could without going into the coiled state; the wounds on my stomach and right shoulder delivering sharp stabbing pains after each one of my footfalls landed.


    I bounded to the end of the corridor and turned sharply into A-block, coming to a hard stop.


    Three bodies of were-cat girls lay dead on the ground riddled with bullet holes. Deeper into the corridor I saw there were also two dead Pied Piper officers; their bodies mangled and torn apart where they lay strewn several paces away from the dead were-cat girls.


    The blood, which was all over the floor, the bullet-ridden walls, and the dead bodies, glistened like red-tinged oil. There was an acrid, smokey smell, which I feared for a moment might be the oncoming of the deadly gas contained within the walls; but after a moment I realised it was the aftermath of all the machine gun firing.


    Up ahead four were-cat girls had a single Pied Piper officer at their mercy. From the way they were holding the female officer I thought I was about to witness them tearing the officer''s arms from their sockets. Instead one of the were-cat girls took the officer''s machine gun, and another girl took the handgun.


    I had come to know many of the faces of the teenagers at the facility, though not many of their names. Even if I did know their names I doubted I would have been able to tell them apart in their were-cat states. Despite the intermittent flashing light which flashed bright everywhere in the corridor, I could hardly make out the faces of the transformed girls. What I could make out was their silhouettes; their long hair, their feline ears, their claws and, most notably, their bright yellow eyes, which fixed on me as soon as I came to a stop.


    I wasn''t sure if I could hear an unpleasant feline hissing coming from these girls, but it seemed they still had enough presence of mind not to see me as an enemy.


    Something gripped my elbow and yanked hard. I gave a cry of fright and turned to see a familiar face.


    It was the Scottish young man who had provoked Holly''s wrath during her mindfulness session.


    The young man was panting, wide-eyed, and sweating.


    "Was'' going on?" he shouted, over the sound of the siren.


    "They''re staging a breakout," I shouted back.


    Hearing this, the young man put his hands to head and rear-kicked the wall.


    "They''re gonnae kill us!" he shouted, "They''re gonnae kill us!"


    I assumed he meant the Pied Piper officers only, but wasn''t sure. I grabbed his shoulder.


    "What''s your name?" I shouted.


    For a moment he just looked at me with wide, hopeless eyes.


    "W-Walter," he said.


    "Walter," I shouted, "Do you know a girl named Sophie?"


    "Naw," he said, shaking his head.


    "I''ve got to find her," I shouted, "She might know a way out of here."


    "Okay!" Walter shouted.


    I gestured behind me, spotting the four were-cat girls marching the Pied Piper officer at their mercy our way.


    "I''ll check for her here," I said, "If she''s not here then we''ll try outside the exercise area, alright?"


    Walter nodded.


    I turned about and stayed close to the left-side wall. Walter did the same. The were-cat girls looked even more menacing up close; one of them was bleeding from a bullet wound on her right shoulder.


    It was almost comical the way Walter and I held our hands up to show we didn''t mean them any harm.


    After the girls passed us by we continued down A-block. What I saw made my stomach tie up in knots. There weren''t just dead bodies of were-cat girls in A-block; the Pied Piper officers had started to murder the other girls in A-block too. There were at least two-to-three dead bodies per block on either side; girls who had lives, families, friends, futures; but no longer.


    By the time we reached the end of the corridor I was sure none of the dead bodies belonged to Sophie.


    Before I could hope to stop it, burning vomit shot up in my throat. I lurched over and spat it out, fighting desperately to breathe. My eyes bulged and I felt trapped in the overalls and plimsolls I was wearing, wanting nothing more than to strip out of the clothes and be free. The siren continued to blare and the flashing red lights added to the dizzying nightmarishness of everything happening around me. I found myself wishing for a glass of water.


    I felt Walter''s hand at my back.


    "Come on, Burgess," he shouted, "We cannae stay here."


    I spat the last of the vomit from my mouth and wiped my lips clean with my forearm. I moved along the corridor in the direction of the cafeteria, which we would need to cut through to get to the exercise area (we needed to go there in particular because that was where Sophie had said she thought the hidden exit out of the third floor was located.)


    After passing down a short corridor we moved into the next and saw a large throng of teenagers at the far end where the cafeteria was. The four were-cat girls and the Pied Piper officer at their mercy moved through the throng which parted for them. Stolen story; please report.


    "Maybe there''s another way," shouted Walter, "We donnae wannae get involved with this."


    "She might be here," I shouted, "We could go the long way but we don''t have time to waste."


    "Come with me?" I said, the fear I felt because of everything that was happening around us soaked into every one of my words.


    "Aye," said Walter.


    He patted my left shoulder and then together we hurried towards the cafeteria. When we reached the start of the cafeteria it seemed like nearly all the teenagers at the facility were gathered.


    The tables had been pushed together and had become a stage of sorts for Christopher and all of the other would-be revolutionaries, all of whom were in their half were-cat state (and half their number in possession of a gun), and standing proudly together.


    The four were-cat girls were standing on the makeshift stage and were forcing the Pied Piper officer they had brought to her knees, to join the dozen other Pied Piper officers already grouped together on their knees too.


    The teenagers not standing atop the tables watched on from all around the cafeteria, most frightened but also in awe of the spectacle before them. My mouth hung agape at the sight of it all; the revolutionary cats with their were-bat leader Christopher stood triumphantly in the middle of them all.


    All at once the sirens stopped and the red lights died out, bathing the entirety of the cafeteria and the adjoining corridors in pitch darkness; it was so dark not even the yellow eyes of the were-cats were visible.


    I was about to use my power to bulb up but after a few seconds the normal fluorescent lights returned.


    "The hard part is over!" yelled Christopher, his voice tinged into something beastly due to being half transformed into a were-bat.


    The cats all around him threw up fists and gave cries of triumph.


    "Now we have these hostages, we''ll negotiate our terms!" Christopher yelled, gesturing to the captured Pied Piper officers; I noticed one of the officers was missing an ear, and another had an eye bloody and swollen shut; the rest were in similar bloody states.


    Another wave of triumphant cries from the cats filled the cafeteria.


    The speakerphones dotted throughout the third floor suddenly crackled, and then a familiar voice boomed from them.


    "There won''t be any negotiations," said a cold voice belonging to Officer Freeman.


    Christopher brought his clawed hands to the Pied Piper officer knelt in front of him, the one he had disarmed in front of me; the one that had gunned down Reece.


    He dug his sharp claws into the officer''s face and then yanked hard, tearing the officer''s head apart. The dead officer slumped forwards in a pulpy mess of blood. Screams from the terrified teenagers, the mice, filled the cafeteria.


    This was one of those times where I felt as if I were having an outer body experience. The brutal ugliness of what I was witnessing seemed too nightmarish to be really happening. Yet I could smell the sweat and blood in the air, and the heat of so many bodies crammed tightly into one space. It was because I knew that no matter how much I wished I could be anywhere else, but was trapped, that served as a constant reminder that everything I was experiencing really was happening, and there was very little I could do about it.


    "We''re going to negotiate how you''re going to let us out of here or we''ll kill every one of your officers!" Christopher yelled.


    A long pause followed. Christopher''s shiny black eyes searched the ceiling in expectation of Officer Freeman''s answer.


    When Officer Freeman''s voice returned it came with a tinge of mirth in it.


    "The officers knew the risks when they signed up," he said.


    The revolutionary cat''s sense of triumph gave way to a growing unease; their yellow eyes searched among each other for an answer for what to do next; for hope that all they had done wasn''t for nothing.


    The solemn faces of the captured Pied Piper officers told me everything I needed to know. They knew there wouldn''t be any help coming for them. They knew they were as good as dead. If not by the hands of the cats, but at the retribution Officer Freeman had in store for everyone trapped on the third floor.


    Officer Freeman''s voice returned with yet more glee.


    "If I wanted to I could press a button right now which would fill every inch of the third floor with a toxic gas that''ll burn the skin off your bones," he said.


    Silence lingered in the wake of this confirming of what Sophie had already revealed to me, but was news to all of the cats and mice at the facility, and Christopher in particular.


    "My finger is on the button as we speak," he said, "All I need to do is give a little push."


    The cafeteria erupted with screams and cries and shrieks begging Officer Freeman not to push the button.


    It was then I saw the cats standing atop the tables start to convulse, just like how Adam had convulsed, holding his head struggling to keep his mind from giving way to the beast within trying to get out. The whines and grumbles of around twenty were-cats were starting to build; the oppressive nightmare, the bleak hopelessness of their situation, was driving them all to lose control.


    "Oh no," I muttered, feeling my legs turn to jelly.


    "Burgess!" said a familiar voice to my left.


    It was Sophie. She was sweating profusely and had just taken hold of my left elbow. My heart leapt with joy at the one person that promised a semblance of hope in this hell.


    "We need to go," she said, "We need to get out now."


    "You know where it is?" I said, as if not really believing her.


    "I think so," she said, "But we won''t know if it''s there unless we go now."


    The nightmarish ear-piercing shrieks of the transforming were-cat beasts began to fill the cafeteria like an orchestra of broken violins.


    "To the brothers and sisters we are losing today," said Officer Freeman, "Chellam will honor your memory."


    I was about to run off with Sophie and Walter but had the presence of mind to remember all the other teenagers around me. Those who were still alive, who still might be able to return home to their families.


    "Follow us!" I shouted to any of the teenagers standing around that might be able to hear above the growing shrieks of the were-cats.


    Some of the teenagers started to draw closer towards Sophie, Walter, and I.


    It was then I spotted Christopher (the only one of the revolutionaries not to have lost control) pitifully shouting to get his would-be revolutionaries to hold onto their sanity; it was obvious however they were all too far gone to pay his desperate words any attention.


    It was then, to finish off the sick enjoyment he must have had from our peril, Officer Freeman (I could only assume) gave the order to play classical music from the third floor speakers; the primary instruments at play within the music being violins. And flutes.

 69. Carnage

    The only advantage we had in this situation was that the massacre taking place was ahead of us, and not behind. The visual stimuli of around twenty hulking were-cats shrieking and roaring and descending upon each other had all the chaotic violence of a thunderstorm.


    The cats had lost their minds the same way Holly and Adam had. This also meant all of the would-be revolutionaries were that much bigger, broader, furred, and ferocious. Each newly transformed were-cat-beast was either fighting with another of its kind, mauling, tumbling, biting and clawing in their madness; or they were in the midst of attacking the mice at the facility, the unfortunate teenagers that had no part in the revolution.


    I found myself rooted in place staring in numbed awe as one the girls-turned-were-cat-beast, looking to be some kind of hulking-tiger-were-cat, bounded down from the table stage and onto the back of one of the fleeing mice. The were-tiger-cat-beast pulled apart the back muscle and sinew and spine of the helpless mouse pinned down under their hulking legs the way a child rips apart the wrapping of a birthday present.


    This was just one moment of sheer horror amid all of the carnage flourishing in the cafeteria.


    Can''t save them, I thought, Not without being slaughtered ourselves. Got to escape. Got to get away.


    "To the exercise area," Sophie shouted above the sound of the carnage and the classical flute music playing from the speakers.


    Walter and I moved at a jogging pace behind Sophie who led the way down the corridor. The way she was leading us was going to be the long way round to the exercise area. Maybe that wasn''t the best way forward. The alternative was to attempt passing by the were-cat-revolutionaries. That was a no-go for me. I knew how deadly even one of those cats could be; I had felt Holly''s claws driven into my stomach and shoulder; pain which throbbed even now as a constant reminder. There was barely any time to think and no time at all to second guess ourselves.


    Despite having moved away quickly from the mayhem the were-tiger-cat-beast had quickly finished tearing apart the mouse under her grip and had taken notice of us. The speed with which the beast thundered down the corridor in pursuit of us was sickening. A creature so big should not have been able to move so fast and efficiently. The beast was mindless but there was also a calculated intelligence to every step its pawed feet took to close distance between it and us.


    The furious face of the tiger-were-cat-beast intent on nothing else but us, its maw, and claws, and sections of its ripped overalls caked in blood; all combined to instill in us a primal fear.


    The were-cat-tiger-beast''s wide-open yellow eyes, snarling mouth filled with long, sharp, yellowish teeth, made me pine for the days I was staring down the barrel of a Pied Piper officer''s gun.


    I did the mental calculation for how I might even have a remote chance of surviving this monster.


    Running was pointless because it would catch up, even if I was in the coiled state pushing myself to my limit.


    Standing my ground and fighting seemed equally hopeless. The brute strength of the were-cat-beast-revolutionary was going to far outmatch my coiled state prowess.


    I formulated a plan A and a plan B on a near instinctual level of thought and took action before it was too late.


    I can''t die here, I thought to myself, I refuse. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    I entered into a power stance and let out a scream. Entering into the coiled state had become familiar to me, like putting on a comfy pair of slippers. The unlocking sensation felt good for a half-instant as my body began to bulk up with muscle, at first enough to enter into the first coiled state, and then into the second. Although I managed this as quick as I could manage, the were-cat-tiger-beast was nearly upon the three of us. It was close enough that the sheer madness in the beast''s yellow eyes told me that it was in control. It was a primal force of nature and I was just a helpless child playing for time. To think anything I might do against it had any worth was nothing short of a joke. It wasn''t flinching in the face of me coiling up and screaming in the slightest.


    We''ll see! I thought.


    The pain in my shoulder and stomach climbed as my muscles bulked up considerably. The stinging was met also with the wet sensation of leaking blood; my stitches had popped loose.


    Whatever, I thought.


    Bulb-up! I thought, willing my arms from my hands to my elbows to build with intense heat. Right away the hot, golden glow sprang like a glorious beacon from both my arms.


    The were-tiger-beast would be on me in the next instant. It was too far gone in its madness to understand the threat of my burning arms just yet.


    But there was more to what I wanted to try with this power. I had toyed with the idea ever since I saw Walter using his power to make his arms vibrate; something which he had combined with a piece of wood he had ripped from the exercise area door-frame to become a vibrational-stake; it had worked well enough for him to drive it clean through Holly''s muscled throat.


    I didn''t know what kind of inner will I needed to engage with to make the same vibration kick into gear in my arms, or even if it would mix well with being in a coiled-up state in tandem with my arms bulbed up; I merely imagined what I needed on top of everything else and hoped for the best, focusing on the subtle unlocking sensation I had come to know whenever tapping into my powers.


    I wasn''t quite prepared for the intensity with which my bulbed up arms would start to vibrate. My arms became golden blurs, shaking so much I had to concentrate on merely keeping my arms stretched out in front of me (like an extreme version of holding onto a hose blasting water at full power.)


    The were-cat-tiger-beast was on me then. It made an effort to move to one side of my arms (it''s intelligence at work despite the madness that had taken hold of it). But as fast and as smart as it was there was no way something as big as the were-cat-beast, its feline movement and grace notwithstanding, could hope to avoid my arms.


    For a single horrible moment my bulbed up vibrating arms refused to move. Had I inadvertently locked my arms in place, able to vibrate them but not move them? Maybe that was the price to pay for being able to vibrate my arms to such a degree, something which Walter might have known about and warned me to consider if I had taken the time to ask him about his use of the power.


    After a half-second delay my glowing, vibrating arms moved like a whip towards the were-cat-beast. The impact of my fists against the were-cat-beast was immense. It wasn''t just a momentary burning the way it had happened when Holly had attacked me. This time, thanks to the additional vibration, my arms were carving into the were-cat-beast. The delayed movement made it seem as if there was considerable weight behind the impact of my joint fists slamming sideways into the were-cat-tiger-beast.


    The beast howled in pain and the smell of burnt flesh and fur and blood rose up all of a sudden. The beast staggered and slammed hard into the left-side white wall. It wasn''t just hit, ready to spring up like Holly had done back in the exercise area. The impact of my fists burning and vibrating with the extra impact weight behind it had done far more than I intended. Somewhat to my horror I saw a good chunk of the were-cat-tiger-beast''s head was burned away, revealing brain, skull bone, and charred flesh.


    Without meaning to, I had killed the were-cat-tiger-beast with a single strike. The regret and melancholy of what I had just done in self-defense struck at my heart despite the circumstances. It was the first time I had ever killed another human being.


    In the wake of taking down the were-cat-beast in a single effort, time stopped seeming as if it were slowed down and elastically snapped back to the present moment.


    The white corridors leading to the cafeteria were awash with blood, as if all the beasts were intent on little more than painting every inch of the cafeteria in the blood of the mice. There were maybe a handful of mice left with several were-cat-beasts dead on the ground, but the majority, maybe fifteen or so were-cat-beast revolutionaries, finished with their latest kills and were seeking their next target. All at once it seemed as if the eyes of the were-cat-revolutionaries locked onto Sophie, Walter, and I.


    We were next.

 70. Pile On

    I had to stop my arms from vibrating in order to be able to move properly. In combination with bulbing up, vibrating, though extremely effective, rooted me to the spot when using it.


    I felt much less safe retreating down the corridor with Sophie and Walter, both of whom ran fast enough to make me worry they might leave me behind if I were to trip and fall.


    Blood was leaking from my stinging stomach and shoulder wounds, creating an unpleasant wet warmth inside of my overalls.


    The flute music abruptly stopped, leaving just the hampered breathing and footfalls from the three of us hurrying along the corridor.


    I wasn''t sure if the cats were giving chase. I didn''t dare to look back for fear of seeing one in the midst of descending down upon me with ferocious fury in their eyes.


    At the very least I knew I would be able to hear their heavy footsteps before they got too close.


    It was oddly comforting having Sophie and Walter leading the way. Sophie''s blonde hair, tied back in a ponytail, bobbed ahead of me, giving me something to focus on.


    If I just keep following her everything will be okay, I told myself, groping for any possible sense of security amid the hell of running for my life.


    Walter barreled along, sticking close to Sophie. I caught him looking over his shoulder, looking at me, then beyond.


    His eyes widened in a way that made my heart sink.


    The sound of the cats was getting louder, their footfalls and clawed hands landing quickly and with nerve-shattering thumps onto the corridor floor.


    They were gaining on us much faster than we could run.


    "Maybe this is it!" Walter shouted, "Maybe this is where I make my final stand!"


    I stifled a hampered hysteric chuckle because I couldn''t tell if he was joking. He continued to run, but looked back every few seconds to keep tabs on me and the approaching were-cats.


    We turned the corridor, taking a hard right. We lost precious seconds due to our plimsolls struggling to keep traction on the smooth floor.


    Like a train soon to emerge from a tunnel, the sound of the were-cats was building to a cacophony.


    Up ahead a familiar face wandered into view, moving with an aimless gait.


    I noticed the balding-yet-mostly-long-hair belonging to Daniel.


    He remained standing where he was whilst we ran full tilt towards him.


    As we drew closer to Daniel his outline appeared to be burning, with wisps of smoke rising from his overalls that were looking somewhat charred.


    We reached him. Sophie and Walter stopped for a brief second but, in their fear and panic, couldn''t bring themselves to wait for Daniel or me.


    I took hold of Daniel''s shoulders and immediately regretted it. He was burning beneath the overalls. Sections of him, like a patchwork, were bulbing with intense heat.


    "Daniel!" I said, "We have to go now! Come with us!"


    Daniel''s eyes were as wide as they could possibly go and full of fear.


    "No! No! No! I can''t!" he shouted, his voice a pitiful screech.


    The cats were right behind us. Maybe it was too late for me to start running again. Maybe me trying to stop and help Daniel was going to be the last straw that got me killed.


    It was clear to see that nothing I was going to say was going to get through to Daniel. The fear of the situation, though not unjustified, had completely taken hold of him.


    But could I live with myself if I didn''t try everything I could to help Daniel? As a last ditch effort to help him I took hold of Daniel''s wrist in an attempt to pull him along and to get him running.


    Like before I regretted doing this. His wrist was intensely hot and felt as if I were touching a hot stove. I rasped and yanked my hand back.


    No more time.


    "I''m sorry!" I yelled, and I ran full tilt after Sophie and Walter.


    I saw them take a right turn up ahead.


    The cat''s fierce growls and shrieks and the scraping of their sharp claws, and the hulking masses of their huge furred bodies colliding and reorienting within the cramped corridor confines, had reached the spot where I had stood with Daniel.


    I dared a look back as I ran and saw Daniel''s entire body glowing bright gold. His scream sounded otherworldly. It was almost comical the way they piled upon him, reminding me of my days trying and failing to play rugby, with all of the much larger, better rugby players very much enjoying trying to flatten me into a pancake during practice.


    I ran using every ounce of the coiled state I could muster, my enlarged muscles propelling me along the corridor at a pace and speed that continued to amaze me despite my terror.


    My plimsolls sprang away from my feet as I made a hard right at the end of the corridor. The white walls were an unraveling blur, made dizzying thanks to the fluorescent lights whipping by in a haze above my head. The sound of the were-cats shrieking in pain met my ears.


    Finally, I reached the end of the corridor, making one last right turn, and found myself nearing the exercise area entrance.


    There was no sign of Sophie or Walter besides the exercise area double doors being open.


    Please don''t leave me behind, I thought.


    What if they had found the way out and had decided I wasn''t worth waiting for? Escape seemed very far away. But without Sophie, who seemed to know what to do to get out, escape didn''t seem possible at all.


    I passed beyond the double doors, slowing in an effort to not stub my feet on the door-frame, and came at last to the exercise area proper.


    Sophie and Walter were standing together up ahead at the left-side wall. I hurried over to them, much preferring the way my bare feet kept traction with the exercise area floor than the struggle of moving in the plimsolls. It occurred to me how absurd it was to give any thought at all to little considerations like this in such a time of crisis; which in turn made me start to think about how absurd it was to have the presence of mind to consider the absurdity of it all during a crisis. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    I shook my head, shewing away the navel gazing thoughts brought about by the dizzy adrenaline-fueled delirium that had taken hold of me.


    "Where''s the exit?" I said, stopping but continuing to jog on the spot to maintain the coiled state.


    The other two were red-faced, both presumably having ran as fast as they could manage but without using the coiled state; though the speed at which we were running before I was sure there was some superhuman element to the speed they had ran at play, maybe a base level of athletic ability before the coiled state got involved.


    "It''s here, I think," said Sophie.


    She gestured to the wall ahead of us. All I could see was the strip of drab wall the same as the rest of the huge exercise area.


    "We need to break through," she said, "It''s not concrete, so we should be able to."


    I didn''t care to debate this with Sophie. We didn''t have time for that. The three of us prepared to break through the wall each in our own way.


    A part of me wanted to try using the bone-growth power Blain had demonstrated when fighting Holly and Adam, but I didn''t have the time to experiment with things. The cats, if they were still intent on killing us, were maybe less than a minute behind, if that.


    Being in the second coiled state made me look as if I had spent everyday in the gym for a whole year. It already felt like it might be enough to charge at the wall, but I needed to be sure not to hurt myself or lose precious time with a wasted effort.


    More, I thought.


    If my life weren''t in such danger I wouldn''t have done something so reckless. But it was, and with death looming with his scythe so close I threw some caution to the wind.


    I entered into a power stance, let out another long scream (because boy did it hurt in tandem with my open wounds), and willed myself to coil up even more. Doing this felt like trying to walk a tightrope whilst half-blindfolded; too much and I might lose myself to the power the way so many others had.


    Maybe, I feared then, I might become some big, muscled, hulking monster. With this fear fresh in my mind I begged my body to make me stronger, but only so much as my sanity could handle. Doing this felt as nonsensical as trying to order food in a language foreign to me, but it didn''t matter. I had to do something.


    Thunk, thunk-thunk, thunk!


    All over my muscles expanded, bulking up to an incredible degree. Although I could only look over myself without the aid of a mirror, I was sure my body was now so bulked I was sure I wouldn''t look out of place among a wrestling super star line up.


    It felt great. My overalls stretched over my new bulk and, to my surprise, I was sure I had grown by about two inches as well.


    I looked at Walter and saw that his left arm, from shoulder to the tips of his fingers, were covered in bone just like how Blain had done. On top of this Walter was using the vibrating power to give an extra element to his bone-arm. I noticed the bone crept up from his shoulder to his collarbone, as if it were an infection spreading. The way Walter''s bone arm vibrated made my eyes feel as if they were struggling to focus on that section of his body.


    Sophie''s intended method of breaking through the wall took both Walter and I by surprise. She was in the midst of becoming larger all over. Her overalls stretched over her frame as she grew, and grew, until she towered at a height ¨C I could only guess ¨C of about six foot five inches tall. On top of this it appeared she had entered into a coiled state, her much larger body lined with a layer of muscle as if she had spent a year building muscle in the gym.


    Is that her first time using her power like that? I wondered.


    Sophie was breathing heavily, eyes wide, her arms outstretched as she looked down at herself. She looked like a much taller, stronger, superhuman alter-ego of herself.


    There was a pause as Walter and I just looked at Sophie in astonishment. She had been maybe five foot two before so the change was drastic.


    "Come on!" she said, pointing to the wall ahead of us.


    Walter and I forced our attention back to the wall.


    "On three!" Sophie shouted.


    As she did the sound of building chaos started beyond the exercise area doors. I spotted the shadows of the nearing cats as well as a bright glowing gold light which made the shadows much larger.


    "One!" Sophie shouted.


    We all prepared ourselves.


    "Two!"


    Don''t mess this up, I thought.


    "Three!"


    Please let Sophie be right!


    All three of us sprang forward, charging at full speed towards the wall. It felt wrong to do. Every fiber of my being was telling me running full tilt into a wall was a terrible idea. I was going to knock myself out, or worse. It didn''t matter if I was bulked out to the nth degree.


    As I ran towards the wall, my right shoulder leading the charge, my powerful body propelling me forwards with superhuman prowess, I thought of my Dad.


    I remembered the wet soggy days with just me and another friend (not the friend), and how determined I was to get good enough at the sport to impress my Dad.


    That never happened. I never scored a single try. At best I only played, briefly, for unimportant parts in games played for the team.


    My Dad was much more of a football guy anyway, but it would have been nice to make him proud at least once in my life with some genuine achievement.


    My shoulder struck the wall and the rest of my body took on the resistance that followed. The resistance climbed higher and higher making me wonder if I was about to break my arm in the effort to get through the wall.


    The wall gave way to the three of us. Whether one of us would have been enough or if the combined effort of all three had done the trick I couldn''t tell.


    Bits of plaster, and debris, and what felt like bits of stone and something like sand showered on me.


    The next thing I knew was darkness, and a sensation of being in a place of trapped air. During the process I had managed to drive through the wall and had fallen to the ground. The worst of the pain was at my right shoulder where I had struck the wall, and at the open wounds, which I was sure were even more open than before. The pain that sprang up made me scramble to my feet.


    I brought myself out of all levels of the coiled state as fast as I could manage. It hurt too much to maintain it at this point. At the very least I needed a reprieve from feeling the bulked up muscle tearing open the wounds even more.


    I could barely see in the dark. The only available light was coming in from the exercise area through the hole we had barged through the wall.


    Sophie seemed to have fallen down too amid breaking through the wall. She hadn''t powered down from her increased size, but instead loomed in a way which was unintentionally menacing in the near dark. Walter shook his head, using his none bone arm to wipe debris from his head and shoulders.


    "Well that worked a trick din''t it?" said Walter.


    I just sighed. My nerves were raw from coming down from the coiled state.


    "We need a light," said Sophie.


    It was odd hearing her voice coming from over my head. Understanding the need for light I bulbed up my left hand, bringing light to the confined space.


    I heard Sophie gasp.


    We were standing close to a metal railing. Before us was a narrow staircase which led down into darker depths. There was also another staircase promising a way up.


    "Which way?" said Walter.


    "Down," said Sophie.


    "But do we know if there''s even''a way out down there?" said Walter, "How did ''ya know this was all even here?"


    "I''ll explain once we''re away from here," said Sophie, "If we go down there''s a good chance we''ll go into the really deep level that''s beneath this facility. We might be able to find a way out down there; this place is built into a mountain so there''s likely some kind of waterways leading out. I think there''s a dam near this facility."


    "But you donnae know for sure?" said Walter, "We cannae risk going down there and getting trapped."


    "We can''t go up, mate," I said, "Officer Freeman and the Pied Piper officers will be on the upper floors. They''ll have guns. We won''t stand a chance. Even if we get out of the facility we won''t have a way to get off this mountain area, wherever we are."


    "It''s Wedder Gorge," said Sophie, "It''s in England."


    She crouched low, and at the same time her much taller mass seemed to deflate, reducing her back to her normal size.


    "Please," she said, "Our best hope is going down."


    "I''m going with her," I said to Walter, "C''mon, we don''t have time to waste."


    Walter grunted and kicked some of the debris by his foot.


    "Okay!" he said, "Let''s get goin'' then!"


    The three of us hurried down into the darkness.

 71. The Fifth Floor

    With my gold glowing arm raised slightly above my head we had just enough light to see where we were going down the steep narrow steps. The wounds at my right shoulder and stomach were stinging worse than ever, and the dampness was creeping across more of my overalls.


    From what I could feel the blood was much more than I was comfortable with losing, but at the same time not something I felt needed my immediate attention. We simply didn''t have the time to slow down.


    The air remained stale and trapped on our way down. None of us spoke for about a minute, and then Walter cursed under his breath.


    We stopped at the middle of the fourth flight of stairs we had turned a tight left into (giving the feeling of circling down the further we went.)


    "What''s up?" said Sophie.


    I moved my arm above Sophie and Walter more to see them better. Though Sophie''s round face was slick with sweat and her hair clung to her forehead, despite breathing heavily she seemed to handle the stress of the situation well.


    Walter was sweating too, breathing heavily, and looking down at the Meter device on his wrist.


    Our Meter devices!


    "We cannae keep ''em on," said Walter, "I bet ''yer they''re listenin'' in on wha'' we''re sayin''."


    "Could you?" I said, holding my right arm out to Sophie.


    "Yeah," she said, and she took my Meter device off for me, since my left hand was preoccupied with bulbing.


    Like with Sophie''s Meter device, after she handed me back mine I burned it and let it shower on the steps.


    Walter held his Meter device closer to my bulbed up left hand.


    "What are you doing?" said Sophie, looking cautiously up the stairs before fixing her attention to the Meter device in Walter''s grip.


    He had managed to pry the Meter device open, showing its inner workings. I didn''t have a clue how the technology of it worked, though I doubted it was something all that complicated. Walter pinched something from the device and the light, which was blinking Red (as if some twisted final joke from the Pied Piper officers) blinked off.


    "I took the battery out," said Walter, "I wannae hold on''ta this, keep some proof of what''s gon'' on here."


    "Are you sure it''s off?" I whispered, "If it''s not they''ll be able to hear anything we say."


    "It''s off," said Walter, "I got it, don'' worry ye''self."


    Walter closed the Meter device and put it back on his wrist.


    "Can we get moving?" said Sophie.


    She hugged herself in the dark. It was getting a little cold now we were away from the mayhem on the third floor.


    Together, with Sophie leading the way, and me in the middle, we headed down yet more steps.


    We''re doing it, I thought, we''re really doing it, we might just make it out of here somehow.


    It was a thin, desperate hope to cling to. For all we knew the stairs would lead to a dead end and we would be trapped, no better than fish in a barrel for the Pied Piper officers, or the cats to come find us.


    And the gas, I thought. Even several flights of stairs down from the third floor I didn''t feel safe from the potential threat of the gas. Had Officer Freeman given the order to flood the third floor with the gas yet? If not, why would he be holding off?


    After several more flights of stairs we came across a set of double doors. It was clear enough where it led because it was labeled on the door itself.


    Level Four.


    We all looked at each other.


    "I know what''s beyond there," I said, "It''s just a medical ward and some smaller blocks."


    "Could there be anythin'' useful?" said Walter.


    "Like what?" I said.


    "First aid," said Sophie, gesturing to my chest.


    "It can wait," I said, "I''ll try and use my power to heal when we''re away from here."


    "Aye," said Walter, "I''m all ''fer health an'' safety but we ain''t got time t'' waste."


    Sophie stopped to think for a moment before nodding. Together we headed down the next flight of stairs. We picked up our pace as we went. The dark was scary, but worse was knowing that, sooner or later, something would eventually come to kill us; whether that was the cats or the Pied Piper officers.


    After a few more minutes and more flights of stairs we arrived at another section where our option was to either continue down, or go through to Level Five. The double doors ahead of us was also labeled level five.


    "We should keep going," I said, "There could be officers on the other side of that door."


    "Aye," said Walter, "I donnae wannae risk it."


    We both looked at Sophie.


    "Yeah," she said, "Let''s just keep going."


    We all started moving together towards the next flight of stairs. I only made it one step before remembering that there was a slim chance, a very, very slim chance, that there might be other mice trapped down on the fifth floor.


    I had presumed as much before.


    "Burgess?" said Sophie, stopping first, Walter coming to a hard stop behind her.


    "There might be other teenagers on this level," I said, "They might be trapped."


    Sophie sagged for a moment, whining.


    "No," she said, "I''m not stopping. I''m going down now."


    "I''m wi'' her," said Walter, and then he said a bit quieter, "What''s ye'' name again?"


    "Sophie," she said, with a tinge of annoyance. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "Walter," said Walter.


    Sophie nodded, keeping her attention on me.


    "I''m sorry," I said, "I have to know if there''s anyone that might need our help. If you have to go, then go."


    Sophie cursed under her breath but stayed where she was.


    "Go on, quick," said Walter, dipping his head.


    I began to move towards the door before Sophie grabbed hold of my left arm where it wasn''t bulbed.


    "Wait," she said, whispering, "We don''t have to go in just yet. We can listen first."


    She gestured to her ears which became pointed, and elf-like. I nodded, understanding. I did the same, allowing my hearing to be increased. Walter watched on, not joining us in our impromptu elfery.


    It took me a few moments to focus away from the sounds that I didn''t want to hone in on. I could hear the depths of the stairwell leading up and down, the trapped air, which was far creepier the more I could hear of it. I could also hear all of our heartbeats thumping at different rhythms; our breathing, the not-so-nice-to-hear sound of the three of us gulping and smacking our parched lips. I reared my head and made an effort to focus on what I might be able to hear beyond the fifth level door only.


    There was a wealth of beeps and someone within was breathing. And there was the skitter of a desk chair. And there was a bubbling sound, and the hum of fluorescent lights. I couldn''t be sure but I thought I could make out someone smoking from the specific kind of crackle that comes when someone takes a drag from a cigarette.


    "Someone''s in there," I said, trying to ignore the loudness of my own voice.


    "One person," Sophie whispered.


    "Jus'' one?" said Walter, "Who?"


    "Ow!" Sophie rasped, not prepared for Walter''s normal voice booming in her ears. I was a step further away from Walter and it hurt my ears pretty bad too.


    Sophie and I removed our elf-ears, returning our hearing back to normal.


    "It''s one person," I said.


    "So tha'' mus'' mean there''s nae mice in there, ay?" said Walter.


    "No," said Sophie, "I think there might be."


    My eyes narrowed.


    "What do you mean?" I said.


    Sophie hesitated about what she was about to say.


    "They might be in there," she said, "But not alive."


    "I just want to see," I said, "In and out, I promise."


    Sophie''s eyes searched the floor before she nodded. We looked to Walter who nodded as well.


    I turned my back to them, removed the bulbing from my left hand, and gripped the door handle.


    It gave, leading to an interim space where another set of double doors lay beyond the first. I tried both handles at the same time and eased the double doors open slowly, careful of whoever the one individual might be beyond.


    The space we found ourselves in was dimly lit by fluorescent lights.


    We were in a laboratory-like space. To the left sat a familiar face I had met once before at the facility. It was Dr. Abdullah, set in a computer chair smoking a cigarette. He sat up with a start upon seeing the three of us enter.


    "What do you think you''re doing down here?" said Dr. Abdullah.


    His question hung in the air as the three of us looked to our right. It was hard not to be drawn in by the soft pale glow of the half dozen tanks, all huge cylindrical tubes. Each had a steady stream of churning bubbles.


    But it was the sight of the bodies inside the tanks that made me feel like I had been stabbed in the gut with a knife.


    There were familiar faces. Teenagers. I spotted Tommy in the first tube, eyes closed, face stiff and lifeless, and pale.


    His body from the waist down was a mess of tendons and bone hooked up to cabling and monitoring wires.


    I would have vomited if I hadn''t already thrown up the contents of my guts earlier on the third floor.


    In the next tube I saw the face of one of the girls Tiffany had been acquainted with before. The girl had been one of the ones who, like Tommy, had been adamant to leave the facility to take the flight out when given the opportunity. I had suspected then it was a false promise, had even imagined experiments being done to teenagers somewhere deeper in the facility. But it wasn''t something I truly considered to be a possibility, or at the very least I had imagined it the way one might imagine the outcome of a sci-fi movie; something fantastical and not possible in the real world.


    In the tank beside the first girl was another girl, who I had also seen leave when given the opportunity. The pair were inseparable whenever I saw them around the facility. I never got their names. They, like Tommy, floated in the tanks lifelessly. Each missed an arm and a leg, and their waists were cut open, revealing the connective tendons and their inner organs which bobbed sickeningly.


    I looked at Dr. Abdullah.


    "You did this?" I said.


    Dr. Abdullah''s hands were trembling. He shoved them in his lab coat pockets.


    "It''s science," he said, "How else are we going to figure out what you are?"


    In the next instant Dr. Abdullah retrieved a handgun from his lab coat pocket. It was a very small gun, holding six bullets. He had it pointed at me.


    "Get out of here," he said, "The Pied Piper officers are on their way so you don''t want to be here when they arrive."


    I scowled at Dr. Abdullah, hating him about as much as I hated Officer Freeman for killing George.


    "Are they alive?" I said.


    "These?" said Dr. Abdullah, "No," he said, "They died during testing. What we''ve got in the tanks is just their remaining materials."


    There came a sudden thunk from the tank nearest Dr. Abdullah. He flinched, looking from the tank and back to us in intervals. The tank where the thunking sound had come from was the only one of the row of tanks that I hadn''t yet looked at properly. It was twice as large as the others.


    The first thing I noticed was the huge clawed paw within. The paw was clearly one that would belong to a lion, and the only person I knew that had transformed into a were-lion was Adam.


    The huge paw was severed at the wrist save for a whole multitude of pink and red tendons, ligaments, keeping it attached. Huge swaths of Adam''s body were visible, but the majority of the skin had been removed, showing just the hulking fleshless body; all the exposed muscle layered over the bone.


    The head was still mostly intact. It was half Adam''s human face, half his were-lion face. His eyes were closed but there was enough colour to his face to make me think he might still be alive. This was the only tank to give a rhythmic beeping sound, presumably monitoring Adam''s vitals.


    But there was something that didn''t make sense about Adam''s fleshless, mostly were-lion mass.


    There was much more mass to the body than it seemed there should be. Slowly the body swirled around, as if turning itself, and it''s then I saw the most horrifying thing I had ever seen in my life.


    Fused through some forsaken surgical means to Adam''s body mass was a second, twisted, wretched body mass. A body mass made of many eyes, and a face that was only half there. One half of the face was blank, and open and shredded, as if a bullet had torn through it and exploded it even more from within.


    The other side of the face was familiar to me.


    It was George.


    "No," I whimpered, tears welling up in my eyes at the wretched sight of what had become of both Adam and George.


    George''s eye, the one where his eye was meant to be, opened wide.


    "Are they alive?" I said.


    "Barely," said Dr. Abdullah.


    He pulled back the hammer of his gun.


    "Get out, last warning," he said.


    There came a sudden siren sound, but not from the floor we were on. We all looked up, hearing the muffled siren.


    "What is it?" said Sophie.


    "It''s the gas," said Dr. Abdullah, "They''re clearing out the third floor. Finally."


    "Are we safe down here?" said Walter.


    "From the gas?" said Dr. Abdullah, "Yes. From me and the officers? No. I don''t want to shoot you so why don''t you listen to what I''m saying and GET OUT OF HERE ALREADY?!"


    It was then there came a loud cracking noise followed by the rush of water. Alarms on the fifth floor started to sound, the room bathed in flashing red. Dr. Abdullah fired his gun.


    The bullet whizzed past my head. He hadn''t been aiming at me or trying to shoot any of us. He was too distracted by the hulking mass of skinless flesh that had broken out of the tank beside him.


    The Adam-George amalgamation, although a writhing mass of fleshy tendons, was still very much able to move with a horrifying fluidity.


    Dr. Abdullah screamed for help as the amalgamation monster began to tear him limb from limb, piece by piece.


    "George?" I said, pitifully.


    Maybe I had lost my mind. I just needed to know if there was something of George left in the creature.


    A huge clawed paw lunged out at me, the tendons stretching taught, the claw stopping a mere thumb-width from my face.


    The combined human cries of Adam and George, as well as the were-lion howl, broke out from the writhing amalgamation.


    Sophie, Walter, and I turned and ran back to the stairs. Several more gunshots rang out in the laboratory whilst Dr.Abdullah screamed for his life.

 72. The Sixth Floor

    I bulbed up my left hand to give light to our frantic escape from the fifth floor. I didn''t care about the cold of the concrete steps pounding against my bare feet, or the ever increasing cold that clung all over me. I just needed to create as much distance between me and the Adam-George-Amalgamation-Monster as possible, as well as the cats, the Pied Piper officers, and the lethal gas which was in the midst of being released above on the third floor.


    I could feel Sophie and Walter close to me, both moving with the same urgency. There was something about the way we were fleeing that reminded me of knock-down-ginger, the childhood game of running up to a stranger''s front door, ringing the doorbell, and making a break for it.


    There had been a certain house about two roads away from my childhood home. For some reason that house had become my preferred target of choice. The large door had a huge black knocker on it, like a horseshoe, which gave a satisfying smack when slammed against the door.


    Back then I had very much liked the idea of being chased, like something from a movie. To feel the giddy excitement of being close to danger, even if it was just an angry homeowner not taking too kindly to having their afternoon disturbed. I never found out who lived in that house.


    Moving down further into the depths with Sophie and Walter made me aware of how little I knew either of them. I felt no sense of comaraderie and, in a way, no responsibility to look after them. All I felt whilst I did my best to keep up with their frantic descent down the stairs was a sense that, for better or worse moving forward in this nightmare, I was going to need to be prepared to survive it on my own.


    Would you leave them to die if you had to? I thought to myself.


    I don''t know, I thought.


    This scared me more than all of the danger that lay above us. The reason why might have been because I felt I was severely lacking in my response to the things which had, and were happening to the three of us.


    I didn''t feel out of my mind with fear. Instead I felt strangely calm.


    I didn''t feel particularly sad about the horrors of everything I had witnessed either. The multitudes of dead mice torn apart by the cats was fresh in my mind, but was detached somehow.


    Sure, it happened, it was awful, but I felt very little about it. In the same way I could still see in my mind''s eye the Adam-George-Amalgamation cleaving Dr. Abdullah apart, tearing chunks out of him as if he were made of mincemeat.


    I felt nothing.


    In the wake of feeling nothing, what remained was an almost euphoric curiosity. It was as if I normally experienced the world as some kind of emotion-based tentacle monster, connecting my emotions to whatever I laid my eyes upon. This was a huge reason why it was so difficult for me to talk with people; since at a simple glance I could feel so much of what they were feeling, could empathize with who they were and the things they were insecure about.


    I had known there was something deeply wrong with George the moment I laid eyes on him. The trauma he was trying to hide with a friendly mask. For some reason, despite this, rather than do what perhaps would have been the sensible thing, I was drawn to George like a moth to a flame.


    In much the same way my first instinct when I first saw Tiffany was that she was untrustworthy, and someone I would be smart to avoid. I had seen how good she was at hiding her intentions way back when she had faked almost choking on some sandwich way back when we were on the coach which had taken us to Lintern Village. Again, rather than distance myself from someone who I knew by instinct I couldn''t trust, I had allowed myself to be drawn closer to her, and had actually made consistent efforts to get to know her better.


    And yet it came as no surprise when she decided to go along with Robert Hoffman''s PUNCH program. Same for Blain, same for Mikayla.


    What a waste of time, I thought.


    All that leaning on them for support only to wind up alone at the end of the day.


    Why was I thinking about all this now? The answer was obvious. I needed to distract myself from the horror of the present moment. There wasn''t much else to do except make sure I didn''t lose the others or trip on our way down the cold hard steps.


    You tried to save them.


    This thought came to the fore of my mind with penetrating clarity.


    You tried to save them, but they didn''t want to be saved by you.


    I know, I thought, I was trying to help them.


    No, said the voice in my head, you were trying to help yourself.


    Help myself?


    You''re trying to escape.


    Escape what? Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The other part of myself that felt it was a good time to speak up went silent.


    Escape what? I thought, What have I been trying to escape?


    Before I could lose myself in any more navel-gazing thought we came at last to the sixth and final floor. Several paces ahead of us lay a doorless doorway with an arched, tunnel-like shape to it. The golden light from my bulbed up left hand brought out the dark bronze tinge to the stone structure.


    "Is this it?" I said.


    Sophie took several steps forward. She moved to the right-side wall and ran her hand across it, then followed the wall around as much as she could.


    "It''s the only way," she said.


    "Where does it go?" said Walter. There was a strained desperation in his voice.


    "I was told there was an underground complex," said Sophie, whispering.


    "Who told you that?" said Walter.


    "An officer," said Sophie, "I was trying to talk an officer into getting me out of here, but he was just wasting my time. But he told me some things before he was reassigned."


    Sophie stopped to catch her breath, then said, "He said that the facility we''re in was just a starting point before construction began on a complex deep underground."


    There came a sudden shriek echoing down from the darkness above. Silence crashed into the space left by the sound a moment later, ringing loudly in my ears.


    "Look," I said, interjecting, "Can you tell us this while we keep moving?"


    The other two didn''t object. I raised my hand, wincing from the pain in my right shoulder. The light from my bulbed hand illuminated the start of the narrow tunnel-like passage ahead of us.


    Seeing as I was the one lighting the way I took it upon myself to be the first to enter the passage, the other two followed close behind. Immediately upon entering the passage it started to curve to the left, but also started a very gradual slope downward. The trapped air was tinged with a layer of moisture which clung to the passage walls, making me feel as if we were embarking deeper down into some kind of crypt.


    "So yeah, go on," said Walter, whispering close to Sophie once the entrance to the passage was no longer possible to see over our shoulders.


    "Well," said Sophie, "The officer made it sound as if the underground complex was intended to be some kind of bunker. A place where the elites could stay and get up to things they wouldn''t feel safe doing on the surface."


    "So there might be people down there?" said Walter, clearly not liking the sound of that.


    "I don''t think so," said Sophie, "It sounded more like the project was abandoned."


    "Why?" I asked.


    "I don''t know," said Sophie, "That''s everything I know."


    "So have you two been planning this escape for a while now?" said Walter.


    "Sort of," I said, "Sophie''s the one to thank for knowing how to get off the third floor."


    There was a faint clapping sound in the dark. I looked over my shoulder to see Walter shaking Sophie''s hand.


    "Thank you," he said, "Thank you very much. I''d be a goner if it weren''t for you."


    Sophie smiled sheepishly.


    "No problem," she said, "I just wish more of us could have made it out."


    Walter took back his hand, nodding slowly.


    I came to a stop. I lost my focus, leading to the light and heat from my bulbed hand fading away.


    "What''s wrong?" said Sophie.


    I felt her hand at my back.


    "It''s my chest," I said, "The wound opened up."


    Light returned to the passage, but this time it was Walter who had bulbed up his right hand. A part of me still felt a little annoyed that this particular use of the power wasn''t unique to me. I had taken a small bit of pride in it. Not that it mattered much.


    "Try and heal yourself," said Walter, "If the crazy bastards upstairs cannae turn into giant cats, then you healin'' yer''self ain''t much in comparison."


    "I know," I said, my words shaky, "But we have to be careful with our powers. We''re all stressed out of our minds. If we lose control we could kill each other."


    "Aye," said Walter, "But this wannae be like that. We need you, Burgess. C''mon, heal yer''self up and we''ll keep on gettin'' out of this place."


    "I''ll try," I said.


    I made an effort to focus on the wound near my right shoulder. I could see in my mind''s eye what the open wound was like. Just to make sure I was imagining it right I brushed the wound with my fingertips. It stung something fierce, causing me to rasp in pain.


    "What''s wrong?" said Sophie in a panic.


    "I''m alright," I said, "Just getting a feel for it first."


    I closed my eyes and concentrated, imagining the wound healing. Beyond simply wishing for it to happen I tried to focus on finding the unlocking sensation. I quickly found what I was looking for, finding the sensation in my mind and forcing it to give. It felt like something was crawling around and inside my wound as it started to close up.


    It hurt a lot, as if invisible hands were pinching the wound shut. My body trembled and my breathing became even more shaky as I tried to continually focus on keeping the healing process going.


    Another echoed cry came from behind us, like some angry spirit calling to us from beyond the grave.


    Walter started to bob on the spot.


    "C''mon, c''mon, hurry it up," he said.


    "He''s trying," said Sophie.


    In just under a minute I was sure the wound had closed itself up. I removed my inner mind from pushing the unlocking sensation any further.


    "Did it work?" said Sophie.


    I looked at her and then slid my left hand down the front of my overalls. I felt the sticky blood across my chest like a layer of warm syrup. I couldn''t find the spot where the wound had been.


    "It''s gone," I said, in awe.


    "It worked!" said Sophie, her face beaming with joy in the golden light.


    I still had the wound at my stomach, but it wasn''t nearly as deep as the one that had been near my right shoulder.


    I stood up, aware of the absence of pain where the wound had been. My mind felt clear all of a sudden, shocked by the miraculous healing I had achieved.


    "I don''t believe it," I said.


    "Believe it," said Walter, "This is''nae where I wannae make my final stand, d''you hear?"


    I grinned. The three of us started off down the passage, heading ever further down.


    "What''s with this whole ''final stand'' thing?" I said, with mirth in my words.


    "You know," said Walter, "Like a last stand."


    "I know what it means," I said, "I mean why''d you keep saying it?"


    "Oh," said Walter.


    He just laughed a little.

 73. A Funny One

    We continued on along the downward sloping tunnel-like passage for several minutes.


    I asked the others to stop and wait for me to finish healing up the wound on my stomach.


    Because I knew I could heal it up like I had the wound near my shoulder, it seemed silly not to take a minute to heal the stomach wound too.


    It was much easier focusing my mind on healing the stomach wound given I already had discovered the distinct unlocking sensation inside my mind to do so.


    With my stomach wound healed, we renewed our brisk walking pace down the passage, with me using my bulbed left hand to light our way.


    We could have moved faster but none of us knew what lay ahead. Things had gotten very quiet in the passage with just the sound of our breathing and our footsteps filling the claustrophobic space.


    It felt great being able to move without the wounds hindering me with every step I took.


    I didn''t like walking without anything on my feet. The passage floor was cold, hard, and had started to become a little moist too.


    None of us spoke on the way through the passage. I was tempted several times to try and break the silence but an incredible thickness had built to the silence between us all. I was sure we were each trying to cope with everything we had seen and been through already.


    Another reason for our combined silence was that we were waiting for the penny to drop when it came to where the passage ahead lay. It was as if we were trying to prepare ourselves to find a dead end, which would mean our only option would be to turn back.


    Please don''t be a dead end, I thought, over and over again, please.


    At last the passage leveled out and came to an open end. We exited the passage and entered into a large room with a low ceiling. I ventured ahead of Sophie and Walter, aiming my bulbed left hand forward a little. The darkness gave way to the light, revealing a very large elevator. One big enough to contain maybe thirty or forty people.


    Sophie hurried by me and brought her hands to the metal gate which prevented us from entering into the elevator. For a moment I thought I might have to break the gate open, but Sophie gave it a hard yank and pulled the gate aside. The rusted shriek of the metal stabbed at my ears.


    How long has it been since someone was down here? I wondered.


    Sophie cautiously stepped onto the elevator, perhaps fearing it might give way to the slightest bit of weight put on it. The floor held steady.


    "No, no, no," Sophie whined in a way that made my heart sink.


    "What''s wrong?" I said.


    "There''s no power," said Sophie, "We can''t take this down."


    "But we hav''tae." said Walter, "There''s got''tae be a way to turn it on."


    "Hold on," I said, "Maybe we don''t want to take this down even if we can get it working."


    The other two looked at me, waiting for an explanation. It took me a moment to find the right words.


    "If we get into the elevator," I said, "And we get stuck, then we''ll be trapped. For all we know the Pied Piper officers have control of the elevator; they might even be waiting for us to get in so they can trap us in it."


    "They''d have it powered on if they wanted to do that," said Walter, "I don'' think they were countin'' on us makin'' it down here."


    "You''re probably right," I said, "I just think we should try and find another way."


    Walter nodded, and then raised his right arm. After a moment golden light, identical to the one emanating from my left fist, bloomed from Walter''s right hand. Again I felt a little annoyed that what I had thought to be a power unique to me on some level was so easily mirrored by someone else.


    I''m going to have to get more creative with my powers to stand out, I thought. It was an absurd thought to have given the situation, but any thought that wasn''t the constant dread of what lay behind us was a welcome one.


    Walter moved away from the elevator, searching the rest of the room.


    He gave a sudden small cry.


    Sophie and I flinched.


    "C''mere," said Walter, waving us over.


    Sophie and I hurried over to his side.


    "Look," he said, holding his golden glowing fist near the wall that was on the same side of the room as the elevator. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    There was what looked like a hole in the wall, starting from the ground. A black metal ladder was peeking out of the hole.


    "Now we''re talkin''," said Walter.


    He squatted down and brought his fist closer to the hole. The three of us stood close together to peer down the hole in unison. The light from mine and Walter''s bulbed hands revealed some of the depth of the hole.


    "How far down do you think it goes?" said Sophie.


    "All the way, to wherever it goes," said Walter, "I bet ''ya this is an alternative to the elevator should the power go out."


    I ventured a look over my shoulder to the passage we had come from. The veil of darkness there promised all the horrors which could come after us; the cats, the Pied Piper officers, and even the Adam-George-Amalgamation. Things had gotten very quiet which I couldn''t decide was a good thing or not. The shrieking we had all heard before had long since stopped.


    "I say we try it," I said.


    "Aye," said Walter.


    "No wait," said Sophie, "Hold on, there might be some other way."


    "We donnae have time," Walter said, "Let''s get to it."


    "Just wait," said Sophie, on the verge of shouting.


    She hurried around the room, running her hand along the walls as she went. The more she searched, the more she muttered to herself.


    "Sophie," said Walter.


    "P-please," said Sophie, her voice quivering, "Just give me a moment."


    She sounded like she was nearing the end of her rope. She stood hugging herself staring down at the floor.


    Walter looked at me and I kept as stoic of a face as I could manage.


    There''s no other way, I thought, she knows it too.


    I moved closer to Sophie and placed my right hand on her shoulder. Her hand reached up and pressed warmly down on mine.


    "Sorry," I said.


    "For what?" said Sophie.


    "There''s blood on my hand," I said.


    Sophie looked at my hand at her shoulder and saw that there was a good deal of blood, my own blood, coated on it. Blood which was now on her hand and seeping into the fabric of her overalls.


    "Tell me everything is going to be okay please," said Sophie in a small voice.


    "I don''t know if it will be," I said.


    Sophie shot me a look, her fear giving way to a more casual playfulness.


    "You could lie," she said.


    "If we get out of here we''ll get out of here together," I said, "If we don''t, then we''ll be stuck here together too."


    "You mean it?" said Sophie.


    I nodded.


    "Now," I said, "If you don''t mind, I don''t want to spend the rest of my life down in this grim facility."


    Sophie sucked in a breath, nodded several times, and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear.


    "Okay," she said, steeling her nerves, "What are we waiting for? Let''s go."


    We neared the hole.


    "Ah crap," I said.


    "What''s wrong?" said Walter.


    "We won''t have any light going down," I said, "Don''t want to burn the ladder."


    "We can feel our way down," said Walter, "Take it slow."


    I didn''t like the sound of that, and would have grumbled a good deal more about how dangerous it was to go barefooted down a ladder to who-knows-where, but we simply didn''t have time to spare.


    "Okay, whatever," I said, "Let''s do it."


    I unbulbed my left hand and moved to the hole. I didn''t like the sensation of clinging to the ladder on the way down, feeling the cold metal rungs against the soft soles of my bare feet.


    "Down we go," said Walter.


    "Down we go," I said back.


    Once I was a good way down Sophie was next to start down the ladder. We descended, moving ever more into the darkness below us. It looked like a tight climb down before entering the shaft, but within it felt horribly claustrophobic. Worse was the feeling of knowing that, should I slip, there was a vast, unknown plummet below.


    "What did I do to deserve this?" I muttered under my breath.


    It was nothing short of nightmarish once Walter''s bulbed hand went out, bringing us all into complete darkness. I couldn''t see my hands in front of my face, nor anything else except a persistent all encompassing dark.


    Sophie''s rapid breathing filled the silence. It sounded like she was on the verge of having a panic attack.


    "Remember guys," I said, trying my best not to sound absolutely terrified, "Just one step at a time. Nice and easy."


    The metallic thumps and thrums of the ladder under our steps echoed loud in my ears. We made slow progress, but any progress at all starting out was going to have to do.


    The rungs were never-ending. Minutes passed with us descending ever down into the dark depths. The trapped air took on an added moistness which raised more questions about where the wetness was coming from.


    "So guys," I said, breaking the silence.


    The others kept moving above me but didn''t respond.


    "Guys?" I said.


    "Yeah?" said Sophie, meekly.


    "Was up?" said Walter.


    I felt as annoying as Mike all of a sudden, but given the situation I didn''t care how I sounded. I desperately wanted to lighten the mood a little.


    "What''s the first thing you want to do when we''re out of here and back to normal civilization?" I said.


    The question hung in the air for a moment.


    "Oh," said Walter, "I''m going t'' give my cat a good ol'' snuggle."


    "You have a cat?" said Sophie.


    "Aye," said Walter, "Little Jenny. She''s a funny one."


    The way Walter said this made it very easy for me to imagine him saying sweet cute nothings to his cat.


    "Your cat is called ''Jenny''?" I said, with mirth in my voice.


    "Aye," said Walter, "I didn''t name her, my maw named her. But Jenny likes me the best."


    "Oh yeah?" I said, "Why''s that?"


    "We have a bond," said Walter, "I don'' even like cats, but she''s a special one."


    "Are you making this up?" I said.


    Walter just laughed. His laughter echoed far down the shaft, promising a very long way down still to go.

 74. Silence and Darkness

    We continued our descent in complete darkness. Every time I thought there couldn''t possibly be more ladder to climb down, there was still way more to go. The air down in the confined shaft the three of us were in was getting colder, and the rungs of the ladder cool and moist. I was tempted to heighten my hearing to see if I could hear how close we might be to the bottom of the ladder, but the consistent metallic thumps from the three of us descending the ladder put me off the idea, since I knew I would hear each thump like an explosion.


    You could try and tune your hearing to prevent hurting your ears, a part of me thought.


    Maybe, I thought back.


    You could all stop moving, I thought, then you wouldn''t have to hear the footsteps.


    No, I thought back, we have to keep moving. The only way is down anyway.


    I put aside the idea for the time being, preferring instead to concentrate on not falling to my death with each bare-footed step I took on the slick wet ladder rungs.


    "Why''s it so wet down here?" I said.


    My voice sounded like a ghost haunting the darkness which enveloped the three of us.


    "It might be sewage lines," came Walter''s voice further above, "But now I think a''bout it I ken imagine it being¨C" he stopped mid-sentence to catch his breath, since we were all moving steadily down the same ladder as fast as we dared, "--some kind of way of pumping out excess water."


    Sophie, who was sniffling and her voice shivery, then said, "I think the complex borders a large body of water held back by a dam."


    "What''d be the sense in that?" said Walter.


    None of us had an answer.


    We continued on.


    I lost my concentration for a moment and missed the ladder rung in front of me. My entire body froze up, terrified of entering into freefall. My left hand, which was gripping the higher metal rung, carried the unexpected weight of my body it thought it was going to be relieved of, but wasn''t.


    I groped blindly for the metal rung in front of me, sorely smacking my wrist against the side of the ladder which gave a loud clang. I huffed like a frightened baboon, clinging to the metal ladder for dear life.


    "Burgess?!" cried Sophie.


    Hearing the fear and desperation in her voice made things even worse.


    For several desperate moments all I could do was remain still, telling myself that I had purchase on the ladder and I wasn''t falling. The darkness was dizzying. My mind reeled from nearly falling to my death. Gravity seemed to shift all around me; for a mad few seconds I wasn''t sure if I was holding onto the ladder to prevent myself from falling down, or was laying atop it trying not to float away. It was an insane line of thinking but human beings weren''t meant to spend so long in complete darkness under so much stress.


    Most of all I was afraid of simply letting go.


    "I''m fine," I huffed, "Just missed it for a sec."


    "Are yer good to keep goin''?" said Walter.


    "Yes," I said, "Just give me a sec."


    "They could be right above us-" Walter said.


    "Shut up and give me a minute!" I yelled.


    My voice ricocheted up the shaft, sounding loud even in my own ears.


    My nerves were raw. My arms in particular were trembling from a mixture of the continual tension of needing to hold onto the ladder, but also from the increasing cold. My overalls had been damp upon waking up earlier in the day, before the mayhem had started. It had rained thick and heavy on my way back from Robert''s special dinner after all.


    "I''m sorry," said Walter, "But we cannae wait."


    I nodded, feeling my face grimace, the corners of my mouth tugging down as if they were being yanked by fish hooks. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    I renewed my climb down the ladder. Sophie and Walter immediately did the same.


    A childish part of me was angry at Walter for urging me on, but another part of me knew that he was right. We had to keep going. There simply wasn''t any time for us to get our bearings, not with the Pied Piper officers somewhere above. Sooner or later they would come after us to finish their mass murder.


    The sound of running water through pipes built until it was a consistent churn all around us in the shaft.


    Then, much to my dismay, I felt the rush of cold water pouring over my bare feet.


    "Crap!" I yelled.


    "Watch out," I yelled to the others, "There''s water coming from an opening somewhere."


    Both Walter and Sophie mumbled ''okay'' but stopped since I didn''t move away from the water pouring on me. I groped in the dark and felt for where the opening might be. In order to find it I climbed further down, moving much more slowly. Finally, once my head was at the level my feet had been when the water had first fell on them, my fingers found what felt like a net made of metal. I did my best to ignore the running water pouring between my fingers and onto my chin and neck. The bone-aching cold made me fight to catch my breath.


    "T-There''s a-an o-opening a-about the¨Cabout the¨C" I said, the words so difficult to get out because of the terrible icy cold washing over me.


    My brain tried to think of something, anything that might explain the size of the opening next to me.


    "L-like the s-size of a l-large p-p-pizza!" I stammered.


    "What''s that mean?" said Walter.


    It was funny how much I suddenly envied the comparative warmth he was experiencing compared to the cold gripping every inch of me.


    When I didn''t answer right away Walter said, "Do you wannae go that way?"


    "N-no," I said, "W-we s-should k-keep g-going."


    I wanted to say more but I was at my limit. I''d had enough of the cold water rushing over me and wanted to get further down the ladder to be rid of it, if that were possible.


    Sophie and Walter didn''t object. They each gave small cries and gasps as the water drenched them, making them as miserably wet and cold as I was.


    There were more openings on the way down, which, combined, created a kind of constant shower above us.


    "I love this rain!" I sang, having gone a little mad in the dark, "I can''t get enough of this rain!"


    "Have ye lost ye mind?" said Walter, but I could hear the amusement in his voice.


    "La-la, la-la, I love the rain! Rain! Rain! Rain!" I sang.


    "Silly bastard," said Walter, before chuckling a little.


    "Bring on the rain!" Sophie sang all of a sudden, "Bring it on! Bring it on! Bring it on!"


    A sliver of my dour mood lifted. I felt the faintest smirk stick to my face.


    "I''m climbing down the ladder," sang Walter, making out his own nonsensical song, "Climbing down the ladder, climbing, climbing, down the ladder!"


    His song, admittedly, was a bit catchier than mine. After a few more repetitions from Walter singing his impromptu ladder song, Sophie and I joined in, leaving all three of us madly singing together in the darkness and the heavy raining water droplets patting relentlessly down on our heads.


    "We''re climbing down the ladder, climbing down the ladder, climbing, climbing, climbing, down the ladder!"


    We sang the stupid lines over and over, using the rhythm and fun of singing to fight the constant oppressive dark and dread all around us.


    We kept on singing for a good while before our enthusiasm for it finally died. And then, at last, I felt my foot submerge a little into a thin layer of water, like stepping into a small stream, before touching solid ground.


    "Stop!" I called up, "I think we''re at the bottom!"


    I searched around with my right foot and very, very carefully searched around with my foot to make sure I hadn''t just found some kind of precipice rather than the actual bottom.


    I felt and heard the splashes around my feet as I let go of the ladder. I groped around in the darkness and found there to be a large opening ahead of me that had to be a doorway.


    I concentrated on bulbing up my left hand, and felt the glorious warmth which came with the sudden golden brightness. The shaft filled with light, turning the falling water to golden rain.


    "Yes!" Sophie cried out, beyond relieved to have finally reached the bottom of the ladder. I moved beyond the opening ahead, which was a doorway like I hoped. Immediately I felt a sudden clanging and metallic rattle beneath me.


    Sophie and Walter took a few moments to reach the bottom of the shaft. They stepped beyond the doorway, Sophie on my left, Walter emerging at my right.


    The three of us gasped at what we saw.


    We were high up still, on a stretch of metal grating with a railing in front of us. To our left was a closed railing, leaving us with the only option to go right.


    Further along the right side the platform we were on was metal steps that were built against the wall, being not too different from a construction site set of metal stairs. The light from my bulbed left hand only went so far, the metal steps disappearing further off into the dark, promising a way down should we go that way.


    The water pouring out from the shaft passed out to the grating we were standing on, and through it, falling down below into the darkness there.


    Walter, and also Sophie, who I was sure was using the bulbing power for the first time, joined me in bringing light to this new space the three of us had come to.


    Far ahead, from which we could see from high above, was what looked like a small town.

 75. The Middle of Town

    A myriad of smells of things left to rot and decay in the cold wetness filled the stagnant air.


    More water, falling in thick droplets, leaked from somewhere high above.


    "What dae heck happened down here?" said Walter.


    Well I think they should call a plumber, I thought.


    The three of us tepidly shuffled down the right-side walkway. Our footfalls landed with heavy clangs; none of us had the care to give about the noise we were making. It was less that we were scared, but rather over-stimulated. From the mad chaos and carnage on the third floor, to what we had witnessed on the fifth floor, combined with the effort of making our way down to the underground complex; we had already seen and done enough to be rendered meek passengers in our own bodies.


    As soon as I felt a slight tiredness creeping over my back and shoulders, just by being aware of it, and naturally wishing for it to go away, the tiredness relented. I didn''t know for sure but I imagined Sophie and Walter and I were handling the stress of everything we were going through better than we might otherwise because our bodies weren''t begging for us to stop and rest.


    Sophie let out a sudden scream, followed quickly by Walter giving a sharp yell of fright.


    My bare left foot stepped on something furred and wriggling.


    I gasped, aiming my bulbed left hand down to the metal walkway, shining a light on a half-dozen rats. My skin crawled at the sight of them fleeing the light.


    "Sod off," Sophie whined before punting a rat which was in her way, sending it sailing off the walkway and into the dark below.


    Walter and I shared a look.


    The three of us pressed on through the dark, penetrating it with the light from our bulbed hands, exposing more of the walkway before us.


    We picked up our pace a little if only to avoid the rats biting our feet. Sophie and I had lost our plimsolls whilst using our powers above. I doubted Walter''s plimsolls were doing him much good given how sodden they were from the water that had drenched us on our way down the ladder.


    The walkway came to a stop at the edge of the town right of where we had first seen the town from above.


    Large patches of the pathway ahead of us, as well as where we were standing at the end of the walkway, was ankle-deep with icy cold water.


    We looked about. I had hoped to see a signpost or some obvious way to go.


    The buildings, from the ground level, were as big as regular houses.


    We could just make out a road-like pathway between the two closest buildings ahead. The alternative would be to follow the ''road'' we were on left or right which seemed to wrap around the fringe of the town.


    "I say we go ahead and to the right," said Walter, "See what''s in dae middle of town, then carry on til we find a way out."


    Neither Sophie or I objected.


    Walter, having taken charge, led the way ahead. We stepped and splashed in the dark, moving along the pathway ahead.


    The path led into an open space, like a mini-town square. In the middle of the square lay what appeared to be a monument made of metal which had severely rusted.


    The monument depicted what looked like a man, though with a large domed head. At first glance the figure reminded me of a robot, because its lidless eyes in particular looked like a pair of yellow crystals. Where the head met the shoulders was sloped, leaving the figure with no neck. Above the figure lay a sign made of metal, and on the sign was a symbol I had seen numerous times in my life. The symbol was of a large letter C. On the left side of the letter was three lines, the outermost line being the smallest, with the middle line being slightly larger than the one to the left, and the last line being the tallest of the three. This staggered series of three lines was mirrored opposite the other side of the letter C, creating a vague pyramid shape.


    "What is it?" said Walter.


    "It''s Chellam," I said, "It''s a Brotherhood. My Dad belongs to one of the Lodges." Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Walter fixed his attention on me.


    "Your Da''s got something to do with this?" he said.


    I shook my head.


    "No," I said, finding the idea my Dad would have the slightest clue about any of this absurd.


    "There''s Chellam Lodges all over the country," I said, "All over the world, actually."


    "But wha'' is it?" said Walter.


    I thought back to my childhood and the things I knew of from back then.


    "At my Dad''s level," I said, "The entry level, it''s just an excuse for men to get away from their wives. They have meals and do a bunch of¡­"


    I struggled to find the right word, "Rituals, I guess."


    "Wha'' do ya'' mean ''rituals''?" said Walter.


    "It''s scouts for adults," I said, "My Dad asked me once if I wanted to join up, but it seemed really lame so I didn''t."


    "But wha''s it doing down here?" said Walter, gesturing to the monument and the symbol.


    "I don''t know," I said, "Maybe they funded it."


    "I''ve heard a little about Chellam," said Sophie, she moved her bulbed hand closer to her face, which, I think without her meaning to, gave the same impression as if she had put a battery-powered torch close to her face as if about to tell a spooky campfire story.


    "They''re mentioned a lot when it comes to conspiracy theories," she said, "You know, people disappearing. Serial killers, that sort of thing."


    "And how''d you know that?" said Walter.


    Sophie looked a little bashful all of a sudden.


    "I read a lot of True Crime novels," she said, "And, you know, podcasts and stuff."


    "Tha'' hardly makes you an expert, does it?" said Walter.


    "I didn''t say it did," Sophie snapped back.


    I found myself staring at the yellow eyes of the metal man looming before us. Thanks to the light from our bulbed hands I could see myself reflected in the metal man''s shimmering eyes.


    "Can we keep moving?" I said to the others, having felt a chill run through me separate to the ever present cold all around us.


    "Sure," said Walter.


    He patted my back gently, urging me on.


    It seemed like an unspoken agreement between the three of us not to go into any of the buildings. Seeing the closed doors and the hazy windows ruined by water decay and long neglect seemed to promise nothing but trouble.


    We might have to go into one of them, I thought, but not yet if we can help it.


    "You know," said Sophie, breaking the silence as we neared the middle of town.


    "Yeah?" I said in a near-whisper.


    "This might not be the best time to mention this," she said, "But about 170,000 people go missing in England every year."


    "Why on Earth do you feel the need to tell us that?" I said.


    "Well," she said, "I know it sounds morbid but these people that go missing, they have to go somewhere."


    "That''s enough of tha'', thank you," said Walter, trying to keep his nerve.


    "Okay, sorry," said Sophie.


    The timing of that little nugget of information played on our minds as we continued on through the dark, not least because it seemed to ring very true to where we were.


    We knew what the Pied Piper officers were capable of all too well.


    Surely they didn''t sprout of the ground as soon as the Pied Piper Operation started, I thought, staring off at the dark praying not to see a human shape lurking somewhere beyond.


    The Pied Piper officers must have been up to something before the operation, I thought, Maybe this was it.


    "This could all just be some daft billionaire''s idea for a second home," said Walter.


    The disturbing silence all around us washed away Walter''s hopeful alternative as if mocking it.


    Never in my life had I heard such a consistent, lingering quiet that somehow sounded as if it were angry at us for trespassing.


    We entered a narrow alleyway. More rats skittered by us, some moving the way we had just come from, others leading the way ahead. None of us liked being closed in the alleyway so, without saying a word, we all picked up our pace to get to the other end as quickly as we could without giving away how scared we were to each other, though we all could tell.


    The alleyway opened up to a large open space which had to be the middle of the ''town''. There was a structure ahead of us that didn''t immediately make sense. It was too thin to be a building, but too tall and imposing to be some abstract piece of modern art.


    We moved towards it, since it seemed to be the very centerpiece the ''town'' was built around.


    Not only that, but the water at our ankles seemed to be moving towards the middle of town too, we could feel the ground sloping down just a little, adding an extra bit of momentum to us moving towards the structure.


    Finally, we reached the structure.


    The sight of what it was made my stomach tie up in knots. The three of us looked it over again, and again, as if to make sure we weren''t seeing things. I brought the light of my bulbed hand low, checking around the base of the structure. In the ground were large drains which were taking in the steady stream of water passing by our feet.


    But the drains aren''t meant for the water, I thought, morbidly.


    I looked towards the structure again, my eyes resting on the section of sharp metal which reflected the three of us back.


    It was a guillotine.

 76. Phantom Lights

    The three of us just stared at the guillotine in dumb disbelief.


    The significance of such a thing down in the depths of the facility, at the heart of this strange seemingly abandoned underground town, was beyond anything we were prepared to comprehend.


    And yet just to be sure my eyes weren''t playing tricks on me I reached out and touched the guillotine''s unyielding polished steel. It held all of the cold which gripped every inch of the underground complex.


    Suddenly dim lights bloomed across the town.


    Each light was a soft deep green and did very little to illuminate the town. At best it was easier to make out the edges of the buildings at a distance, but little more than that.


    No sound accompanied the turning on of the lights, but the three of us gasped and looked about frantically for any sign that we were no longer alone.


    I looked from Walter, to Sophie, and then peered across the town, my eyes resting on the green-soaked buildings which haunted the dark like phantoms.


    "They must be coming down," I whispered to the others, "Why else would they turn the lights on?"


    "Aye," Walter whispered, "There''s nothing for it. We''ve got''tae get out of here."


    "Maybe there''s an exit somewhere on the far side?" Whispered Sophie, echoing something Walter had mentioned before.


    "Aye," said Walter.


    "Okay," I said, nodding profusely, my hands trembling and teeth chattering despite the warmth from our bulbed hands.


    Our bulbed hands!


    "Take the lights off!" I whispered urgently, "They''ll give us away."


    I unbulbed my left hand first, and the other two quickly followed suit.


    The darkness which engulfed us in the absence of the light came as a relief rather than something unwanted, a quick turn from how we had felt about the ever pressing darkness less than a minute ago.


    "Enhance your eyes and ears," I whispered.


    Sophie and Walter mumbled agreeingly.


    I concentrated on willing my eyes to see better in the dark. It took a few moments to find the right unlocking sensation somewhere inside my head, and then the underground complex brightened considerably. It was as if I were looking at the town with night-vision goggles.


    I could see all the way to the far side of town up to the walkway we had entered down from.


    Incredible, I thought, still in awe at what I could do with my powers. I could tell we had barely scratched the surface of what we were capable of. And still it seemed I had to continually remind myself that using my powers was a possibility, that I was becoming something more than the average person in what I could do.


    I focused on my hearing next, enhancing my hearing to a much better degree, though not to the powerful levels I had done before.


    The usual sudden influx of sounds from all around, as if my hearing had been muffled all along, gave a new life even to the dark confines of the dormant town; the dripping water, the skittering rats, the stagnant hum of the air, the buzzing hum from the green lights; Walter and Sophie''s stressed breathing.


    There came a sudden series of clanging noises far off in the distance, barely audible even with my enhanced hearing.


    I chanced to look at Sophie and Walter, and saw they could hear the clanging noises too.


    Then, all at once, we heard a distant splash and a loud crash. I reared my head round to the source of the sound just in time to see a hulking mass emerge from the top of the walkway where the three of us had climbed down from the ladder.


    It was the Adam-George-Amalgamation. The three of us could hear the Amalgamation''s heavy beastial breathing and the sound of its claws scraping against the metal walkway. It moved along the walkway, peering into the darkness and listening.


    I brought a hand to my mouth to hamper my breathing.


    The Amalgamation moved beneath the railing, bending the railing some from beneath with its back as it then fell with intention down to the town floor below.


    The sound of it hitting the ground swept through the town and then silence.


    Need to do something, I thought, can''t let it find us.


    In my desperation I searched the middle of town we were in and saw a building off to my right. It was the only one of the buildings which had a short flight of steps at the entrance and that sufficed as a reason, however small, for me to decide to head towards it rather than any of the other buildings. I was grateful to be barefooted for a change because it meant moving that tiny bit quieter in the dark. I tiptoed, hurrying forward. Sophie and Walter, after hesitating for a moment, followed after me. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    I gripped the handle to the door.


    What if it''s locked? I thought.


    But the handle sunk down and the door unlatched. I opened the door gently and the three of us moved quietly and quickly inside before I closed it again behind us.


    Even with my enhanced vision it was still very dark inside the building we were in.


    We found ourselves in a foyer, with a countertop several paces away. Moving mostly on instinct than logic, I led the way across the foyer and down a corridor, which took us to a back room.


    A peered into the room from the doorway.


    The room was huge, and looked to be a place for ceremonies. The floor was checkered like a chessboard and signs and symbols of Chellam could be seen on hanging flags, table coverings, and over banisters.


    In the middle of the room, atop one of the tables, were three human skulls.


    Leave, I thought, but I couldn''t bring myself to move away from the doorway until I was sure what it was that made each human skull distinct from the other.


    The first and nearest of the three skulls had a gold crown atop its head, as well as a dagger resting inside the socket of the right eye.


    The middle-most skull had what appeared to be some kind of religious hat on it, shaped like a white fish with gold linings. This too had a dagger placed in the right eye socket.


    The last and furthest skull had a simple piece of mirror attached to the forehead, and like the other two also had a dagger placed in the right eye socket.


    "Les'' try upstairs," Walter whispered as he tugged my elbow.


    I was about to move from the doorway but stopped to take a look at the back of the room.


    There, I saw a different kind of skull set upon a black cushion. It looked to be one belonging to an animal. One with horns.


    Above the skull was a row of swords hung against the wall.


    The more I saw the more questions I had about what all of it meant. But there wasn''t any time and Walter''s tugging at my elbow became more insistent.


    I stifled a sigh and followed Walter and Sophie back to the foyer.


    "We should get to the roof," Sophie whispered, her face, like Walter''s, looking gray in the dark.


    I considered this option.


    We needed to find a way out of the underground complex, and quickly. The longer we took the more likely it was the Amalgamation or the Pied Piper officers would find us.


    Seeing the town from a higher vantage point would make finding the way out easier, I thought.


    The alternative would be to go out the back door and roam around the town in pursuit of an exit.


    In the end I chose not to object and to follow Sophie''s lead.


    Together the three of us crept up the stairs. Upon reaching the first floor we found what appeared to be a large open dining space; with a long dining table and lots of chairs.


    On the walls were portraits, presumably of Chellam members. I thought I recognised one of the faces from TV, maybe; the portraits had a very royal quality to them.


    There then came a sudden mechanical grinding sound followed by a persistent distant whirring.


    More light filled the town from one source and direction, which we could see a tiny portion of from a nearby window.


    The three of us crept towards the nearby window and peered out over the bottom of the window as if we were three children playing hide and seek.


    The bright light was coming from high above, near the walkway and the ladder shaft the three of us had emerged from.


    Before I could decipher all the visual information in my mind, Walter beat me to it.


    "It''s the elevator," whispered Walter, "I bet yer the Pied Piper officers are coming down on it."


    "Oh give me a break," I whined.


    Was there really no end to how bad things could get?


    The three of us watched as the elevator we couldn''t use before sank into view from high above.


    Bright golden light shone out from the base of the elevator, piercing the dark. On top of the light from the elevator came the lights from the torches attached to the machine guns of the Pied Piper officers standing within the elevator.


    "Seven," I whispered, "There''s seven officers."


    "Do you think they''re coming for us?" I whispered.


    "Yes," Sophie whispered, "And for Adam and George too."


    Rather than continue our search for a way to get to the roof, the three of us watched the distant elevator complete its descent all the way to the ground. We could see the light coming from the elevator, and the numerous beams of light coming from the Pied Piper officer''s torches, but the buildings between us and them blocked them from our view.


    "Look here," Whispered Walter, getting our attention.


    He moved from the window, remaining squat in front of me. Sophie was squatting too, holding onto the frame of the window to support herself.


    "What?" I whispered.


    "How we gonnae do this?" whispered Walter, "If things get ugly?"


    "You mean fighting them?" whispered Sophie.


    "Aye," whispered Walter.


    "We''d lose," I whispered, "We can''t take them head on."


    "Maybe," whispered Walter, "But we could pick ''em off. One by one. Maybe."


    I thought about it.


    "I don''t want to be a killer," I whispered.


    "You''re already a killer," whispered Walter, "You killed the tiger upstairs, din''t yer?"


    My knuckles cracked as I clenched my fists incredibly tight.


    "I didn''t mean to," I whispered through gritted teeth.


    "I''m not blaming you," whispered Walter, "It was her or you. Right now it''s us or them. I''m telling yer it ain''t gonnae be me. I''m not saying we should fight them, but we might have to. Unless the two of you wannae get gunned down?"


    Sophie hugged herself in the darkness, looking at the carpeted floor as if to say she wouldn''t or couldn''t weigh in on this discussion.


    I wasn''t ready for this kind of conversation. I didn''t want to be a killer. I didn''t want to die either. I needed time, space, and freedom from this situation.


    "W''as it gonnae be, Burgess?" whispered Walter, "Are you with me on this?"

 77. The Plan

    There wasn''t time to think things through to the nth degree. Sooner or later, if we failed to find a way out of the underground complex, we would come into contact with the Pied Piper officers.


    They were killers.


    Already the majority of us mice at the facility were dead.


    The only difference was Reece and Christopher''s failed revolution had forced the Pied Piper officers to execute the remainder of their plan, releasing the lethal gas, earlier than intended.


    "Burgess?" said Walter, "Are you with me?"


    I looked at Walter''s gray face in the dark and saw his intent gaze fixed on me. He was afraid, but he knew at least that he was prepared to fight for his life.


    Does he mean it? I wondered, Does he really think he can take a life?


    He already has, I remembered, He put that stake through Holly''s throat. He''s not all talk.


    My mind raced through everything that had happened since I was evacuated from my home.


    I had been up late watching movies. Just me and the ever-inviting company of the television.


    A part of me yearned to return to that safe isolation again.


    "Burgess?"


    I could hear Mum''s frightened question from the night of the evacuation. The memory of her standing in her pink bathrobe silently fretting whilst the Pied Piper officer continued to slam their fist against the front door.


    Despite squatting in the dark in the pindrop silence of the carpeted first floor room we were in, I could hear the pounding of the Pied Piper officer''s fist on the front door of my home as loud as if I were hearing it for the first time.


    Boom.


    Boom.


    Boom.


    I had felt an indignant rage even then. After everything that had happened the rage I felt had intensified and had become layered as if it had been an ember that had become a blazing forest fire.


    Boom.


    Boom.


    Boom.


    Just let me watch my movies in peace. Just leave me alone.


    "They''re not going to stop," I whispered, speaking more to myself than to the others.


    "That''s right," Walter whispered, "Not unless we stop them."


    I felt tears stab my eyes. My palms hurt from the tension of my fingernails squeezing into them.


    Boom.


    Boom.


    "We have to fight back," I whispered, my eyes frantically searching the room but seeing only the maelstrom of possibilities unfurling before me.


    In my mind''s eye the memory of that night, of the evacuation, of the Pied Piper officer pounding on the front door of my home, was suddenly flooded in golden light as if the living room light had been turned on and my eyes were momentarily blinded.


    The pounding at the door within my mind stopped. Clarity followed in its wake. And then all at once, as if my mind were flooded with several vivid images, a way forward seemed to come from the ether and into my mind as if delivered to me on a silver platter.


    I began to grin with genuine mirth. My shoulders started to bob as I stifled to contain the light chuckle which escaped my lips.


    "Wha'' you laughin'' fer?" whispered Walter.


    I shielded my eyes with my hand and continued to silently laugh in the dark.


    "Burgess?" whispered Sophie, "What is it?"


    My stifled laughter must have been a little infectious because I could hear the slight mirth in Walter''s next question.


    "Why''re you laughin?" he whispered.


    "I''ve got an idea," I whispered, "A really stupid idea."


    The Pied Piper officers made their way along the same path Walter, Sophie, and I had taken to get to the middle of town.


    By some possible good fortune, though it would await to be seen whether it really was so, the Pied Piper officers did not come into contact with the Adam-George Amalgamation.


    The Amalgamation was something I couldn''t account for beyond knowing it was a constant lurking threat in the dark.


    A big part of my plan hinged on the Amalgamation staying away.


    The seven Pied Piper officer''s flashlights filled the middle of town, announcing their arrival. At a distance I could see the light of their torches splashing stark white light against the end of an alleyway, and a little further into the middle of town.


    One by one the Pied Piper officers emerged from the alleyway. My enhanced vision washed them in gray. Like how I had seen from the first floor window, all the officers had machine guns; much closer now I could also see they had handguns holstered at their hips too. They were, otherwise, as prepared for trouble as they would have been had they suddenly found themselves in a combat situation on the third floor against the revolutionary cats.


    The brightness of their torches made them slightly harder to see with my enhanced vision but, surprisingly, my vision adjusted to accommodate the brightness of their flashlights far better than I anticipated. It was uncomfortable seeing the bright lights because of my heightened vision, but far from something I feared would be a major obstacle to my plan.


    "Are you sure you want to do this?" said Sophie''s voice from the darkness.


    She spoke so quietly it was only through my enhanced hearing that I had any hope of hearing her, and even then she was almost too quiet to hear.


    There was still time for me to call off my ridiculous plan of action. Maybe less than thirty seconds, but time nonetheless.


    I didn''t respond. Or rather, I couldn''t. But I had told both Sophie and Walter before that, if I did intend on calling off the plan, I would tap my fist against the ground twice, then scrape the ground twice too.


    I had no intention of calling off the plan.


    The Pied Piper officers neared the middle of town.


    A rhythmic beeping filled the air, which to my heightened hearing sounded extra shrill.


    The source of the beeping came from a Pied Piper officer''s tablet, identical to the one I had seen an officer use in the exercise area to listen in on Sophie and I''s conversation back when we were running laps.


    "Anything?" said one of the officers to the officer holding the tablet. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Right ahead," said the officer holding the tablet.


    All seven Pied Piper officers took wary steps through the middle of town, nearing the giant guillotine.


    From where I was squatting low to the ground in the dark I could see the officers aim their guns at the guillotine.


    "We know you''re there," said the officer beside the one holding the tablet, "Show yourself."


    No answer came.


    "Come out now or we will take lethal action. Your choice."


    Again no answer came in response to the officer''s warning. Just the same rhythmic beeping in the dark.


    A beam of light from one of the officer''s flashlights attached to their machine gun splashed in my direction. I was hidden, squatting low behind an artificial bush.


    Are they going to see me? I wondered.


    The light lingered on the spot where I was.


    I could no longer see what they were doing with my own eyes. I had slunk behind the concrete structure, in which the artificial bush greenery resided, making ideal cover for me. I could however hear everything the officer''s were doing and they were close enough, less than ten paces away from me, that my heightened hearing more than made up for what I couldn''t see.


    One of the officers moved ahead of the others and aimed their gun over the guillotine. After a tense moment the officer reached down and retrieved what had been placed there by me.


    "It''s just the device," said the officer.


    I could hear him squeezing the Meter device, Walter''s Meter device, in his gloved hand.


    "Do you think this means-" said one of the officers.


    But the others weren''t going to find out what the officer intended to say.


    Now they were right where I needed them to be, the next stage of my plan had begun.


    I had tapped the ground several times, creating a playful rhythm.


    It had been quiet enough not to draw the attention of the Pied Piper officers, but just loud enough for Sophie and Walter to hear.


    All at once the light of two suns burst into existence in the middle of town.


    And I mean suns.


    I knew the brightness was coming so I had closed my eyes, even covered my eyes with my hands in preparation, and still the intensity of the light was something even I wasn''t prepared for.


    The Pied Piper officers screamed and yelled and one of the officers even started firing his gun in his panic.


    The sudden intensity of the light which assailed their eyes was like being in a pitch black room and suddenly turning a ceiling filled with florescent lights on all at once. Like that, but one hundred times more intense.


    I could feel the heat from Sophie and Walter''s entire bodies bursting with the abundance of all the bulbed light they could muster.


    Every inch of their bodies were bulbed; they had ripped off the sleeves to their overalls and had rolled up the trouser legs to be above their knees.


    Their entire bodies were lit much in the same way Daniel''s body had lit up when he had lost control of himself and burned all over like a man on fire.


    But what Sophie and Walter were doing was controlled. What heat they did give off was a side effect of their sole intent to create the most intense light they could manage with their bulbed bodies.


    The effect was what I would imagine looking out a window and seeing an atomic bomb going off would be like.


    Blinding light followed by a warm tingle against your skin.


    Then sweet oblivion.


    The Pied Piper officer''s screams continued.


    I had hoped for them to be momentarily blinded by Sophie and Walter''s bulbed bodies at the very least. But the best outcome had occurred. I was confident that, at the very least, any officer that had been looking directly at Sophie and Walter at the moment they burst brilliantly into two beings of light were effectively blind. And may be for the rest of their lives.


    "They''ve brought the fight to us," I had whispered to Sophie and Walter when I had started to explain to them my plan whilst the three of us were still squatting by the window on the first floor of the building.


    "I don''t want to kill them," I had said, "But I am going to make them regret ever messing with us."


    "Aye," Walter had whispered, getting excited.


    "Okay," Sophie had said, less excited but also understanding of my intent.


    But there was still too much risk at play with these Pied Piper officers.


    What if one of them could still see? All it would take from an officer was one bullet to kill me, or Sophie, or Walter.


    Enough was enough.


    No more deaths. No more dead teenagers.


    I twisted away from my hiding spot, spinning on the spot.


    The burning bright light from Sophie and Walter, as intended, came to a stop and all at once the underground complex was flooded with darkness.


    Even my eyes smarted against the dying of the light.


    Sophie and Walter''s footsteps filled the air as they ran off, each into the building nearest them.


    Sophie had been on the left side of the middle of town, Walter had been on the right. This way there was little chance of even one of the Pied Piper officers not glancing at least at one of them at the time of the surprise attack.


    Like I feared there was one officer who must have been able to at least hear their movement.


    Boom! Boom! Boom!


    Amid the agonised groans, and yells, and screams of the Pied Piper officers writhing on the ground the machine gun fire blasted out.


    Please don''t hit them, I silently hoped, imagining even one stray bullet sailing into the backs of either Sophie or Walter.


    My part to play was up.


    I opened my eyes, seeing half the officers on the ground holding their eyes. Another half were still standing. They were dazed.


    "They don''t have protective eye-wear or helmets or anything like that," I had said to Sophie and Walter when explaining my plan.


    But this wasn''t going to be enough. They were still dangerous.


    And, maybe, I was feeling a little sadistic and vengeful for all the evil they had wrought.


    I was also a hypocrite.


    I had to be for the next part of my plan to take effect.


    I never agreed with Holly, or Reece, Christopher, or Adam when it came to their using the power we all had to transform ourselves. To take on shadow-selves.


    The whole idea seemed wrong to me.


    But this was life or death.


    I wasn''t going to go were-cat on the Pied Piper officers, but I did need to transform to make the next part of my plan work.


    The whole time on their approach I had been in a transformed state.


    The officers, though blinded by Sophie and Walter''s light, had heard me twisting away from my hiding spot.


    Some even started to aim their guns towards me.


    But I was ready.


    I had transformed myself in preparation for what I was about to do well before their arrival.


    I shoved my fingers into my ears (having also removed all of my enhanced hearing) and let out the mother of all shrieks.


    Back when Holly, in her were-cougar form, had been about to lay the finishing blow on me, I had let out a sudden shriek to buy myself precious more time.


    Holly, because of her heightened hearing, had taken the brunt of that sudden shriek of mine. It had been the ample distraction needed for Walter to land his own finishing blow, driving his wooden stake (made by prying a section of wooden framing from the bottom of the wall near the exercise area entrance) through Holly''s throat.


    It was the memory of that shriek that played into the second half of my plan.


    I had taken on a peculiar transformation.


    I had taken on slightly fox-like features.


    During my childhood one thing that would keep me up at night was screaming foxes. In the night, with my imagination going wild, the shriek of the foxes in the back garden of my childhood home sounded to me like a coven of witches screaming.


    I focused on that memory, that horrifyingly pitched screaming, when I transformed myself.


    Although inconsequential side effects, my hands and feet had become clawed, my ears pointed, and an overall fox-ish appearance had taken hold of my features. I could feel the pointed teeth inside my mouth, and the new length to my slightly furred ears. I was in the halfway transformed state I had seen Adam, and Reece, and Christopher in.


    I let out a series of ear-piercing screams with as much force as my transformed throat could muster.


    Even as I let out the scream I had pity for the Pied Piper officers.


    Not only were they suddenly blind, their eyes in intense pain, perhaps beginning the onset of being blind for the remainder of their lives, but the next thing they all became aware of was the worst, most bloodcurdling scream one can imagine.


    Despite having my fingers wedged into my ears it felt like several hot needles were being stabbed into my eardrums. I almost stopped screaming because it hurt me too much to continue doing it.


    But I was in the midst of being a sadistic hypocrite and I was going to make the most of it.


    When my lungs were spent and I had no more air to give to the scream I began to move back to my hiding spot before any bullets came sailing my way.


    But I stopped moving for the hiding spot because there was no longer any need.


    All seven officers were rendered completely helpless. Blind. Deaf. Writhing.


    But not dead.


    I relented by transformed state, relishing relinquishing it from me like a bad smell. How Holly and her revolutionaries could have stood being in their animalistic states for more than a few minutes I had no idea. It made me feel gross and simply wrong all over.


    Returned to normal, I looked over the officers in their prone, pathetic states.


    There was no use telling them what had happened because none of them would be able to hear a word I had to say anymore.


    Even so, I said, "Serves you right."

 78. A Plea In The Dark

    The unpleasant reality of what we had done met our ears.


    The deaf and blind Pied Piper officers writhed on the ground, most moaning, or yelling, or mumbling to themselves.


    They were discovering the horrifying extent of the damage we had dealt to them.


    A part of me hoped they wouldn''t have to spend the rest of their lives deaf and blind, but another part of me couldn''t forget all the teenagers that had died, that wouldn''t be able to return home to their families.


    These Pied Piper officers didn''t deserve any kind of pity from me but, despite how much I wanted to hate them, all I felt in the wake of having prevailed over the officers was a dreaded sense of responsibility.


    I had to be wary because the officers still had their machine guns; a few of them hugged their guns in the dark the way a child might hug a teddy bear.


    Walter and Sophie emerged from the darkness, Sophie from the left, Walter from the right.


    "Worked like a charm," said Walter as he approached me.


    He patted my shoulder and then spat on one of the officers.


    "That''s what you get ye'' bastards," said Walter.


    "Look," said Sophie, joining my left side, "If we stay here they''ll send more, we need to get out of here."


    "Where?" I said.


    "I think I''ve figured out a way," said Sophie, gesturing over her shoulder.


    "There''s a sewer grate," she said, "I think it''s big enough for us to crawl into. If we follow it away from here we might find a way out of here. The water has to lead somewhere."


    "Aye," said Walter, "Tha''s an idea. But we should make sure there''s no other way out first."


    "Okay," I said, "But we can''t leave the officers here on their own."


    Walter narrowed his eyes.


    "You wa''?" He said, "Who gives a crap what happens to them?"


    "I do," I said, "We did this to them, that makes us responsible."


    "Ya'' mad," said Walter, shaking his head in disbelief, "They did this to they''selves. These bastards jus'' got what''s coming to them."


    "I get it," I said, "But I can''t just leave them here knowing the thing Adam and George have become the¨C"


    I struggled to say the word which I had come up with out loud, "--the Amalgamation they''ve become. If that thing finds these officers then it''ll kill them."


    "You don''t know that," said Sophie, "It could just be trying to find a way out of here just like we are."


    Sophie clung to my elbow, "Burgess," she said, "Please we don''t have time to waste on them."


    Was I being stupid? I certainly felt stupid. I was exhausted too. So much had happened to get us to this point and yet escape from the Pied Piper officers, from the facility, and from the underground complex we were in still felt so far away. What madness had taken hold of me to make me think I was somehow responsible for these officers?


    I needed more time to think.


    Sophie and Walter moved off into the dark. Minutes past. During this time the officers continued to moan and whimper, some moving about helplessly on the ground before stopping, realising the futility of their situation.


    "Please," said a pained voice in the dark.


    It was one of the Pied Piper officers. One of the younger ones, looking no older than twenty-five. His eyes were fixed shut and he had his head raised just a little. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    "Please don''t leave us here," he said, each word from him sounding off, I could only guess, because he could hardly hear himself speak.


    "We''re not going to leave you," I said, before I could think better of saying it.


    "Please don''t leave me, I''m sorry, please," the officer continued.


    "We''re not," I said, "It''s alright."


    But the officer continued pleading for us to stay with him. I realised then that he couldn''t hear my responses. He was begging for help without any idea that anyone was nearby listening to him.


    As afraid for my life as I was, I could still understand the incredible nightmarish fear the officer must have felt too.


    It was about ten minutes later by the time Sophie and Walter came running back.


    "There''s no way out, no doors or gates," said Walter, "The sewer grate or back up the elevator seems t'' be the only options. And I ain''t going up that elevator again."


    "We''ll go through the sewer," said Sophie, "I think with the dam so close it''s reasonable to think there''ll be some way out."


    I was silent throughout this discussion.


    "Burgess?" said Sophie, but I could hardly hear her because of how loud my own thoughts were. I was trying to think of some way to abandon the officers in a way that I wouldn''t regret for the rest of my life, that is, if I were even able to live beyond the nightmare we were in.


    "Burgess!" Sophie snapped from my left.


    She slapped my shoulder hard enough for it to sting.


    Her face in the darkness was red and furious.


    "Now is not the time to have a heart, Burgess!" she yelled, "We have one goal: getting out of here. Now I''m telling you to stop fretting over these officers and to come with us now. Or do you want us to die too?"


    I was stunned. I didn''t know what to say or do.


    I had been prepared for Walter to kick up a fuss about sticking around to make sure the officers weren''t mauled to death by the Amalgamation, but not Sophie.


    It was happening again. Why was it happening again?


    "It''s your choice, Burgess," said Sophie, putting a hand on my shoulder where she had slapped it before, "I''m getting out. Now. If you want to stay, that''s up to you, but I''m getting out."


    She looked past me to Walter.


    "Walter?" she said.


    "Aye," he said, "I''m not sticking around for these bastards."


    "P-please," the officer on the ground continued to mumble, "I''m sorry, p-please."


    I hate you, I thought, I hate you so much.


    This thought wasn''t directed to any of the officers. It wasn''t even directed at Sophie or Walter.


    It was directed at me.


    All I had to do was do what any normal person would do. Just leave the officers to the fate that they had brought upon themselves. We had defended ourselves against them and they weren''t our problem anymore.


    I had every right to go with Sophie and Walter, to flee the horrors of our situation, to get to safety.


    "I can''t," I said in a pitiful voice, "I wouldn''t be able to live with myself if I did."


    "Well yer not going to be live long if you stay," said Walter, "But that''s your business. I''m gettin'' out."


    Sophie''s gaze lingered on me for several moments. I could see she was fighting her own internal battle. Would she stay in the dark with me to defend these officers who didn''t deserve our help, but needed it? Or would she do the sensible thing and get out of the underground complex whilst there was still time to do so?


    "If we find a way out we''ll try and wait for you," she said, "Please don''t take too long."


    I nodded.


    "Good luck," I said.


    Sophie nodded, a sense of defeat hanging heavy over her.


    "And Sophie?" I said.


    She lifted her head up.


    "Yeah, Burgess?" she said.


    "Thank you for everything," I said, "I''d be dead right now if it wasn''t for you."


    Sophie looked a tad bashful. She forced a smile.


    "Don''t mention it," she said, "Don''t take too long, okay?"


    "Okay," I said.


    Walter patted me on the back and mumbled "Don''t make this place yer las'' stand. They''re not worth it."


    And then he left, following quickly behind Sophie. I watched them sink deeper into the dark.


    Enhancing my hearing a little I tracked the sound of them lifting the sewer grate and climbing down the hole.


    What small sense of security I felt from having them with me sunk away. I could feel even more distinctly how much it meant to me to have them by my side through all the horrors we had faced together in such a short span of time.


    But I had made my choice, and they had made theirs.


    About a minute after Sophie and Walter had left I moved over to the officer who had stopped begging to be helped. He must have figured nobody was around to hear his pleas anymore.


    I moved over to him, squatting down, and put a hand on his shoulder.


    The officer flinched, and for a moment I feared he might reach for his gun. But after a moment his gloved hand found mine and gripped it tight enough to hurt.


    "Oh thank God," he said, "Please help us, please."


    "I''m here, I''m here," I mumbled, despite him not being able to listen to a word I was saying.

 79. Eight Minutes

    What was I doing? Was I mad? It had been less than five minutes since Sophie and Walter had left and all I had managed to do in that time was take the wounded Pied Piper officer''s guns one after the other.


    Some of the officers put up a bit of a fight. I had to coil up in order to have the strength to pry the guns from them.


    It took about ten minutes to get each machine gun and handgun from the officers, piling them up out of the way at the base of the nearby guillotine.


    The deaf and blind Pied Piper officers tried speaking to me, pleading for help or at the very least for mercy, but there was little I could do to comfort or communicate with them given the state they were in.


    What I needed to do was get them to safety.


    They needed to be found by other Pied Piper officers who would take care of them.


    The officers on the third floor had been left to die, I remembered, thinking back to how casually Officer Freeman had written off the Pied Piper officers that had become hostages under Christopher''s revolution.


    Would Officer Freeman have the same approach with these officers? Was the officers being rendered deaf and blind enough of a loss to consider them no longer fit to be saved and treated?


    I had no intention of helping the Pied Piper officers that were at my mercy beyond the bare minimum.


    As soon as it would be reasonable for me to think they would be found and looked after, they were no longer going to be my problem.


    In the dark depths of the underground complex however this bare minimum seemed like a tall order.


    Often I searched the darkness, lit sparingly with green lights, for any sign or sound of the Adam-George-Amalgamation.


    I couldn''t make out any sign of the Amalgamation even with my hearing and vision enhanced.


    The continued grunts and groans and gasps of the fallen Pied Piper officers made it difficult to listen out for the Amalgamation. For all I knew maybe it had found a way out of the underground complex already and had done so in the time it had taken Sophie, Walter, and I time to dispatch the Pied Piper officers.


    I had brought the men together so they were sitting side by side, forming a ring shape on the ground. Their gray faces turned this way and that, straining to see and hear and of course getting nothing from their dead senses save for the sensation of warm bodies beside them and the ever present cold which permeated the underground complex. The wet ground and stagnant air which smelled of decay brought about despair for some of the officers. One of them thrashed about in a mad frenzy, splashing and kicking and yelling futility at his situation.


    Serves you right, I thought again, but it was a hollow thought not holding the same bitter resentment towards the officers I had first felt.


    All I felt for them was pity which they didn''t deserve.


    Get this done then you can get out with a clear conscience, I thought.


    It was then, standing over the men and breathing heavily from my body tensing up from being in the coiled state for several minutes, that I asked myself yet again if it was worth listening to my conscience.


    Was this the right time to have a conscience? Was doing the right thing really doing the right thing when the very people begging to be shown mercy were the perpetrators of so much death and misery of others?


    I didn''t want to help them.


    Three times I decided they weren''t worth helping. Three times I decided to give up on the madness of trying to keep them safe. Each time I seemed to come to my senses, beginning my march towards the sewer grate Sophie and Walter had taken to escape the underground complex; and each time I felt this pull inside my body. A nasty, bone-wracking tightness which overrode any sensible thought and told me something else, something far worse, awaited me if I were to abandon the officers to a grim fate down within the dark wet depths of the underground complex.


    I stared, wide-eyed, into the darkness, seeing nothing at all whilst my mind pondered why I couldn''t leave the officers.


    There has to be some reason for me to leave them here helpless and alone, I thought to myself.


    Numerous really good excuses sprang to mind:


    Save yourself.


    They deserve this. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    You don''t have to save them.


    They wouldn''t do the same for you.


    They were trying to kill you.


    Think of all the teenagers murdered under their watch.


    Every second you stay down here is another second you could be escaping.


    And more thoughts of this nature played over and over.


    And then came the sudden crackle of a walkie talkie from one of the officer''s belts. The officer shifted a little because he must have felt the gentle vibration of the walkie talkie despite not being able to hear it.


    I hurried over to the walkie talkie, opened up the holster it was wedged into, and retrieved it.


    "Report in," said a familiar voice, "Over."


    It was Officer Freeman. I stood staring down at the walkie talkie in my grip wondering what I should do.


    "Report in," said Officer Freeman again, "Over."


    I thumbed the response button on the walkie talkie.


    "Hello?" I said.


    Then I remembered to add in the additional, "Over."


    "Who is this? Over."


    I''d like to make an order, I thought, but decided better than saying it aloud.


    "The guys you sent down here aren''t in good shape. Over."


    "You killed them? Over."


    "No. They''re still alive. But they''re not in good shape. They need medical attention. Over."


    "Didn''t you learn from last time? We don''t do hostage negotiations. They knew the risks of the job when they signed up. Over."


    "I''m not holding them hostage. You can have them back. If I bring them to the elevator I''ll send them up and then they''re your problem. Does that work for you? Over."


    Silence filled the gap of neither Officer Freeman or I talking.


    What was he going to do? I imagined him sitting somewhere on the second floor trying to figure out his next move. Maybe he had a coffee in hand. Maybe this was just another Tuesday for him. He didn''t sound stressed.


    "There''ll be no negotiations," said Officer Freeman, "Over."


    "YOU''RE JUST GOING TO LET THEM DIE DOWN HERE?!" I yelled into the walkie talkie, "COME AND GET YOUR GUYS!"


    Some of the officers must have retained a fragment of hearing because a few stirred at the sound of my yelling.


    A long enough silence followed that I began to think Officer Freeman wasn''t going to respond any further.


    "Over," I said, remembering to add that last bit.


    "You want to save them?" said Officer Freeman, sounding both a little confused, and a little intrigued, and quite a bit sadistic, "Over."


    "I don''t want to save them, but I''ll put them on the elevator. Will you take them? Over."


    "We''ll take them. But you''re not getting out of there alive. You''re wasting your time. Over."


    "I''m making it out alive," I said, speaking with confidence I didn''t really feel, "And you''re going to take back your men. I''m bringing them to the elevator. Be ready to collect them once they''ve reached you. Over."


    "This could be a trick. Over."


    I kicked one of the officers hard enough to make him yell out several cuss words at me. I kept my walkie talkie line open during all this.


    "Do I have to kick the rest of them or is that enough? Over."


    "You do what you want," said Officer Freeman, "You''ve got eight minutes to get them to the elevator. If you''re on it when it comes up we will shoot you. Once the eight minutes are up we''re going to initiate a flood down there. Wash the last of you mice away for good. Between you and me you''d be better off running. Over."


    "Well," I said, "Between you and me I''d rather be in bed with a hot chocolate and a good book, but looks like I''m not going to get what I want. Over and out."


    I put the walkie talkie back with the officer I had taken it from, setting it back into the holster.


    The clock was ticking. I needed to get to work. I let out a sudden yell and coiled up my body even more.


    Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!


    More sections of my body filled out with sudden thick musculature, once again making it seem as if I had spent an entire year or two in the gym tirelessly working on my body.


    If my plan was going to work I needed to go even further. Remembering what Sophie had done to her body to break down the wall up on the third floor, I imagined my body growing bigger too.


    It took nearly twenty seconds to find the right unlocking sensation. When I did I felt not only my muscles, but the bones and sinew and more fibers in my body expanding.


    What a feeling it was.


    In a matter of moments I discovered what it was like to be around six-feet-five inches tall, around the same size Sophie had mustered.


    Could I grow even bigger? I wondered. In a way I felt already like the growth I had achieved with my body had reached a kind of limit; my overalls were stretched as if much too small for me now over the rest of my body; in several places the fabric had ripped and torn to make room for the newer, gargantuan me.


    Even my hands were bigger. I moved over to the sitting Pied Piper officers and considered how I might move all seven of them to the elevator.


    One at a time? I thought.


    No, I thought, It''ll take too long.


    Even with my new size I figured I could carry maybe three of the guys at best, four at the absolute most. I was big, but not that big. I daren''t make myself any bigger than I already was, not whilst I felt already at the peak of what my body felt capable of doing. I didn''t know if this limit was real or just in my mind, but I was wary not to push myself to some kind of breaking point. If my body didn''t give out under the stress of all the new meat and muscle and bone, then perhaps my mind would.


    About one minute had already passed.


    I had just seven minutes to save seven officers.


    I didn''t like my chances very much.

 80. Conga Line

    The mostly deaf and blind Pied Piper officers seemed to understand what I was trying to get them to do.


    One after the other I helped each officer to their feet and put their hands on the officer in front of them.


    The officer at the front of the line held onto the officer behind him as if they were grannies at a funeral.


    I urged the officer at the front to move forward. In turn all the officers shuffled together in what looked like an impromptu conga line.


    Just let them get the hang of it, I thought.


    But another, more desperate thought told me that there wasn''t that kind of time to spare.


    I enhanced my sight and vision and kept a frantic look out for any sign of the Adam-George-Amalgamation in the dark.


    The sound of the officer''s boots and their hampered breathing and despairing mutterings made it tough to focus my hearing on something that might tell me where the Amalgamation was (if it was even still down in the complex with us.)


    It was strange being taller than most of the Pied Piper officers under my care. For the first time in my life I felt, physically at least, like a true adult. It was nothing short of bizarre to be head and shoulders taller than my usual self, not to mention broader and muscled, like some super-human from a comic book.


    I didn''t feel like myself at all but there wasn''t time to dwell on how different my body felt.


    I led the officers into the nearby alleyway Sophie, Walter, and I had come through before. I felt the cold wet ground beneath my bare feet and the iron grip of the officer behind me holding on for dear life.


    Drum-drum-drum-drum.


    The officers had managed to move at a brisk pace, as if jogging in a tight military line.


    Doing good, I thought. But it was a bleak enthusiasm. I was sure five minutes or more had already passed and we hadn''t even made it to the other side of the alleyway yet.


    Drum-drum-drum-drum.


    We were almost out of the alleyway.


    Some of the officers were groping the damp alley walls with questioning looks on their faces.


    One of the men stumbled and fell over. He screamed for fear he might be left behind. It took me far too long to get the other officers to stop, stay, and to get the officer that had fallen out of the line back into place. He was sweating and trembling, and saliva drooled from his lips.


    I patted the officer on the shoulder in an attempt to give him some sign that he was being looked out for. With his grip back onto the officer in front of him, and the officer behind holding tight to his elbow, the broken line had been repaired.


    A sinking feeling in my gut told me our time must already be up, but the sound of the underground complex flooding with water hadn''t started.


    Drum-drum-drum-drum.


    We made it out the other side of the alleyway.


    Soon after we reached the Chellam monument of the large domed headed metal-man with the shiny yellow eyes.


    "Almost there," I said, though of course none of them could hear me.


    I kept saying things like "Getting close now," or "You''re doing great," and things of this manner more so to keep myself from losing my mind from the stress of the situation. I needed to hear myself say these things.


    I had to make an extra effort to ignore the sound of my deeper sounding voice.


    Drum-drum-drum-drum.


    Continuing on beyond the Chellam monument proved even more stressful because I didn''t know the quickest route to get to the elevator.


    I didn''t dare stop the line from moving but I feared simply rushing ahead might lead to a dead end. The alternative was to go back to the walkway Sophie, Walter, and I had walked down from before because I knew at least that there was a path which wrapped around the outside of the town. It would take us longer, but there was far less threat of getting lost.


    Drum-drum-drum-drum.


    There wasn''t time to second-guess my decision. I chose to lead the officers to the walkway from before. They were doing so well (the bastards) and I felt an unwanted, but entirely natural sort of pride at what they were managing to accomplish despite not being able to see or hear much of anything.


    A siren began to wail in the dark quickly followed by emergency lights flashing from high above across the entirety of the town.


    "Come on!" I yelled.


    It was a small mercy perhaps that the officers weren''t able to discern the sudden sirens and flashing lights. They kept their steady pace together, keeping the line tight.


    We reached the far corner of the town.


    And it was then I realised I had made a huge mistake.


    Right around the corner something blocked the far off elevator from view.


    A hulking, skinless, mutilated mass that was neither fully lion, or man, and was horribly conjoined with an additional body of mass in human shape.


    It was the Adam-George-Amalgamation.


    It had its broad back to us, which exposed more of George whose body jutted out from the main body of the beast like a dead branch.


    I wasn''t sure if the Amalgamation had enhanced hearing, though I doubted it would matter given the shrieking siren wailing non-stop.


    I had about half a second to come to a decision.


    We could stop, and risk not making the elevator, and on top of that risk being spotted standing before the Amalgamation ready for it to attack us.


    Or we could press on. Would we be able to make it round the Amalgamation without being spotted? That was likely impossible.


    The one thing I could count on was that the officers didn''t know how close they were to being mauled to death.


    Working mostly on dumb instinct I led the front-most officer to the nearby wall and kept pace with him, guiding him along. The officer seemed to understand the intent of what I needed him to do, because he kept his free left hand pressed to the wall to make sure he could continue on without me guiding him.


    When we reached the Amalgamation I stopped within three paces of it.


    It was moving just a little, its broad skinless back shiny and wet-looking in the dark, rising up and down from its heaving breaths. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    All I could hear was the sound of the siren screaming in my ears. I couldn''t keep my attention on the officers besides spotting the last of the line moving away behind me.


    So long as they kept to the wall they would come to the elevator.


    With the last of the line passed by I started to move away from the Amalgamation.


    Somehow the Amalgamation hadn''t noticed us.


    That is, until there came a sudden screaming heard faintly above the wailing siren.


    The same officer that had fallen over before was on the ground again, and was on his hands and knees screaming. He groped around for something to give him an idea of where he was. He was close to touching the nearby wall the other officers were using to continue ahead, but from where he was on the ground the wall was out of reach.


    This particular officer had a head of bleach-blonde hair, and similarly blonde eyebrows. At a guess he looked no older than thirty. His eyes looked red raw; and with the flashing emergency lights above and the anguish on his face, he looked as if he were a damned soul newly cast off to the deepest depths of Hell.


    There wasn''t any time to consider whether or not I was going to risk going back for the officer.


    The Amalgamation reared slowly round and gave a guttural roar, fixing its attention on the fallen officer.


    I sprang into action, moving as fast as my body would let me. Though coiled, my body at the larger size needed more time to build momentum.


    Claws. Sharp. Painful.


    These words rang clearly in my head.


    I remembered back to Blain and his bone-gloves.


    I needed that kind of ability right now.


    Find it! I thought urgently.


    My much larger body sailed forwards, moving to intersect the Amalgamation on its course to the officer.


    I couldn''t find the unlocking sensation I was looking for to turn my arms to bone.


    No time.


    I jumped, landed, and turned to face the Amalgamation.


    The huge, gorilla-like arms of the Amalgamation, tipped with sharp black claws, descended upon me.


    No more time.


    Then I felt it.


    Claws against bone a moment after I caught hold of the unlocking sensation I needed.


    The strength of the Amalgamation''s arms bearing down on me, even with my body in its coiled and enlarged state, drove me to one knee. I gritted my teeth and felt my face become hot and tense from the strain of stopping the Amalgamation''s arms, and by extension its claws, from lunging further forward and tearing into my skull.


    For a moment I caught sight of Adam''s half-human, half-lion face, his one regular human eye that was milky-white, and his other eye which was like amber with a deep black pupil. Most beguiling was the intelligence in the look of the face staring down at me.


    Was Adam still in there somewhere?


    "Help me!" screamed the officer behind me, "Please don''t leave me down here!"


    I didn''t have time to second-guess myself anymore. For perhaps the first time in my life I let myself have permission to do whatever I needed to do to win.


    Vibrate your arms, I thought.


    I quickly found the unlocking sensation and, like a robot perfectly in sync with its programming, followed the commands I gave myself.


    My bone arms began to vibrate. Giving a hard grunt, I shoved aside the Amalgamation''s arms and then drove my fist into the side of its head on the right lion-side.


    The Amalgamation gave a pained lion''s grunt and staggered away, falling onto its side.


    I ceased the vibration in my arms and hurried to the fallen officer. My fingers were fixed into fists, just like how Blain''s had been when he had used the bone-growth ability. With this hindrance I wrapped my arms around the officer and lifted him off his feet.


    He cried out in fright and then clung to me, gripping my overalls tight.


    Holding him in a wedding carry I bolted in the direction of the elevator.


    The Amalgamation swiped for me, its arm, a mess of tendons around the elbow, stretched even further than it should.


    The pain of the Amalgamation''s claws swiping across my back, tearing at the overall fabric and gouging flesh and blood make me howl in pain.


    But I kept running with the officer in my arms.


    The Amalgamation recovered from the punch I had given it and began to bound after me.


    Icy cold water splashed beneath me deeper than I had felt before in the complex.


    Above massive jets of water gushed out from holes in the walls.


    Ahead the six officers had reached the elevator.


    Some were starting to move beyond it.


    The Amalgamation roared above the sound of the sirens and the powerful gushing of the water escaping from high above which showered down on us like torrential rain.


    I caught sight of the Amalgamation''s shadow against the left side wall and saw it was close enough again to swipe at me.


    In my desperation I threw the officer in my grip with all the strength I could muster. He sailed forwards several paces before sailing into the other officers. Half the officers fell to the ground whilst the others remained standing, desperately clinging to the ones that had fallen.


    Half the officers were on the elevator (those being the ones that had just been bowled to the ground), the others close enough to it that, if they were to take just one small step, they would be on it too.


    I felt the crushing weight of the Amalgamation on me then.


    I had no hope of resisting the weight that brought me down onto my chest and pinned me to the ground.


    The water on the floor threatened to drown my face that I couldn''t lift because of the pressure applied to the back of my head.


    In the next instant I felt the unbearable sharpness of the Amalgamation''s teeth sinking into my right shoulder.


    My agonised scream was garbled in the water.


    Someone help me! I thought.


    But I was alone. Nobody was coming to save me.


    I had to save myself.


    Heat. Burn. Now.


    I focused every ounce of my concentration away from the pain and on bulbing up instead.


    From the waist up my body began to burn bright and gold and intensely hot, boiling the water around me.


    I lifted my head just a little above the water as the Amalgamation''s weight relented.


    I sucked in a desperate lungful of air.


    The Amalgamation gave a nightmarish shriek as the mauled flesh at my right shoulder seared its mouth, gums, tongue and so on.


    I took off the bulbing light because, without meaning to, I had started to sear my own flesh where it was exposed at the shoulder, experiencing a new, fresh kind of agony I''d never felt before.


    I climbed to my feet, finding my right arm still usable but at the cost of the incredible agony climbing with every minute shift in muscle and weight set on it.


    I swayed to my feet like a drunk and brought my bone-covered left fist hard into the Amalgamation''s face, this time on the left size, into the human section of Adam''s face above his lion maw.


    The Amalgamation staggered back a little. It was too caught up in the pain that had taken hold of its mouth to pay me much attention for the moment.


    I spun round, dizzying myself in the process, water flung of my now exposed upper body.


    Staggering tiredly, I reached the elevator.


    "Move! Move!" I yelled at the officers as I shoved each one onto the elevator platform proper.


    They were all on.


    I spotted the control panel on the far right side which Sophie, Walter, and I had decided better of using for fear of being sitting ducks trapped on the elevator, back when we had no idea where the elevator led.


    I leaned on the officers on my way over to the control panel and slammed my fist on what seemed like the most likely button to send the elevator up.


    With a sudden hard whir the elevator began to climb upwards from the ground.


    It was working!


    Water poured in a heavy stream off the elevator platform. Already the water in the complex had become ankle deep, and the thick streams of water gushing from above were becoming bigger, and thicker, as if there were numerous newly formed waterfalls across the walls high above.


    I considered staying on the elevator. I was tired enough to just let myself sit down and let it take me up with the rest of the officers. I needed a good rest.


    Officer Freeman will be waiting up there, a small voice in my head reminded me.


    I let myself fall from the elevator, landing with a heavy splash after a brief steep fall that would have broken my ankles were I my normal self.


    I took one last glance at the seven officers holding onto one another where they sat huddled together on the elevator, then broke off into a jog away from both the elevator and the Amalgamation.


    I didn''t dare risk trying to pass the Amalgamation again, so instead I headed further along in the opposite direction. I could enter the town through one of the nearby alleys, or try going around it.


    The seven officers were saved, but I wasn''t.


    It was time for me to get out.

 81. Out

    The pain from the slashes across my back and at my mangled right shoulder climbed with each step I took along the edge of the underground town.


    My body was filled with adrenaline, and a cocktail of acidic dread-causing chemicals, all brought about from the threat of losing too much blood, passing out from the pain, being hunted down by the Amalgamation, and not finding a way out of the underground complex before the flooding water completely consumed it.


    The agony which gripped my back made the rest of my body feel weak.


    Parts of my body were unresponsive, the nerves refusing to work the way they were supposed to. My legs limped along, moving at a staggered shuffle at best.


    Somewhere along the way through the town, down a different narrow alley, towards the middle of town, I must have decided to remove my enlarged state, returning to my normal size. I was also no longer in a coiled state either.


    Did I choose to undo it or had it undone on its own somehow? It was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate and time seemed to lapse after the fact, as if I were struggling to remember what happened in intervals of several seconds.


    The wailing siren and the flashing lights and the ever present water flooding the complex only added to the surreal nightmare of it all.


    The icy cold water had reached my ankles. Each footstep landed with an additional suck and splash, slowing me down even further.


    A memory of being seven years old and running around an outdoor swimming pool came to mind as I hurried on. With my thoughts racing a hundred miles a minute I couldn''t remember if the memory was real or something I had imagined or dreamed; the image of a little seven year old me slipping and falling onto hard wet concrete played in a single flash.


    One memory I did recall was nearly drowning around the age of ten. I had let go of the edge of the pool and drifted further into the deep end. I kicked, and splashed about, at first playfully thinking I could get back to the edge without issue; but there had been adults there who had passed by, preventing me from getting to the edge of the pool. By the time I started to lose the strength to keep myself above water the adults had gotten out of the pool and were distracted doing other things. I tried calling out for my mother, but the words came no louder than a whisper garbled by the water getting into my mouth.


    And then I went down, submerging into the water like an anchor. For several seconds the surface of the water ascended, and down I went into the depths of the pool.


    I felt very calm as my body gave up trying to reach for the surface. All I could see was the hazy light breaking through the surface of the water above; like stars in the daytime.


    Mum, who had been swimming in the deep end, swam over and pulled me up. She helped me out of the pool, and I was thankful not to have drowned.


    I thought you were pretending, Mum had said. Other adults that had been sunbathing around the pool had noticed I was drowning too, and likely would have done something had I stayed down any longer. Maybe. They probably thought I was playing too.


    It was that calmness as I had held onto my last lungful of air which I remembered most about nearly drowning to death.


    If I drowned somewhere under the facility would it hurt? Or would I feel that calmness again before the end?


    It was hard to tell if the Amalgamation was chasing after me. If it was, with all the chaos I doubted it would have a hard time hunting me down.


    I wasn''t sure at first that I had really reached the middle of town because the flooding water, and the flashing lights, had changed the landscape enough to make it all slightly unfamiliar. The base of the guillotine was submerged more by the water, which had reached up to my knees.


    A way off I saw much of the water sinking into the hole Sophie and Walter had taken to get out.


    There''s no way I''m going down there, I thought, I''ll drown in seconds.


    I stopped and looked about the middle of town, left, right, ahead, behind, dizzyingly unsure what to do and helpless.


    The hulking mass of the Amalgamation had started to emerge from the alleyway. From a distance it looked almost like some kind of mutated bear, more shadow than fleshless skin; its left yellow eye shining even from a distance.


    Its large head searched with sickening intelligence and fluidity until its gaze settled on me. It let out a roar that was tinged with a scream that sounded vaguely like both Adam and George.


    Like many hard choices in life, my next decision really was no choice at all. I turned and ran desperately for the sewer hole in the ground.


    There wasn''t any time to look for another way out.


    The vortex of the water flooding into the hole promised both death and escape.


    I stood before the hole hearing the rushing of the water as if I were about to jump into the belly of some great beast.


    My breathing was fast and sucking. This was it. I was very likely going to die. If not by drowning, then by the Amalgamation which had already begun its charge towards me.


    I didn''t think of anything in particular with these precious few fragments of life left to me. My mind was too caught up with stealing up the courage to jump into the hole to think of any higher cause. The whirl of the circling water before me, pulling at my legs, threatening to trip me up, matched the hysteria which gripped my every desperate thought, as if every possible good thought I might have were being sucked down into the void ahead of me too.


    I wasn''t sure if I had felt the breath of the Amalgamation on the nape of my neck, or if I had imagined it; either way it was enough to prompt me to risk it all for the slim chance of living another day. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    I jumped into the hole. Gravity gripped me, yanking me down into the darkness.


    An immediate do-or-die fight to breathe took hold of me. There was nothing left to see because the depths of the sewer I found myself in was nearly filled with water already. There seemed little hope of me simply searching my way through the sewer tunnels, because my feet weren''t even able to touch the floor. The throng of the water was too great.


    All sense of up and down and the size of the sewer pipe I was in had become one unending, ice-cold, chaotic rush.


    I held my breath, having just enough sense not to waste what precious time doing so would bring me.


    I tried moving my arms and legs but it had become hopeless attempting to move or navigate my surroundings.


    Was I even moving anymore?


    It was so cold in the water at best I was aware of the sensation of bumping into things; hard metal, mostly with a slick texture. But there was something else too; a momentary hardness against the left-side of my face and exposed chest; it felt as if these parts of myself were being pressed over rubber ridges. Whatever it was that was pressing against me pushed me away from it.


    In the madness of it all I even imagined George calling out my name.


    And then I felt it.


    The calmness and the euphoria brought about from every fiber of my body no longer having the strength to keep fighting the inevitable.


    It was like I was seven years old again drowning in the rich family''s swimming pool we had visited that day; only this time there was no Mum to save me. No adults at all. No teenagers either. One by one things had worked out so I was exactly as I had always feared I would be: on my own.


    I had tried somewhere in that darkness to use my power to buy me more time. It was something like a wish, hold on just a bit longer. Hold. On. Just a little more.


    Maybe my lungs did manage to hold on for a little longer than might be normal for a human being. Or maybe not.


    My mouth opened and what little air I was holding in escaped. I couldn''t help it, for some reason my mouth and lungs just refused to listen to me anymore.


    There wasn''t any calm euphoria anymore. Just agony. Everywhere all over my body all at once.


    If there was any silver lining to the agony it was that a creeping tiredness followed by darkness quickly took hold of me.


    A tiny piece of my me, maybe just the will to live, remained just above that darkness as if the very essence of my being were holding on for dear life.


    *


    I had no idea how much time had passed since the agony of drowning took hold of me. There was no thought I was able to hold save for the recognition that I was incredibly heavy. I was beyond tired.


    There was something bright pressing against my closed eyes. The more I felt it the more it annoyed me. But this was a good thing, because if I was annoyed then maybe I was¡­something. Whatever that something was had to be better than being dead.


    I knew for sure I wasn''t dead when I began to cough and sputter, my throat was burning and raw.


    My body more than my mind recalled the tiredness I had felt way back when on the treadmill in Lintern''s Gym. Way back however many weeks ago when I had brought my body to the point that, under any normal circumstance, it should have died. Tiffany and I had come out sunburned from the treadmill torment.


    As if I didn''t want it to, my mind tried to refuse the onset of consciousness. The tiredness and lack of thought was a nice reprieve from the horrible nightmare I had just woken from.


    In the nightmare I had been in someplace dark, with a monster chasing me, with water everywhere threatening to drown me in its depths.


    Something clicked, and I realised that I must have washed up somewhere. I hadn''t drowned.


    There was still cold water washing over me, mostly from the chest down, with occasional bouts of water still entering my mouth. My world flipped when I realised I was laying down on my chest instead of my back.


    Light continued to press against my eyes. There was no hope of opening them. They were shut tight as if glued in place. My eyeballs behind the eyelids searched about trying to perceive anything besides vague redness and the light peeking through it.


    Become stronger, I thought, searching my mind for the unlocking sensation I knew well enough by now. Become stronger.


    I had no idea how long it took, but bit by bit strength returned to my body. Along with the strength came the distant rush of water, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind, and my own hoarse breathing.


    Should be dead, I thought, with breathing like that.


    After the course of some unknown amount of time I found strength which would only be available to me through superhuman means.


    I climbed to my feet, numb to the environment around me; too inside my own mind to know if my body even had the capability of shivering.


    My eyes opened to see a world of gray. The sky was bright but overcast.


    Focus, I thought, concentrating on making my eyes work. I stood in one spot like a drunk.


    My eyes settled on the river bank around me.


    The deepest greens and browns I had ever seen in my life were to my right. I was at the start of some kind of heavily wooded forest.


    To my left was a river, and further along the river, not too far off, was a huge sheer rock wall. I wasn''t sure if it was part of the dam Sophie had mentioned before, or some other off-section that led out of the underground complex. I saw the sewer hole I must have fallen out of and been washed along by the water''s current.


    My head ached fiercely, seeing how high up the tunnel was, with all the water pouring out of it.


    The lone sewer opening didn''t make sense to look at however. There was something off about it which didn''t add up to scrutiny.


    In my dumb state of mind I began to move towards the sewer opening, towards the torrent of rushing water shooting out of it. When I was about a stone''s throw away I craned my head up, ignoring the miserable cramping in my neck, and saw what it was that puzzled me about the opening.


    It looked as if it had been forced open from the inside. A large, heavy chunk of metal was peeled outward like a flower petal sculpture.


    Had I done that? If I did I had no memory of doing so.


    It doesn''t matter, I thought.


    I''m out, that''s what counts.


    I was finally out of the facility, the underground complex, and back to the real world.


    Alone but alive.


    Stiff and with pain newly returning to every inch of my body, I turned away from the tunnel opening and considered where I might go.


    I needed to get away from the Pied Piper officers and, because they were one-in-the-same thing, Chellam too.


    And where was the Amalgamation? Had Adam and George made it out?


    I didn''t know which outcome I preferred. Maybe dying would be a better fate for them than making it out to the real world as they were.


    Somewhere in nature, I thought, remembering back to when I had wanted the evacuation to take me to someplace away from the grit and grime of the city with all its urban fumes.


    Whether it was the best direction to go or not didn''t matter to me at that moment. I staggered deeper into the forest, letting the deep greenery of it all surround me.


    I kept moving and didn''t stop for a very long time.

 82. Burnt Cookies [Start of Volume II]

    Off in the distance lay a farm.


    Besides a beat up old tractor, a barely holding together pickup truck, and a very well maintained Volkswagen Beetle, there didn''t seem to be any sign of more than just an elderly couple living there.


    The sun had started to set when I first arrived. I had used my power to coil up, and to give myself sharp claws, combining the two to climb up a towering tree which resided at the border of the farm.


    I had settled on one of the highest branches which was thick enough to hold my weight.


    From this vantage point I pressed down the branch in front of me to create an opening in the canopy.


    The elderly man, having finished the last of his duties on the farm, had started to hobble back towards the farmhouse. He stopped on his way, taking off his hat and looking towards the forest where I was hidden.


    Behind him bright golden light spilled out from the farmhouse kitchen into the growing dark.


    The elderly man made a sign of a cross over his chest and then hobbled into his home.


    The farmer''s wife had made a roast dinner. I was too far away to smell it, but with my enhanced vision I could make out beyond the kitchen window the steam rising from the roasted chicken which was drenched in thick brown gravy.


    The farmer and his wife said a prayer and then started eating their dinner.


    My stomach whined and gurgled for something to eat.


    I wasn''t sure how much I needed to eat given how good my body was at staying alive even when, under any normal circumstance, it should''ve been dead.


    Back in Lintern''s Gym, after the nightmarish treadmill torment the Pied Piper officers had made us teenagers, AKA us ''mice'' undergo, I had come out looking horribly sunburnt.


    I had walked and jogged with bouts of mad sprinting for so many hours during that treadmill trial I should have died. One long sleep was all it had taken for my sunburnt state to be healed.


    Surviving nearly drowning to death, on top of the wounds the Adam-George-Amalgamation had inflicted on me (notably three nasty slashes across my back carved out by the Amalgamation''s claws, and severe mangling of my right shoulder with its teeth), had brought my body to a similar near-death state.


    After a while of laying on the muddy bank feeling more tired than I had ever felt in my life, I had gotten up and, after a brief check of the sewage pipe I had fallen out of from high above, I had hobbled off into the nearby forest with the intention of creating as much distance between me and the Wedder Gorge facility as possible.


    The first time I fell down it took me several minutes to find the energy within myself to climb back to my feet.


    By the time I cleared the first patch of forestation I had recovered enough to stop falling over altogether.


    The more I recovered the worse my body felt, as if every nerve and fiber of my body were punishing me for the damage I had let happen to it.


    After clearing the first field I came to another patch of forestation, and carried on running from forest to field to forest throughout the day.


    The wounds on my back and shoulder were bleeding and stinging something fierce. The wound at my shoulder was so mangled I was thankful my body was in such a numb state to prevent me from feeling the worst of it at the time.


    I had stopped in the middle of one of the patches of forestation and knelt down. Using the power to heal the slashes across my back took nearly thirty minutes to heal fully. Not being able to see the wounds on my back made the whole process of healing them that much harder. Before, when I had healed the wounds at my stomach and near my right shoulder close to my chest, both wounds had already partially healed themselves by that point and I was able to look down at them and see what I was doing.


    I wasn''t able to heal my mutilated shoulder. I had tried for around an hour to make the wound close up and disappear as if it were never there to begin with, but was forced to give up because I had to keep moving. I had managed however to stop the shoulder wound from bleeding, closing it up all over with a hard scab-like crust. Running my fingers over the crusted hump was like touching a burnt batch of cookies.


    So I continued on, with the new hump-like mass bulging on my right shoulder.


    Heal it later, I told myself, for now just keep running.


    With each hour that passed I was able to move faster, my staggered pace becoming a jog, which in turn became a flat out sprint. In my coiled state I was able to sprint flat out faster than the world''s fastest athlete without worry of tiring.


    The forestation peeled by like a blur. My worry of tripping on the abundance of thick roots, dips in the ground, and so on was lessened because my enhanced hearing and vision was able to spot these obstacles well ahead of time. The pain my body had felt eased away until I felt normal again, but my mind in turn seemed to race ahead, anticipating what may be up ahead and figuring out what might be the best course of action to take much faster than I was used to. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    This was scary, because it was different to how I had lost track of time before when staying in the coiled state for a long time. Back at the facility, in the exercise area, I hadn''t realised I had run non-stop all night until Tiffany had come to find me.


    Time was passing differently the more I allowed the power, in combination with my mind, to take the brunt of the decision-making when it came to avoiding obstacles ahead of me.


    Deftly I leapt over the occasional fallen tree, or fence, or wide river. And yet as fast as I ran I knew I could make my body run even faster but, I understood, at the cost of losing more control of myself. A non-stop, flat out sprinter''s pace was enough for me to feel comfortable enough distance was being made between me and the Wedder Gorge facility, and the Chellam / Pied Piper Officers there.


    More forestation, more farmland, and lots of bad weather followed throughout the day.


    The overcast sky had darkened and then thick sheets of rain fell everywhere, lasting for several hours. Cold and wet, I didn''t care much, and was actually grateful for the bad weather since that would only hinder any search from the Pied Piper officers were they to look for me.


    The rain stopped about an hour before the sun started to set.


    Around the same time my heightened hearing had picked up the approach of a helicopter.


    I was left with a quick decision to make.


    Keep running and hope not to be seen, or find a place to hide.


    I opted for the latter.


    Back inside yet another patch of forestation I came to a hard stop. I powered down from the coiled state and laid myself down among the thick roots of a large tree.


    I remembered back to the police chase shows I had seen on TV and recalled that in those shows helicopters typically had cameras which could pick up the fugitive''s heat signature.


    I didn''t even know if the coming helicopter was searching for me as part of, or on behalf of, the Pied Piper officers; even so, I decided the best way I could hide any potential heat signature of mine was to reduce the temperature of my body.


    Laying on my stomach, I used my heightened sense of touch to better understand the temperature of the wet grass and roots and fallen leaves beneath me.


    It took about a minute for me to find the unlocking sensation in my mind to successfully make my body cool down.


    A strange euphoria took hold of me once my body was in perfect unison as far as temperature went with the forest.


    I knew if I wanted to I could just fall asleep and be perfectly comfortable in the forest despite how soaked I was from the rain and my lack of clothing.


    All I had was the bottom half of my shredded overalls; the top half had burned away when I had bulbed up my body to prevent the Amalgamation from sinking its teeth any further into my shoulder. I had also lost my plimsolls somewhere on the third floor.


    The helicopter neared, forcing me to reduce my enhanced hearing because the sound of the helicopter''s spinning rotors were simply too harsh to listen to.


    For about twenty minutes the helicopter roamed nearby.


    Why won''t it go away? I had thought, Can they see me?


    When it started to rain again the helicopter moved away. I followed the sound of it flying off, enhancing my hearing the quieter the rotor blades became.


    With the helicopter gone I returned my body''s temperature to normal and then entered the coiled state again. I had run full-tilt passing through more forestation, more farmland, across roads, over hedges, making sure to avoid the towns and parks with people on my way.


    At last, when the sun started to set, I came to be at the farm where the elderly couple were.


    And I had a decision to make.


    I needed to eat, but it could wait. What I really needed was clothes, because I definitely looked like someone who had escaped a facility which kept superhuman teenagers captive.


    What was the world like now? Did people know what powered teenagers like me could do? Or had what happened at the facility been some kind of exceptional, out of the ordinary ordeal?


    You could always wait until they''re asleep and steal what you need, I thought.


    I nodded.


    Yeah, that did seem like the easiest option. With my enhanced abilities, sneaking in and out of an elderly couple''s home, taking what I could get my hands on, and leaving seemed easy enough. Maybe the farmer had a gun, but even then it wasn''t something I feared; the Pied Piper officers had guns, and Sophie, Walter and I had managed to hold our own against them.


    The old couple would do a lot more damage with a phone call to the police should they find you, I thought, they''d let the Pied Piper officers know you made it out of the facility alive, and which direction you headed. You really want to give them that kind of advantage?


    My stomach gurgled again, followed by a familiar acidic burn.


    It hadn''t been that long since I had last eaten. The previous night had been Robert Hoffman''s special dinner, where he had laid out his design for the British branch of the PUNCH program. That meal had been good. Real good. And it had almost been my last.


    I decided quickly that I wasn''t going to steal from the elderly couple. Not so much as a chicken egg. My parents had raised me better than that.


    In the end it wasn''t hunger or tiredness or a need for clothing which brought me down from the towering tree to the ground. It was a different kind of desperation. It wasn''t something I could form into a coherent thought even as I walked out from the forest towards the farmhouse.


    I walked past a cow which watched me cautiously. I gave it a little wave and it started to move away.


    The path was muddy on the way to the farmhouse. My bare feet squelched in the mud with every step.


    I wasn''t in any condition to go knocking on a stranger''s front door, yet I simply couldn''t find the rational part of myself to think better of doing so.


    The sun had set and the night had become ink blue.


    A soft glow, not as bright as the light pouring out from the kitchen window, was behind the front door glass.


    The doormat felt rough against the soles of my feet as I stepped up to the door.


    I cleared my throat, patted the shredded remains of my overall bottoms, ran a hand through my mud-caked hair, and then knocked three times on the door.


    Knock. Knock. Knock.

 83. Baby Fox

    I thought of Mum when I saw the little old lady''s figure emerge and draw closer from behind the hazy front door glass.


    Somewhere in London Mum would be worried sick about me, and there was no place else in the world I wanted to be than at the front door of my own home, moments away from wrapping Mum in my arms to let her know I was okay.


    The elderly woman didn''t answer the door right away.


    "There''s someone at the door," she whispered to her husband.


    I could hear her clearly thanks to my heightened hearing. My ears however weren''t pointed, and hadn''t been for numerous times I had heightened my hearing. At first I had assumed my ears had to become pointed in order to increase my hearing potential, but it seemed it wasn''t needed. Or, at the very least, had stopped needing to be the case since I was becoming well-accustomed to using the ability since the first time Sophie had demonstrated how to use it.


    "Wait here," said the elderly man.


    I heard the chair he was sitting in creak as he rose to his feet.


    I reduced my heightened hearing as the old man neared the front door.


    "Who is it?" said the old man from behind the door.


    This question, though simple, had me stumped. My brain felt dry and empty, and every thought of how to respond to the old man seemed to rise out of my head as if attached to helium balloons.


    "Burgess O''Bannon," I said, hoarsely, "I was wondering if you could help me?"


    There was silence for a moment and then the front door opened enough to pull the metal chain it was still latched to on the inside taut.


    Half the old man''s face emerged in the opening. He had quite a large nose, and had deep wrinkles. A blue left eye looked me over.


    Nothing more needed to be said because, I could see, the mere sight of my current condition spoke volumes.


    The old man slammed the door shut and for a second I thought that would be the end of our encounter.


    A metal scratching sound followed and then the door opened all the way, revealing the tall old man and his small elderly wife.


    My eyes smarted from the soft golden glow of the hallway light that shone like a veil behind the couple.


    "What happened to you, son?" said the old man.


    I didn''t know what to say, or where to begin.


    Thankfully the elderly woman spoke up first. She gripped the old man''s shirt and tugged on it.


    "We can ask him later," she said, "Can we help the poor boy?"


    The old man considered the question but didn''t seem to take much convincing.


    "Of course," he said, he reached out for me.


    It took a good deal of self-control for me not to flinch away like I wanted to. The man''s hand found my right arm and he gently guided me into the house hallway.


    The smell of the hot roast dinner I had seen from the window met my nose before the elderly couple finished ushering me into the kitchen.


    "You take a seat here," said the elderly woman, pulling up one of the old wooden chairs by the dining table.


    I sat down, happy to take the weight off my feet again. As much as my body seemed to be able to defy exhaustion, the simple act of sitting down still brought immense relief.


    The elderly woman gasped.


    I remained still, being determined to not make any sudden movements that might give them reason to think I might harm them.


    "Donald," said the elderly woman in dismay.


    She must have gestured to the nasty crusted wound on the back of my right shoulder. The old man stood at one end of the table and stooped lower.


    "What happened?" he said.


    That''s a big question, I thought. I tried to think of a simple answer but I just found myself staring at the deep lines made in the old wood dining table that must''ve been formed after decades of use.


    "Well," said the old man after looking over my shoulder-wound, "It doesn''t appear to be bleeding. It might be a tumor. Is it a tumor?"


    I realised the old man had asked me another question.


    "No," I mumbled, "It''s just healed funny."


    Maybe it had been a bad idea to seek help from this elderly couple after all? It seemed almost cruel to interfere with their quiet evening, bringing myself and all the chaos that entailed into their home.


    "Donald''s a Doctor," said the elderly woman.


    "Not seen anything like this before," he said, "The way this has healed. Did you burn yourself?"


    I nodded, "Sort of," I said.


    My stomach gave a loud whine.


    "Oh I''m sorry," said the elderly woman, "Are you hungry? Of course you are. Here, please help yourself. There''s plenty."


    The elderly woman pushed the plate of roast dinner closer to me, so that it sat over the spot I had been staring at.


    I considered eating the meal like a feral animal, but had enough composure to stop myself.


    "Could I trouble you for a knife and fork?" I said.


    "Oh, silly me," said the old woman.


    She slid over the knife and fork which had been set for Donald''s dinner.


    Sorry, Donald, I thought.


    My hands trembled as I reached out to grab the knife and fork. I then started to eat the meal with as much politeness as I could muster; elbows off the table and everything.


    Donald took a seat to my right at the end of the table, and the old woman took a glass and filled it with tap water, which she then set in front of me.


    Nothing was said whilst I sat and ate for a few minutes. The food tasted good, but much of the taste was lost on me because I was too focused on stopping the hunger gnawing at my gut to pay much attention to the varied savory flavors.


    I finished three full glasses of water between bouts of eating. The elderly woman diligently refilled the glass with more water each time it was empty.


    I wasn''t one to finish meals to the last morsal, but this time I had wiped the plate clean, leaving just the smears of gravy sauce as any indication there had been food there at all.


    I eased back in my seat and felt the happy contentment which comes from having a full stomach.


    "Thank you," I said, "I really appreciate it."


    "There''s more if you want it," said the elderly woman, "Just let me know."


    I nodded and gazed at the floor beneath the table.


    There, under the table, lay a baby fox curled up upon a cushion.


    Guess I''m not the only guest, I thought, fighting a smirk.


    Satiated, my mind seemed to hold onto thoughts easier.


    "If it isn''t too much trouble," I said, "I was wondering if you had any spare clothes I could wear?" This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    "Should have something," said Donald.


    He looked beyond me to his wife.


    "Would you fetch something for Burgess?" he said.


    My ears pricked at my name. It was always odd hearing others say my name.


    "Yes, dear," said the elderly woman.


    She shuffled off out of the kitchen and made her way upstairs.


    Donald''s demeanor became a tad more serious with just the two of us in the kitchen.


    "What''s this business about?" he said, "Where''d you come from?"


    I considered lying to him, or outright refusing to share the details of what had happened to me, but that seemed far too rude given how generous they had already been welcoming me into their home.


    "I escaped a facility not far from here," I said, "They were killing us."


    Donald was surprised by what I said, but took this new information better than I expected.


    "You''re the first that''s walked up to our front door and asked for help," he said, "But we''ve seen plenty of kids your age coming and going. They''ve got a lot of you on the run. We''d help them too but most steal from the farm and go on their way before we can get the chance."


    "Have you seen anyone dressed like me?" I said, thinking of Sophie and Walter.


    Maybe they had come this way too.


    "Hard to say," said Donald, "Last young man I saw was wearing a silver - er - shirt, and - what do you call them ¨C the shorts that go past your knees?"


    "Three quarter lengths?" I said.


    "Yeah," said Donald, "Those. Olive skin, messy black hair. Know him?"


    I tried to think of anyone I knew that might fit the bill.


    "No," I said, "Sorry."


    "He was a good boy," said Donald, "A friend of his had stolen one of our chickens. Apparently he had gotten wind of it and came to give it back. We gave him some eggs as a thank you."


    "Did you get his name?" I said.


    Donald started to show his age, the wrinkles in his face deepening as he made an effort to remember.


    "Started with an A," he said.


    He gave up.


    "Sorry," he said, "Memory''s not what it used to be."


    The elderly woman returned with a heap of clothes bundled in her arms so high I couldn''t see her face.


    She set the clothes on the table.


    "There''ll be a bit big for you," she said, "These belong to our son, Rupert. He doesn''t need them anymore."


    "Why''s that?" I said.


    "He''s a Priest," said the elderly woman, proudly, "You won''t often find him not wearing his cassock."


    Donald noticed my lack of comprehension.


    "The uniform priest''s wear," he said with a friendly smile.


    "Oh," I said, nodding.


    I figured telling them I didn''t believe in God probably wasn''t the best thing to mention given how charitable they were being towards me. I wondered if they were the type of religious people that cared much if the person they were helping shared the same beliefs as them.


    "We''ve got a bathroom at the back there," said the elderly woman, "You can shower and change. Do you think you''ll be able to manage by yourself, that-" she gestured to my shoulder wound, "-does it hurt?"


    "Not really," I said, "Kind of aches but that''s it."


    I got up, stealing another look at the adorable little baby fox beneath the table. Just seeing it made me feel a whole host of strange emotions; good and bad.


    "Sienna, dear?" said Donald.


    "Yes?" said the elderly woman.


    "Do you remember the name of the boy that gave back the chicken?" said Donald.


    "Oh," said Sienna, biting her thumbnail, "Azaad, wasn''t it?"


    "Ah, yes," said Donald, patting the table, "Azaad."


    "But he preferred ''Az''," said Sienna, "Such a nice boy."


    "When did you see him?" I said.


    "Two weeks ago, or thereabouts," said Donald.


    "Are you sure he was¡­like me?" I said.


    Donald ran a hand over his stubbled chin.


    "He was about your age," he said, "No doubt he was on the run."


    "Let the boy get washed," said Sienna.


    Neither Donald nor I argued. I let Sienna usher me out of the kitchen to the bathroom at the back of the house.


    I breathed a sigh of relief once I was alone in the bathroom. After turning on the light I could see the bathroom was small and old fashioned. The bathtub, sink, and toilet were all a dark green colour, and the tiles on the walls had the same image of a flower within a diamond pattern repeated all over.


    I stripped from the last remains of the blue overalls, and then stepped into the shower. What I really wanted was a bath ¨C I loved baths - but I had already lingered too long at the farm as it was. I needed to shower, get dressed, and get moving again.


    After messing around with the hot and cold knobs for a few seconds, I managed to get a consistent heavy stream of hot water flowing over me.


    It was bliss. Pure. Bliss.


    For all I knew Officer Freeman and the Pied Piper officers under his command probably assumed I was dead and drowned somewhere in the underground complex. Then again, they would eventually find the torn opening in the sewage pipe; they''d know at least one of us; whether that was Sophie, Walter, me, or the Adam-George-Amalgamation, had made it out.


    Were they chasing me? Even if they knew I had made it out alive would they consider me someone worth hunting down?


    I didn''t know, but it seemed safest to act as if they were going to be hellbent on finding and killing me until I knew any different.


    Whilst I showered I kept my hearing heightened. This proved futile at first thanks to the sound of the water drowning everything else out.


    Once out of the shower I toweled off using one of the large yellow towels hung up on a rack.


    Dry, I then changed into the clothes Sienna had left me. Besides the boxer briefs and socks, the black jeans were about a size too big for me, but came with a belt which meant I could fasten them up at least. She had also given me a green flannel shirt that was about two sizes too big.


    Could make myself grow into them, I thought, Maybe later. Don''t want to freak them out.


    Dressed, I moved over to the sink and looked at myself in the mirror. I flinched. My eyes were wide open and staring. Had I really looked so traumatized when they met me at the door?


    The last remaining item of clothing left for me to try were a pair of old boots. I slipped them on and quickly found they weren''t my size either. Much too big.


    Guess you''ll have to grow for a bit, I thought. For some reason the notion of making myself taller, and broader, the way I had done in the underground complex when fighting for my life seemed vaguely repulsive to me. Sort of like a man deciding to wear lifts in his shoes, or putting on a wig to hide hair loss; compensating. But was it really compensating if you could actually change those things about yourself and not just cover them up with external things?


    Fed and clothed, it seemed like a good time to slip out the back door and run off into the night.


    Don''t, a small voice in me begged, stay the night in a warm bed if they''ll have you.


    I decided at least I wouldn''t leave without thanking them for what they had already done for me.


    I picked up the scraps of my blue overalls and left the bathroom.


    Both Donald and Sienna were sitting in the kitchen. Donald had started on his own meal. The whole scene before me just felt so normal; so casual.


    "Not a bad fit," said Donald with a mouthful of chicken.


    "You''ll have to excuse me," he said, pointing to his dinner, "Been a long day, I usually skip breakfast."


    I didn''t know how to respond to that so I just kept quiet.


    "If you would like to stay the night you''re more than welcome," said Sienna, "You can have Rupert''s room upstairs."


    "That would be great, thank you," I said, before I could think better of rejecting the offer.


    The safe thing to do was to leave the house and continue on my way. But some part of me, beyond just being physically tired in the strange way my tireless body could still feel a kind of exhaustion that felt like being stretched beyond a comfortable limit; I simply couldn''t pass up staying in a place that felt so safe and homely, not after close to a month of bland facility walls.


    We needed to wait for Donald to finish his dinner before going upstairs.


    "Would you like a cup of tea?" said Sienna.


    "Yes," I said, trying not to scream with joy at the question. "Please."


    Sienna saw to making cups of tea for everyone.


    "How do you take it?" she asked.


    "Milk. Strong. Two sugars," I said.


    Usually I opted for no sugar, but given the state I was in the additional sugar was more than welcome.


    The boiling kettle filled the silence in the kitchen. I heightened my hearing and listened out as best I could to make sure there was no approaching trouble coming from outside. There were birds settling into their nests in the trees, and different small animals scurrying about; as well as the cows, and chickens, and other farm life moving about.


    But no sound of vehicles, or footsteps, or the rattle of guns, or the distant sound of helicopters. Just a quiet night. It didn''t mean I was safe, but it did set me that little bit more at ease to know the nearby surroundings of the farm were empty of Pied Piper officers or anyone else that might cause me trouble, like an unexpected police visit.


    The tea tasted glorious. Simply. Glorious.


    "Boy likes his tea," said Donald, jokingly.


    I held up my mug and smiled, "Cheers," I said.


    The elderly couple stifled chuckles.


    When Donald was finished with his dinner both he and Sienna led the way upstairs. The stairs creaked with the three of us making our way up.


    "Here you go," said Donald, gesturing inside the first room on the left.


    I made my way inside and found the room to be small, with a single bed. Nearby a bookshelf was stocked full of books that looked old and probably worth a good deal of money. I flinched at the sight of a large crucifix on the wall depicting a severely bloody and bleeding Jesus. In the dark of the room the bloody and bruised body almost looked real.


    "We''ll check on you in the morning," said Donald, "We would appreciate it if you would stay in this room until morning, just so we know where you are."


    "Okay," I said, nodding a lot to show I was really listening, "Thank you."


    "We''ll talk more in the morning," said Sienna, "I''ll fix you up a good breakfast. Will you stay for breakfast?"


    "Sure," I said, without thinking, "That''d be nice. Thank you."


    After an awkward few moments of none of us really knowing what to do or say, Donald and Sienna shuffled off. I closed the door and sighed with relief to be alone again.


    Without wasting any time I moved over to the bed, kicked off the boots, and then lay on top of the bed.


    Want to stay dressed just in case I need to make a quick getaway, I thought.


    I lay on the bed using my heightened hearing to listen to the surrounding farm life and at some point in the night I finally drifted off to sleep.

 84. Textbook

    The sunlight shone thick and heavy against the water''s surface.


    Somehow I had found myself in the middle of the pool barely able to see because everything around me was painfully bright.


    Tiffany was standing at the edge of the pool, still dressed in the blue overalls we were told to wear at the Wedder Gorge facility.


    She was talking with several others I recognised.


    "Tiffany!" I shouted.


    I was thrashing in the water, my body growing heavier by the second. Water was starting to enter my mouth.


    I tried calling the others that were standing chatting with Tiffany.


    "Abigail! Blain! Mikayla! Sophie!"


    Each in their own time took notice of me, but none of them stopped their conversation.


    My body lost what little strength it had left.


    I went under.


    *


    It was still dark outside when I woke.


    Moonlight peeked in from the window which was within arm''s reach of me from where I lay on the bed.


    My excited breathing steadied as I realised I wasn''t drowning.


    What a nasty nightmare, I thought.


    That feeling of helplessness and dread which had gripped me in the nightmare lingered. I felt sick, as if I had fallen asleep beneath a ray of light shining in through a window; my whole body felt hot and sweaty and constricted by the clothes I hadn''t taken off before falling asleep.


    Using my power I increased my vision, causing the room to appear brighter than it was. It had the strange effect of making everything as easy to see as if it were daytime, but with the colours muted to the point of almost becoming gray.


    The hump-wound at the back of my right shoulder ached and stung. I must have laid on it pretty hard whilst asleep. I reached back and ran a hand under the green flannel shirt I had been given earlier, and ran my fingers over the hump, noticing the crusty scab-like coating I had used my power to create had become slightly wet.


    I wiped the residue from the sap-like juices seeping from the hump off my hand onto the bed.


    For a while I just lay thinking about my situation. It took me nearly half an hour of sitting and thinking in the dark to have the sense to open the window beside me by a crack. Cool air seeped into the room. I was thirsty, but Donald and Sienna had asked me not to go roaming about their home without them around so getting something to drink would have to wait.


    The memories of all the things I had experienced during my escape from the Wedder Gorge facility forced themselves to the front of my mind. In a way I was helpless and unable to prevent myself from remembering everything that had happened. My mind raced from one scene to another as if determined to make sure all of the ordeal I had gone through wasn''t overlooked.


    The memories, fueled by the nightmare I had just had, sorted themselves by focusing on one person at a time.


    First I thought of Tiffany, remembering how she had cried whilst I stood before her after telling Robert Hoffman and everyone else in the room that I had no intention of going along with the PUNCH program. That memory made me remember how Tiffany and I had drifted apart shortly after we arrived at the facility. I remembered her blemishless, much prettier face and her new, long and shiny hair which she had at first brought about with her power due to her own insecurities about her looks. It was almost as if the Tiffany I had known before, the one who had a shaved head, and normal blemishes; the girl who was easily mistakable for a boy and unfeminine in a lot of her mannerisms; that Tiffany seemed different to the prettier one that replaced her.


    I thought back to the helicopter flight we had taken, then further back still to us agreeing to stick together back at the little bed and breakfast we had stayed after the dreadful treadmill torment.


    I remembered outrunning Alex Landly, and how it had been Tiffany looking out for me that gave me a semblance of comfort during a nightmarish ordeal.


    And further back still, to the pair of us talking on the coach on the Severn Bridge.


    To when she had pretended to choke on a piece of tuna and sweetcorn sandwich to create a distraction for three runaway teenagers; which she had done because one of the teenagers had offered her a lighter, which she needed to smoke her cigarettes.


    And even further back I remembered first meeting Tiffany and thinking to myself that she was a person that likely wasn''t someone to be trusted. Someone it probably wasn''t wise to spend my time around.


    I was right, I thought.


    No, said another part of me, She''s not a bad person. She just had to make a hard choice. She put her son ahead of her own wants.


    No, she just wanted to use her power to make money. She was clear about that from the start.


    It''s your own fault for thinking she was going to stick by you through thick and thin. Did you really think she was going to stick to her promise?


    Yes, I thought. Yes I did.


    In the same way I spent the next hour thinking about the others I had met at the facility, those who had also appeared in my nightmare. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    It seemed to be something my mind needed me to go over, as if there was something I needed to remember or understand about all of the people I had met at the facility.


    In the end after lots of thinking I found myself with no sudden revelation from having thought so much about everything that had happened.


    Did I really go through all that? I asked myself.


    Did I kill that girl that became a were-tiger? Was it me that stayed behind to help those helpless Pied Piper bastards? Had I really witnessed the Adam-George-Amalgamation breaking loose and tearing Dr.Abdullah limb-from-limb?


    The more I thought about it all, the more I thought about it. And the more I thought about it, the creeping dread and unease, on top of the sickly feeling I woke up with, took even greater hold of me.


    I needed to distract myself from the thoughts that were threatening to send me into a full blown panic attack.


    I rose from the bed and decided to search the nearby bookshelf. I quickly found what I was looking for; there was a huge medical textbook which most likely belonged to Donald. His wife Sienna had mentioned he was a doctor yesterday evening.


    Need to fix this wound on my shoulder, I thought.


    I took the huge medical textbook with me back to the bed and sat cross-legged by the window. It felt good to have the cool air against my skin whilst I sat.


    I searched the table of contents of the book and found there was a section on human anatomy, specifically the upper body. I turned the pages and found what I was looking for; an artistic depiction (one which I could only assume was very accurate to the real thing) of the inner workings of the human body; it showed the muscle, veins, and bones, labeling each. Several pages after the first which showed the torso depicted and explained in detail how each organ and part of the torso worked.


    My mind was awake, but even so I had never been one for studying. My goal was to fill the gap in my knowledge where it came to the anatomy of my own shoulder, to give me an idea of what needed to be fixed. I figured if I could accurately use my mind to imagine my shoulder being healed by the power, it might work.


    I had a theory about how the power worked. If there had been one good thing to come out of my time at the facility it was that I had witnessed plenty of us teenagers using the power in different ways.


    What if the power, when used, first relied on imagination? But, as a kind of limitation, what if the more extreme uses of the power relied too much on imagination? I knew what it was like to turn into a were-fox, not to the degree that Adam and Holly and all the rest had when they lost control of their power and became mindless hulking beasts; but enough that I achieved enough fox-like features to magnify my voice to the point I was able to deafen the Pied Piper officers (whether they would forever lose their hearing I wasn''t sure.)


    Did I know anything about fox anatomy? No. But I had seen and heard plenty of foxes in my life. How much imagination on my part did it really take to lengthen my nails to claws, to grow out my ears, to change the colour of my eyes, to lengthen my teeth, and to increase the vocal power of my throat to be more like a fox? It wasn''t that I really became a fox in my anatomy, but more like I changed aspects of myself to create a likeness.


    I hadn''t considered the idea of growing gills in order to not drown to death when the underground Chellam complex was flooding with water but, if my theory was right, it wouldn''t have mattered. I had no idea how gills worked. I just vaguely knew what they looked like. So maybe I would have grown gill-like openings in my neck, but they might have been completely useless when it came to actually giving me the ability to breathe underwater.


    Maybe more imagination was used in the absence of actually knowing the intricacies of the thing being done with the power that made all the difference. Maybe Holly, and Adam, and the other revolutionaries would have kept better control over their transformed selves were they better able to understand the animals they had tried to transform themselves into a likeness of?


    What had been their intent anyway? They had seen their goal was to integrate their ''shadow-selves'', a concept related to Jungian psychology, something I knew little about and doubted the failed revolutionaries, for the most part, knew much about either.


    When they tapped into the power had they done so with the idea of taking on their ''shadow-selves''? Maybe then it was no wonder they had lost their minds because, due to the very way they were intending to use the power from the outset, it prompted that loss of control because they wanted to gain power and to be free of their usual inhibitions.


    I wished I had a pen and paper to write these thoughts down but I was too set on the task at hand to want to get up from the bed again and look for some.


    I found myself staring down at the page in front of me which depicted the inner workings of the human shoulder, and found that I simply wasn''t taking any of the information in. Fear struck me, what if I needed to spend the next few months studying shoulder anatomy in order to have a hope of fixing my shoulder wound?


    Don''t panic, I told myself, you haven''t exhausted all of your options yet.


    I remembered running through the forests and fields full-tilt yesterday. My mind had somehow kept up with the sprinting speed, enabling me to not trip over the many obstacles in my way. That had been something my mind, were I my normal self pre-power, would not have been able to do.


    Which, I thought, Might mean I can use my power to improve my cognitive function too?


    This was dangerous. I knew all too well the dangers which came with messing with powers. I had seen the body horrors which could stem from messing around with the power; who was to say how much more horrifying the things which could happen if the power was used foolishly to change what the mind was capable of?


    I decided it was worth the risk. I didn''t want to spend the next few months, or longer, with a nasty weeping hump on my back.


    But what was it I was intending to do? I searched for the right idea and decided what it was I was going to ask the power to do for me.


    Help me learn, I thought, much in the same way I had wished for the power to make me stronger when I had learned to coil.


    Help me learn. Help me learn.


    I repeated this wish over and over again, seeking the unlocking sensation within my mind like I had done for the other uses of the power.


    After a few moments I found it, like a solid shape in my mind, like groping for a door knob in the dark and finally finding it.


    Help. Me. Learn.


    I felt my brain kick into high gear like the revving of an engine. As if I were on some drug I found myself suddenly seeing the contents of the page before me as if for the first time.


    I was thinking, but what I was doing was beyond mere thought. I wasn''t just reading the contents of the page, I was absorbing it. Not just line by line, word by word, but I could sense a whole spider-like web of different ideas and concepts connecting.


    It was one of the most pleasant and exciting experiences ever. It was better than being completely enamored by an incredible movie. Or spending hours lost in an amazing video game. It was like that little light-bulb moment of joy that happens when a friend tells you an interesting new idea that you hadn''t thought about a certain way before; but stretched out, magnified, and far, far more exciting.


    I finished reading the page in front of me, then turned to the next, and the next one after that. I had only intended to read the pages relating to the torso and shoulder anatomy, but quickly found myself turning onto the next page to learn about the human neck. The more I read, the more I felt like I was having an outer body experience, outside looking in, my body turning the pages and my mind absorbing the information, something completely separate from another part of me; a core part; whatever that might be.


    I lost track of time.

 85. Doorstopper

    After finishing with the first book I moved back to the shelf, set the book on the carpet, and started on the second. The more I read, the more I wanted to read on the topic of the human body as well as tangentially related medical information.


    The out-of-body experience which had taken hold of me hadn''t lessened in the slightest.


    In my mind''s eye I could see the growing web of information, as if I were seeing the very neurons inside my brain firing. The more I read, the smaller this web of information seemed to become despite the web itself growing; the more I learned, the more I understood how inadequate my understanding was. Each new nugget of information from the medical book pages created many more unanswered questions.


    As much as my brain was in overdrive absorbing, sorting, comparing, and doing who-knows-what with all the new information, another part of me enjoyed being an observer rather than in the driver''s seat of my body. Oftentimes in life I wished I could somehow let my body carry out tasks on autopilot whilst the real me could observe, sit back, and relax whilst the tasks were being done. Using this learning state ability was exactly that.


    I could take back control, I thought, but I don''t want to.


    By the seventh doorstopper book there were no more medical textbooks on the shelf for me to devour. This seemed to be the thing which broke the learning state I was in.


    Daylight shone in from the nearby window. It was a drizzly, overcast sky outside, but light enough that I understood I must have been sitting on the carpet reading for several hours.


    There was something about the tower of books which disgusted me, as if each book were a meal I had already eaten and yet was available for me to eat in full all over again if I wanted to.


    I know all of the information in those books now, I thought.


    Or did I?


    I tried to recall something, anything I had learnt from one of the books. Nothing came to mind.


    My eyes searched the room whilst a puzzled look settled on my face.


    Okay, I thought, maybe it requires a prompt of some kind?


    The dull ache from the hump wound on the back of my right shoulder drew my attention.


    What''s wrong with it? I thought.


    Still no answer came. Just the quiet passing of time in the little room.


    Had I just wasted my time reading all of these books?


    Birds twittered outside, singing their late-morning song.


    It had been a while since I enhanced my hearing to see if any trouble might be heading my way. Despite this, I forced myself to focus on the task at hand.


    I needed to get to the bottom of using my power.


    I uncrossed my legs. My knees gave a little crunching sound from being stuck in the same position for so long. The ache in my legs was more uncomfortable than it was satisfying to spread them out in front of me again (being careful not to knock over the tower of books.)


    Try tapping into the knowledge via unlocking, I told myself.


    I concentrated on finding the unlocking sensation associated with the knowledge I had soaked up from the books.


    This too proved useless.


    "What the heck?" I said, aloud.


    I wanted to kick the tower of books to make myself feel better, but stopped myself. Why couldn''t I get this power to work properly? I had taken in all of that new knowledge, hadn''t I?


    Feeling restless, I rose to my feet and started pacing around the room.


    Think, think, I told myself, as if I hadn''t used my power for hours already to circumvent having to do the hard work of thinking and learning.


    I moved over to the bed, sat down, and gazed out the window. From where I was sat on the edge of the bed the best I could see was the top of the nearby forest canopy and thick clouds looming overhead.


    You didn''t soak in the information, I thought, continuing to mull things over, the power did.


    I nodded, putting a hand to my chin.


    Right, I thought, and am I the power? Are we one and the same thing? Or is it something external to me?


    I could tell I was flailing for an answer. It wasn''t as if some experienced user of this power was going to come and teach me how to use it. Often in movies and TV shows newbies, when trying to learn the ropes of their new superpowers, had mentors to rely on.


    Where was my mentor?


    How could there be one? I thought, everyone who has the power is around your age. You''re going to have to be your own mentor. Figure it out.


    I scratched my head.


    "Okay," I said, aloud, and sighed.


    "Alright," I said, finding it easier to think things through by saying my thoughts, "Let''s go with the assumption that you''re not your power. And let''s go with the assumption that each use of your power, which you unlock within your mind, is its own subset of the overall power." This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    I remembered then that I had used combinations of my power at the facility.


    I had used a combination of coiling up, bulbing up, and vibrating in order to create an incredibly powerful punch that had taken out the unfortunate were-tiger-girl-revolutionary in one hit.


    "The powers can stack?" I said, aloud.


    But could the abstract learning I had just done combine with the healing power?


    The absence of knowledge is imagination, I thought.


    When I had tried to heal the hump-wound before I had relied on my own knowledge of the human body to fix it, and hadn''t gotten very far because of it.


    But somewhere inside me now was at least some knowledge, seven huge medical book''s worth, which I needed to find a way to access.


    "Start with healing," I muttered.


    I got up onto my knees and took off the green flannel shirt. I reached back and felt the nasty hump on my back, which was still weeping a nasty smelly juice.


    My skin crawled with disgust.


    "Alright," I muttered, "Heal, heal."


    I tapped into the power and found the unlocking sensation I needed for healing. Finding it, the hump on my back jiggled wetly; bit by bit the gaps in the crust healed over again with yet more scab-like crust.


    Now combine this healing with the knowledge. Find the knowledge, I told myself.


    It took me a few moments to find the inner web of knowledge I had built up using the power whilst in the learning state.


    The instant I found this knowledge there came a sudden resistance to me accessing it. It was as if this resistance was asking the question: are you sure you want to use this knowledge?


    Yes, I thought, willing the power to give into my request.


    I wasn''t prepared for what happened next.


    Agony erupted at the location of the hump. I thought I had felt pain before but this was on another level entirely. It was as if the very nerve endings at my shoulder were on fire.


    This wasn''t the kind of agony that could be fought against, no more than a person could ignore being branded with a burning hot iron.


    I let out a scream of pain that emptied out my lungs and made me fight to breathe.


    I writhed atop the bed and quickly fell off, hitting the carpet with a hard thud.


    I couldn''t stop the pain because I didn''t have the presence of mind to do so. I was aware I wanted it to stop, and felt every second of the agony at my shoulder.


    Sometime later the pain lessened.


    I had writhed for a while on the carpet but had eventually stopped.


    Drool pooled from my mouth onto the carpet and my eyes fluttered as if I were having a fit.


    And then I lost consciousness.


    *


    Reality came crashing in like a wave.


    My eyes shot open.


    I saw the room I was in but at the same time I couldn''t stop myself from sitting up with a start.


    I breathed in a huge lungful of air.


    "It''s alright!" said a familiar voice.


    It was Donald. His hand was pressed against the middle of my bare chest.


    I was still in the bedroom they had let me stay in before. Somehow I was back on the single bed by the window.


    Donald was sitting on a chair beside the bed. His face seemed to glow from the light from the window shining against his weather-beaten face.


    I groped for the hump-wound on my back and quickly found, much to my relief, that it was no longer there.


    All I felt was normal, smooth, bare skin.


    I did it! I thought.


    Before a giddy excitement could take hold of me I saw Donald''s questioning gaze fixed on me.


    "I''m sorry," I said.


    "You almost died," said Donald.


    "I did?" I said.


    He nodded gravely.


    "We heard you screaming. When I came in to see what was wrong¡­"


    He hesitated what he was about to say because it clearly bothered him.


    "...you were choking on your own vomit," he said.


    Ah, I thought, way to go Burgess you stupid idiot.


    "I''m sorry," I said.


    Donald seemed to be mulling something over.


    He brought his hand to my knee and patted it.


    "Sienna''s fixing breakfast," he said, "Do you feel up to eating?"


    I nodded, feeling suddenly tender and emotionally wrung out.


    "Come down when you''re ready," said Donald.


    He grunted as he stood from his chair. As he shuffled out of the room he glanced at the tower of books.


    "If you could put those back I''d appreciate it," he said.


    "I will," I said, "Sorry."


    "Nothing to be sorry for," he said, "Just glad you''re alright."


    And then he left the bedroom. I listened to the sound of his footsteps descending the creaky stairs.


    As nice as Donald had been about the whole situation I couldn''t help but feel like a freak. A nasty burning sensation followed in my throat after I swallowed.


    I don''t know how much more pain I can take, I thought.


    I lifted my gaze and saw the bloody crucifix on the wall. Something about it was strangely comforting.


    I put my hands to my face and let out a haggard sigh.


    Well, I thought, lifting my head up again and swinging my legs off the bed, breakfast is waiting.


    I put the flannel shirt back on and found it much easier to do the buttons without the hump on my shoulder.


    Each second without the hump was like its own reward for having gone through the agony to get rid of it.


    Dressed, I took a moment to put the tower of books back onto the shelf. Finished, I made my way out of the bedroom and down the flight of stairs. Although my body was in great condition compared to how it had been when I had washed up on the bank by the Wedder Gorge facility, I still felt very tender, as if my body were an exposed nerve.


    The sound of frying eggs met my ears and the smell quickly followed. I entered the kitchen and found Donald was already sitting at the dinner table. To my amusement he was smoking from an old pipe.


    "Morning," he said, speaking around the pipe.


    "Morning," I mumbled back, feeling guilty for all the stress I had caused them both.


    I sat in the same seat I had last night.


    "Eggs on toast, okay?" said Sienna, "There''s no meat since it''s Friday."


    "That sounds great," I mumbled, "Thank you."


    I sat back, again enjoying the absence of the hump on my back.


    I was disappointed to see the little baby fox was no longer under the table. It had been curled up on a cushion last night.


    "Where''s the fox?" I said.


    "Hm?" Donald hummed.


    His bushy eyebrows narrowed.


    "Fox?" he said.


    "Yeah," I said, "The baby one on the cushion?"


    Sienna looked over her shoulder, her gaze meeting Donald''s.


    "I don''t know what you''re talking about, son," he said, "You know about any fox, dear?"


    Sienna shook her head and then went back to tending to the frying eggs.


    There had been a fox, hadn''t there?

 86. Fragment of the Power

    I ate breakfast in silence trying to collect my thoughts.


    On top of all the things I had to worry about, the addition of imaginary baby foxes was simply the cherry on top.


    Around the time I finished eating breakfast, with my thoughts turning to how I might politely leave Donald and Sienna''s home and continue on my way, I was surprised by a sudden thought which forced itself to the front of my mind.


    Sienna has breathing issues. She is frequently bed-bound because of a respiratory illness which flares up for numerous reasons.


    I looked from Donald, who was stuffing more tobacco into his pipe, then over to Sienna, who was washing up the frying pan and dishes in the sink.


    Where did that information about Sienna come from? Was it true, or something I had just imagined?


    I remained as still as I could manage whilst letting my eyes roam around the kitchen, as if I were searching for anything that might confirm or disqualify the information about Sienna which had just entered my mind.


    There''s a distinct lack of fragrances in this house. Sienna must most likely avoid having anything fragrant around to prevent her respiratory illness from acting up. Donald used to like wearing cologne but stopped wearing it for Sienna''s sake.


    My eyes widened.


    This wasn''t exactly hearing voices in my head, but it was close. It felt as if I were merely receiving matter of fact information as if I were already aware and was simply being reminded of what I already knew.


    But was it true? Or was I starting to lose my mind?


    I inched my gaze over to Donald and let my gaze settle on him. This time I could vaguely feel my mind, and by extension, a small fragment of the power scrutinising the elderly man.


    He has dislocated his shoulder dozens of times throughout his life. It started when he was around sixteen years old. He also used to be a heavy cigarette smoker. Luckily the pipe smoke doesn''t set off Sienna''s respiratory issues much. She will likely excuse herself from the room soon to continue with her hobby, which is knitting.


    The clatter of dishes brought my attention back to Sienna. She set the dishes, and finally the frying pan, onto the dishrack. She then wiped her hand with a handtowel, coughed a little, and then turned around.


    "If you''ll both excuse me," she said, "I have some knitting to do."


    I looked at her with a dumbfounded expression.


    "Old biddies and their hobbies," she said, smiling.


    She gave Donald a doting kiss on the cheek and then left the room.


    Donald puffed on his pipe some more, then said, "You alright, son?"


    I nodded, "Yeah, fine," I said, "Just thinking."


    "Don''t take it personally," said Donald, gesturing with a thumb to the doorway where Sienna just left, "She''s sensitive to smells. Sets off her allergies."


    "Oh, it''s fine," I said, "I should probably be going anyway."


    Donald nodded, "Before you do, how about I show you around the farm? Have you ever visited a farm before?"


    "No," I said, "But I wouldn''t mind."


    Donald smiled around his pipe.


    "Swell," he said, "Lemme finish my smoke and I''ll give you the tour."


    *


    The first thing I did when leaving the back of the house was to increase my hearing. The sounds of the farm, and the forestation beyond, sprang up and stayed loud.


    Twittering birds, skittering rodents, grazing cows, clucking chickens and one moody rooster.


    I continued listening as I kept pace behind Donald.


    Donald''s heavy bootsteps, my heavy bootsteps, a distant plane flying far off.


    I twitched my head this way and that to find any sound in the distance that might hint at the coming of a Pied Piper officer, police officer, or any stranger at all. As far as I could tell, for a good distance beyond the farm in all directions, we were alone.


    I reduced my hearing to a normal level.


    "This is Rose," said Donald.


    We had approached the same cow I had passed the night before. It stood several paces from us.


    "What made you name her Rose?" I said.


    Donald put his hands to his hips and squinted at Rose.


    "Well it helps us to remember when the cows were born. The feast day of Saint Rose of Lima is in August; that''s when Rose was born. It''s good to know this when it comes to knowing when the right time to breed our cows is."


    I nodded. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    "Cool," I said.


    "Do you want to pet her?" said Donald.


    "Sure," I said.


    "Go up and give her a pet," he said, "Just take it slow and don''t get behind her or she''ll kick."


    I did as Donald said.


    Rose''s gaze fixed on me and she started to move away as I approached. After a wary glance back at Donald I continued towards Rose and then set my hand on her back.


    "Hello," I said, in a slightly cooing voice.


    "She''s so big," I said, "Feels sturdy like a sofa."


    Donald chuckled, "Sure," he said.


    "Come this way," he said, "I''ll show you the trees we''ve planted."


    I gave Rose one last pat and then followed after Donald. The sun was out and felt great against my face and neck.


    A glance at the back of Donald''s head told me he had once fallen over, at around twelve years old, and had cracked his head open, requiring stitches. The way a tuft of hair on the back of his head stood up told me all that.


    We reached a field where there were a dozen planted trees. They were small, just a little bit over head-height, with wooden panels at the base of each.


    "That''s an apple tree," said Donald, pointing at the nearest one.


    "And those two are lemon trees."


    "How long do they take to grow?" I asked.


    "Well, they should be a lot further along," said Donald, "But the roots haven''t gone deep enough because we didn''t plant them properly. It''s a bit too late to fix the mistake now."


    I nodded, putting my hands into my trouser pockets.


    "Why are you helping me?" I asked.


    The question sounded a little out of the blue once I said it aloud, but I had been asking myself this question ever since they welcomed me into their home.


    "Because you asked," said Donald, "You were in a bit of a state, weren''t you?"


    "Yeah," I said, "I really appreciate what you''ve done for me."


    Donald waved a hand but I could tell he was feeling a little bashful, "You''re alright," he said.


    He sniffed and started walking back the way we came. The next step of the tour was a smelly coup filled with chickens.


    "Aren''t you worried I might be dangerous?" I said.


    "A little," said Donald, "But I suppose there''s not much Sienna and I could do if you were."


    "I mean," I said, "I am dangerous. Not that I''m intending on doing anything wrong to you or your wife. But the thing is, the teenagers like me, we really are dangerous."


    This prompted about an hour of me telling Donald the highlights of what had happened to me ever since I was evacuated from my home. He listened intently, not giving much away about what he thought about things beyond the occasional look of surprise or admonishment.


    The tour had become a walk along a forest path.


    The light shining through the forest canopy made the green of the tree leaves that much more vibrant. Cool air brushed against my face and the sound of insects, crickets maybe, met my ears like music.


    Somewhere in nature, I thought.


    It only seemed to highlight how far away from home I was.


    "That other boy, Azaad," I said, keeping pace with Donald, who walked briskly despite his age, "Was he like me?"


    "Hard to say for sure," said Donald, "But I would assume so. News says a lot of teenagers have run away from home."


    "Do you have a computer?" I said, "I''m dying to see what''s going on. They didn''t give us any internet access at the facility."


    "Yeah I''ve got an old laptop you can use once we get back in," said Donald, "But I thought you wanted to be on your way?"


    Ah, I thought, I should be going soon.


    Donald stopped walking. By this point we were about a ten minute walk from the house.


    "You''re welcome to stay with us for a few more days," he said, "You should know what it is you intend to do before you go. Don''t want to run around like a headless chicken."


    "Really?" I said, rubbing the back of my neck, "You wouldn''t mind?"


    "Just until you can figure out your next move," said Donald, "Do you know where you''re going to go?"


    "I want to go home," I said, "But I don''t think it''s safe to go back into London. And I don''t know what to do about getting in contact with my Mum. She''s going to be worried sick about me. I should at least call her to let her know I''m safe; though I don''t remember her number. I could send her an email, maybe."


    Donald nodded.


    "You said the Pied Piper officers think you might be dead?" He said, "They''ll probably think you made it out alive since they won''t find your body. If I were them I would keep an eye on your Mum to see if you got in touch with her."


    "So you think I shouldn''t call my Mum?" I said.


    Donald rubbed his chin. The more I looked at him the more he reminded me of Clint Eastwood, particularly the way he narrowed his eyes in thought.


    "If you want to keep your Mum safe you''re better off keeping any contact with her in person. But I wouldn''t recommend you going home yet. The government''s put in place the MICE act, which''ll mean anyone around your age will be stopped and asked for I.D in most public places. You might do alright on your own out here where there''s not many people, but the closer you get to London the more trouble you''ll run into."


    "You''re really clued in on this stuff," I said, a little amazed at how much Donald had thought through the obstacles which were going to be in my way.


    "Well," he said, "I''ve had to deal with Chellam over the decades myself. They''ve made a mockery of the medical industry in this country. I had to quit my career because I could no longer adhere to the hippocratic oath because of the bastardization of this country''s medical system. But I tried for years to fight the changes. Didn''t get very far as you can see."


    "What is it that they want?" I said, "Why is Chellam even a thing?"


    Donald started walking again.


    "Well," he said, "Greedy sociopaths have a habit of finding each other. They adhere to a false religion in order to have a code of conduct to hold each other accountable; and from that foundation they go out into the world and gain influence."


    "It''s a religion?" I said, a little confused.


    I thought of my Dad and how he belonged to his local Chellam lodge. Did that mean he was up to no good too?


    "We''ll talk more about it later," said Donald.


    He sniffed the air and looked back the way we came.


    "You know," he said, "I''ve walked four dogs up and down this path over the years. From the time they were pups til old age took ''em. Wore ''em out. Sienna wants to get another one but I think we''re a bit too old for ''em at this point."


    I didn''t know what to say to that. After a few moments of silence, with just the rustle of the leaves in the trees to fill it, Donald turned about and started walking the path back to the house.


    Another unwanted thought sprang into my mind. Whilst the others had been unexpected, this was the first which had been unwelcome.


    The thought was:


    Donald will die within the next two years, most likely from a stroke.


    Donald glanced at me and noticed the grim look on my face.


    "You okay, son?" he said.


    "Yeah," I said, forcing a smile.


    I picked up my pace to match his.

 87. News Headlines

    After Donald and I returned from our walk the unspoken question of whether or not I intended to remain their guest at the farm lingered between us.


    Once we were back inside the house Donald found his old laptop for me to use. I took it gratefully and sat at the kitchen table, in the same spot I had sat in twice before, with the laptop slowly booting to life.


    Donald excused himself to handle a few errands around the farm which needed tending to. I hadn''t seen Sienna but, after enhancing my hearing for a few moments, I could hear her knitting in a rocking chair on the first floor.


    The internet browser slowly opened, ready for me to use.


    I quickly found myself engrossed reading numerous online articles:


    The United States agrees to Military Presence in the UK Following the Pied Piper''s Return Act.


    The article was nearly a month old and had been updated several times since its first posting.


    Not only was the United States sending soldiers to the UK, they were also sending military vehicles and weapons. And, to make things even worse, the military had arrived in the UK around the same time I had accepted the offer to go to the Wedder Gorge facility.


    The bottom of the article led to another:


    UK Government Unveils ''Return Passes'' to Evacuated Teenagers Proven to Be Non-MICE.


    A section of the article read:


    The UK Government''s ''Pied Piper''s Return Act'' has faced a great deal of public outcry in the last month. A particular point of contention has been the methods the Pied Piper''s Return operation has used to test teenagers for spontaneous-combustion risk, in particular the use of what has now infamously become known as the ''Treadmill Torment''.


    Many youths our journalists have spoken with have told us they were subjected to running on treadmills until the point of collapse on up to four different occasions in the span of three weeks. Several deaths have occurred due to these tests. An inquiry into the Treadmill Torment tests are said to be on hold by the UK Government.


    Susan Tuffnidge, Head of the UK''s Pied Piper operation, had this to say:


    "Whilst we are aware of the public concern regarding our methods to sort the at-risk from the non-at-risk, what I am proud to say is that we have effectively sorted a huge majority of the evacuated youths who are now clear to return home to their families."


    When asked whether she would do anything differently:


    "There is a great deal I would have done differently, however what must be understood is the sheer scale and unprecedented nature of the threat to this country and its great people."


    Susan Tuffnidge had this to say regarding the newly announced Return Passes:


    "The passes will allow all teenagers proven by our extensive tests not to be at-risk of spontaneous-combustion to return home. The passes will need to be carried at all times for the foreseeable future, as there are many at-risk youths who have broken the law and chosen to remain untested. The Return Passes are a necessary measure for a return to normalcy for youths who obey this country''s laws."


    Transportation of Return Pass-holding youths to their homes has begun this week.


    I almost closed the laptop out of frustration. Worse than the blatant lies about the spontaneous-combustions, which were fake, was how they were seemingly going to get away with it.


    I should have pretended I couldn''t keep up during the treadmill torment, I thought. I tried to imagine myself having the intelligence to act like I couldn''t keep running on the treadmill. Alex Landly had given up.


    What if he was only pretending to give up? I wondered, with a tinge of dread.


    No, I thought, remembering how exhausted and at the end of his tether Alex Landly had looked.


    There was no way he had faked giving up.


    You didn''t know, I thought, trying to remind myself that, at the time, I really didn''t know whether the spontaneous-combustion threat was real. For all I knew at the time I could have exploded. I also had no idea that I even had latent powers waiting to come to the fore for the first time in my life. If I had known I would have done things differently, but I didn''t.


    So that''s that, I thought.


    Another article headline read:


    Shocking Footage Challenges Everything We Know About MICE threat


    There was an embedded video at the top of the article.


    I pressed play on the video.


    "Oh no," I said, aloud, putting a hand to my mouth. What I saw made me feel as if Holly was driving her claws into my stomach all over again.


    The footage was from the Wedder Gorge facility, the exercise area in particular. A large portion of the exercise area could be seen from a high-up corner angle.


    And there, near the entrance of the huge space, sat around twenty teenagers in blue overalls. Among them was myself, Tiffany, Mikayla, Blain, Adam, Walter, Christopher, Reece, and Holly.


    The footage, lasting about twenty seconds, showed the moment where Adam lost control of his were-cat form and became the hulking were-lion creature Blain went toe-to-toe against. The clip showed Holly''s face being slashed by Adam''s claws, leading to her transforming into a hulking cougar-beast. It was surreal seeing the incident I had lived through from a new vantage point.


    It was starting to make sense why the Pied Piper officers had allowed Holly and her followers to have the so-called mindfulness session in the exercise area. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    It was for this very purpose. They wanted proof that teenagers like us could become monsters.


    Now this footage was known to the world.


    My family has probably seen this, I thought.


    And maybe my friend has too.


    My face was clear to see on the footage. Though far away, the footage was crisp and clear and high definition. The video had been re-uploaded onto various platforms with the views in the tens of millions.


    Despite my better judgment I read the comments to these videos:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Welp. The world is doomed. Monsters exist now. RIP everyone (five hundred likes)</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">They''re monsters! They need to be locked up! (four hundred likes)</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">What is the government doing about this? We can''t have monsters like this in society! (two hundred likes)</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Furries are real bros! (one hundred and five likes) </li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Dawn of superheroes and villains lads. Wait and see! (nine likes)</li>


    </ul>


    The clip was short enough that it showed very little of what came before or after, and the footage was silent. The idea that millions of people in the world had seen this footage was too much to take in all at once. I found myself watching the footage and replaying it several times just to give my mind a chance to process things.


    I went back to reading articles. I flinched at the next headline which caught my eye:


    UK Government Sanctions ''Piper Task Force'' to Arrest Evolving MICE Threat


    First section of the article read:


    Today the UK Government has announced, in partnership with the US military, a new ''Piper Task Force'' in order to combat the evolving MICE threat.


    "The concern regarding spontaneous-combustion of at-risk youths has changed," says Head of Pide Piper Operations Susan Tuffnidge, "Our top scientists unanimously agree the threat of spontaneous-combustion events has passed. The nature of the threat has evolved to MICE taking on extremely dangerous forms. We would like to reiterate that all Return Pass holders are not at risk of taking on such forms and should not be considered dangerous."


    Gordon Stowell, Head of the Pied Piper''s Operation in the United States, had this to say regarding the Pied Piper Task Force:


    "MICE are a danger to society. Those who have submitted, and continue to submit, to containment under the Pied Piper''s Return act will receive safe and effective care. Those who choose to break the law will be subject to arrest and punishment. I''ll make myself nice and clear to any MICE that think they are above the law: we will find you, and you will submit to arrest, or you will face the consequences."


    Some critics of this joint operation question the UK Government''s decision to allow the Pied Piper Task Force (PPTF) to use lethal force, along with numerous other powers to arrest MICE, including the searching of residences and places of businesses suspected to harbor MICE without warrants.


    That was about as much as I could stomach to take in.


    I sat back in my chair and became aware of the building unease which had taken hold of me.


    My life is never going to be the same, I thought, It''s never going to return to normal.


    I needed to think about my next move. Now I had the Pied Piper Task Force, the PTF, to worry about on top of everything else.


    Even if I did leave Donald and Sienna''s home tonight, it wasn''t as if I could return home to my family. Without a Return Pass I was a fugitive. Did that mean my only way back to a normal life was to hand myself in?


    That''s never going to happen, I thought, not after just barely escaping the Wedder Gorge facility with my life.


    I thought again of all the other teenagers that hadn''t escaped. That had been murdered.


    You survived a nearly impossible situation, I told myself, Don''t let it go to waste.


    I heard Sienna coming down the stairs before I saw her enter the kitchen. She set a huge folder onto the table.


    "That''s everything Donald has on Chellam," said Sienna.


    She lent against the table and fought to catch her breath. She sat down in the chair beside me. When her breathing steadied she patted me gently on the shoulder.


    "Would you like to stay another night?" she said.


    I wanted to say yes, but I stopped myself. Instead I gestured to the laptop screen.


    "Do you really want to risk having me here?" I said, "I think it''s safer if I leave."


    Sienna nodded.


    "If that''s what you want to do then that''s okay," she said.


    She gestured over my shoulder to a wooden shelf which had a bunch of religious imagery on it, as well as lots of china cups and plates.


    "There''s a tin there," she said, "Could you hand it to me please?"


    I got up right away, doing as she asked. I pointed to the likely tin and she nodded with a smile that it was the correct one.


    I handed it over to her. It made me a little sad to see the state of Sienna''s arthritic left hand. She had a bit of trouble opening the tin but finally managed it with a sudden pop.


    "I want you to have this," she said.


    She took what looked like a length of white string from the tin. A little medal was hanging from it.


    "This," she said, "Is a Saint Christopher medal. Catholics wear this because Saint Christopher is the Patron Saint of Travellers. Would you like to have it?"


    She held the necklace out for me to see.


    "Sorry," I said, "But I don''t believe in this kind of stuff."


    "No?" said Sienna, "Pity. Would you wear it for this old girl?"


    What was I going to say? ''No?''.


    "Sure," I said.


    Sienna''s very wrinkled face lit up with joy.


    "Thank you," she said.


    With a gesture she ushered me to bring my head closer. I did as she wanted and she slipped the string necklace and the attached Saint Christopher medal over my head.


    I didn''t feel any different wearing it, except maybe grateful for the kind gesture.


    "And," said Sienna, rummaging into the tin again.


    Not more religious knick-knacks, I thought with mock-dismay. This time round she retrieved two one-hundred pound notes.


    "I want you to have this," she said.


    "I can''t," I said, gently.


    I didn''t know how much money Donald and Sienna had. Two hundred pounds was a lot to hand over. I wanted the money, but being handed it by a nice old lady that might not be in full control of her mental facilities (for all I knew) seemed to put me at risk of being scummy.


    "You''re going to take it," said Sienna, sternly with a touch of humour in her tone, "Or I''ll be very cross. You don''t want that, do you? I can be very not-nice when I''m cross."


    "Does Donald know about this?" I said.


    "Of course," said Sienna, "It was his idea. It would be nice of you to thank him when he comes in."


    It was still hard for me to reach out and accept the money placed into my palm.


    "Thank you," I said, "I really appreciate it."


    Sienna waved a playfully dismissive hand at me and got up from her seat. After putting the lid back on the tin she took it back onto the shelf.


    With her back to me she said, "So do you think you''ll stay another night?"


    "Sure," I said, "One more night couldn''t hurt."


    Boy was I wrong about that.

 88. Road Runner

    I was awake in bed staring into the darkness when I heard the sound of running in the distance.


    The only reason I was able to hear it was because I had heightened my hearing for a few moments to check my surroundings. I''d made a regular habit of heightening my hearing every ten minutes or so to offset the consistent paranoia I felt.


    Whoever it was running out in the woods nearby was running fast. Inhumanly fast. Which meant it could only be a powered teenager.


    I sat up in bed with a start and continued to listen. The running was becoming fainter.


    Was it Sophie or Walter perhaps? Or maybe it was that boy Azaad who Donald and Sienna had mentioned?


    I strained my hearing to make out any possible sound that might give away who this mystery powered person might be, only for the running to stop abruptly.


    The sound of distant vehicles, heavy ones, drawing near met my ears.


    It was late enough at night that the sound of at least two vehicles heading straight towards the farm sent me into a panic.


    Got to get out, I thought, Got to hide.


    It took me all of fifteen seconds to get dressed in the clothes I had been given. I checked my pocket to make sure I had the money Sienna had given me, as well as the cheap phone with the new sim card and money on it that Donald had gone into town earlier in the day to buy.


    Having both these things, I hoisted on the boots that, like the rest of my clothes, were too large on me to fit properly.


    Lastly, I took a knitted hat from the foot of the bed and put it on my head.


    Earlier in the day, after dinner, Sienna had surprised me with one last gift. I had been worried she intended to give me even more money, or something valuable like an expensive watch; instead she gave me a knitted cap which looked like a very cute, and very minimalistically depicted fox, with pointed triangle-shaped ears.


    I hadn''t felt particularly good about receiving the fox-hat because it came as a reminder that I probably had hallucinated a baby fox which hadn''t actually been there. Sienna had taken my mention of a baby fox as some indication that I had a particular fondness for them, and so had worked busily throughout the day knitting me the hat. I had taken the hat, and thanked her for it as politely as I could manage.


    I fitted the fox-hat snugly on my head and then moved towards the bedroom window. After pulling up the latch the window swung open. The dull quiet and warmth of the bedroom spilled into the cool night air. The smells of the farm rose to meet my nose, particularly the freshness of the wet grass and mud from a night of drizzling rain.


    The vehicles were drawing nearer. I had perhaps ten seconds to get moving.


    Stay, a voice told me, You don''t have to keep running. Maybe now would be a good time to turn yourself in?


    Maybe I was thinking this because the idea of jumping out of a first floor window was scary to me. Already a fresh sweat had started to take hold, and any drowsiness was replaced with hyper-focus and an increasingly fast heartbeat and breathing.


    You''re strong enough to handle the fall, said that strange new inner voice inside my head. The same one which had told me all of those things about Donald and Sienna as if I had gained a sixth sense.


    There was a chance that the voice was wrong, no matter how confident it sounded in its prediction.


    Despite how little time I had to get moving I still hesitated.


    Why? I thought, What if I break my ankles?


    The voice didn''t respond in words so much as a general overall sentiment, like something instinctual, that said: you''ll be fine.


    The fear of being caught by whoever it might be that was drawing near was greater than the fear of falling and breaking my ankles.


    I sat on the edge of the window and then let myself fall.


    The impact of my boots against the ground was hard, but somehow the strength and sturdiness of my legs was more than sufficient.


    I broke into a run, my boots squelching in the mud on my way along the main path which cut through the middle of the farm. I hadn''t planned where I was going to go, so I headed in the same direction Donald and I had taken earlier in the day.


    I reached the forest treeline just before the headlights of three vehicles pierced the dark. The roar of the engines and the grumbling of the tires met my ears. The vehicles came to screeching stops outside the house and then the doors to the vehicles opened.


    I hid myself behind the tree and used my heightened hearing to make out the details of what was happening.


    Men, with guns, exited the vehicles in a hurry and ran towards the house. Within seconds the front door of the house was broken in and the men stampeded their way inside.


    My heart sank.


    Had I brought this trouble to Donald and Sienna? Were they finally about to pay for the kindness they had shown me?


    I was left with a choice. Stay and listen to what was going on with these men barging their way into Donald and Sienna''s home, or make a run for it.


    I couldn''t bring myself to run away. At the very least I had to know the elderly couple weren''t in serious danger.


    I inched my head as much as I dared around the tree I was hiding behind, looking with one eye at the house.


    "Donald! Donald!" Sienna screamed.


    The men with guns kicked open their bedroom door and entered inside.


    "What are you doing in my house?!" Donald shouted.


    But his question was drowned out by the intimidating yells of the armed men.


    Several grunts and thumps followed as Donald and Sienna were made, despite their old age, to lay flat on the ground.


    Anxiety and anger gripped my entire body.


    You could go and do something about these men, I thought to myself, You''re not helpless like you were before.


    I considered going back inside the house but also continued to watch and listen.


    And then I realised my mistake.


    I had left the window open. An obvious sign that someone with powers may have jumped out.


    The door to Rupert''s bedroom slammed open and two beams of light shone in the dark. Then, finally, one of the men, dressed in military-like gear, came into view at the window.


    The light from the man''s gun was pointed towards the forest. I hid behind the tree again just as the light reached it.


    I stayed still, contemplating the best thing to do.


    Run now? Or keep hiding?


    After a moment the light shining against the tree eased away. I didn''t dare wait for another chance to run under the cover of darkness.


    I sprang forward, racing off into the forest, choosing not to go along the forest path but deeper into the unruly, thick-rooted way ahead of me.


    I''m sorry, I thought, thinking of Donald and Sienna. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    My assumption was those men were part of the Pied Piper Task Force. With that being the case, the best thing for me to do was to run.


    Immediately the looseness of my clothes and the boots threatened to slow me down. The boots in particular were threatening to fly off with each step.


    Grow bigger, I thought, searching the power within my mind''s eye to make myself grow in stature the way I had done when down in the Wedder Gorge Facility''s underground complex.


    Right away I felt myself growing, as if a third puberty were taking hold of my entire body. I grew by several inches, my arms and legs and the rest of my body growing bigger, and burlier. This, in tandem with coiling, which had become so familiar to me by this point I hardly even had to think about doing it to tap into that particular ability, all made me feel some kind of action hero version of myself.


    My clothes fit, and my speed exploded to an incredible sprinting pace. My heightened vision helped me see in the dark, making what should have been a pitch black forest gray and clear to see instead. Trees and roots and bushes whizzed by as I ran, my mind working in tandem with everything my body was doing to make sure I dodged and jumped and spun away from any obstacle ahead of me.


    After just ten minutes I already felt like I had cleared a good deal of distance between me and the farm.


    The forest came to an end, opening up to a winding concrete road that was empty of any vehicles. I leapt across most of the road and then when I touched down I leapt again, soaring over a low stone wall that was the back-end of another farm.


    It was easy to lose myself in the rhythm of running through the night. I wasn''t at risk of getting tired. Thankfully my surroundings weren''t some bland exercise area, which meant I had an onslaught of things around me to prevent time from getting away from me.


    After the next farm came a very dense forest. I ran through the forest, having to slow down because of the sheer volume of trees in my way. I came to a stop when I reached a large section of fallen trees piled up across the ground. I wasn''t sure at first what it was about the trees that had fallen that was dangerous, but the little insight voice in my head told me it wasn''t a good idea to try running across it.


    Go around? I wondered.


    It took me moments to catch my breath, which in itself was surprising given how far and fast I had run.


    It seemed the fallen trees ahead of me were a hazard because, if one of the thin trees were to break and I were to fall deeper into a layered mess of trees, there was a good chance I could impale myself on a particularly sharp branch.


    Every moment I wasn''t moving was a moment the Pied Piper Task Force could be headed in my direction.


    But could they find me? I wondered. How good was the task force at tracking powered individuals anyway? Did I really have that much to worry about given I could sprint and hide before they had any hope of catching up?


    My hearing has heightened, but not to the full extent I could make it. Even so, I heard a distant sound of footsteps and hampered breathing coming to a stop from somewhere ahead of me.


    That mysterious other powered person, I thought.


    Running gave me ample time to think. I had decided that it wasn''t me the task force was likely to be after. It was too much of a coincidence for there to be a powered person on the run at the same time the task force came to Donald and Sienna''s home.


    "I know you''re there," I said, speaking loudly to the mess of fallen trees and the short clearing and forest which lay beyond the clearing.


    No answer came. I increased my hearing enough to hear the heartbeat of whoever it was ahead who was hiding behind one of the trees. The breathing of this mystery person also gave away that it was more than likely a girl.


    "I can hear you," I said, "I don''t mean you any harm if that''s what you''re worried about."


    More silence, although to my ears the surroundings were incredibly loud. The brisk night breeze was like hearing someone breathing closely into a microphone; and the sound of a distant plane overhead was like hearing a hairdryer blowing from another room. There were far too many sounds layered on top of one another in all directions to make sense of them all at once.


    I honed in on the heartbeat and the sound of breathing from the powered person hidden somewhere ahead. Even with my enhanced vision I couldn''t spot them.


    "Fine," I said, "Suit yourself."


    I broke into a sprint, going left of the huge mass of fallen trees.


    Before long I reached a tall hedge and, after my mind quickly calculated whether or not it would be worth the risk, I leapt through the hedge in a single bound, tearing through the bristles that snapped and gave way to the mass of my taller, broader self. I kept a hand atop my head to prevent my newly knitted fox-hat from getting caught on one of the twigs.


    I landed on a firm concrete road. From what I could hear the road was empty of any vehicles in both directions for a reasonable distance.


    Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!


    The running of the mystery powered person met my ears again. It was clear enough to me now that they weren''t merely avoiding me, they were actively following me. But if they weren''t going to show themselves then I wasn''t going to waste my time sticking around in the hopes of them changing their mind. I needed to get as far away from the Pied Piper Task Force as possible because, for all I knew, they were likely already pursuing me.


    I turned and looked through the gap in the hedge I had made and saw for a brief instant the figure of someone running at high speed in the dark. They veered away to the left before I could get a good look at them and after a sudden thud the patter of their footsteps came to a stop.


    For some reason this game of cat and mouse made me smile.


    Don''t let your guard down, I told myself, You don''t know what their intentions are.


    I broke off into a sprint again, this time enjoying the firmness of the road unfurling before me.


    The road continued on past farms and houses and fields whilst I ran at an incredible sprinting pace. With each minute that past it became easier to make out the distinct clapping sound of the powered person sprinting after me.


    A part of me wanted to run even faster, because running as fast as I was, veering this way and that in line with the winding road, felt amazing. I hadn''t realised how cooped up I had felt at Donald and Sienna''s house. Running full tilt, my whole body working in perfect unison to create one powerful stride after another, stretched out all the kinks and aches that had settled into my body without me paying much notice.


    Perhaps the most surprising part about running down the winding country road at high speed, was how part of me didn''t expect the other powered person to keep up.


    On a whim I came to a hard stop and turned around as fast as I could. The powered person had been so close behind me that I heard, but didn''t see, this person leaping through the hedge row to my right. Even in the near pitch dark using my enhanced vision, seeing the world mostly in gray, I could see the newly made hole in the hedge the powered person had just made.


    I smiled and shook my head. There was something kind of funny about this peculiar chase.


    I set off again, returning to the powerful sprinting pace, and listened for the sound of the powered person running.


    Tat-Tat-Tat-Tat-Tat!


    Now!


    I turned again, leaping up and running backwards this time to give myself a better chance of catching a glimpse of the mystery powered person.


    Splish!


    Once again whoever it was leapt through the hedge, this time to the opposite side of the one they had before.


    My vision was able to pick up a few of the leaves falling to the concrete road. The bend in the winding road prevented me from seeing where the powered person might have gone.


    I kept running backwards for a few seconds and then turned around again.


    Tat-Tat-Tat-Tat-Splish!


    This time, up ahead, I saw the black mass of the powered person jumping through the hedge and landing with both feet onto the middle of the road.


    The heels of my boots skidded against the concrete as I forced myself to a hard stop. I nearly fell over in the process.


    The powered person was very close to me now.


    So close she was within arm''s reach by the time I came to a complete stop.


    "Hi!" said the young woman, in a sing-song tone.


    Given I was on my own on a quiet road at night the overall effect was more scary than welcoming. Not least because the face of this young woman was slightly pale, with eyes that were strangely big.


    She was smiling, showing teeth which for the most part were normal except that, on the upper row, her canines were above the rest. This didn''t seem to have anything to do with being powered but just the way some people''s teeth don''t grow the right way.


    "What do you want?" I said, a little breathlessly.


    The young woman seemed to be at a loss for how to respond to my question. Her face, which had heavy black mascara around her uncannily larger-than-they-should-be-eyes, scrunched with the effort to think of an answer.


    "Well," she said, and then again she said, "Well, I¡­"


    As she continued to try and find the right words to say I saw that her iris and pupil seemed to have no distinction, making the overall look of her eyes to be very cartoonish.


    "You''re powered," she said, pointing at me with a black painted fingernail.


    "Yeah," I said, nodding.


    I was a little exacerbated by how obvious this statement from her was.


    "So am I," she said, gesturing with a thumb to herself.


    "Okay," I said, "Why are you following me?"


    She put her hands to her short head of hair, which I couldn''t tell was either black or brown given how limited I could see colour in the near pitch black night, anxiously moving a few long locks of hair away from her eyes.


    She then looked at me as if I was a bit stupid for asking the question.


    "Because you''re powered, I''m powered, and as far as I can tell we''re trying to get away from Pied Pee''pers."


    I smiled.


    "''Pee''pers?''" I said, "That''s a new one."


    She brought her black sweater sleeve to her mouth, absently chewing on it as she smiled.


    It was then I heard the distant sound of barking. The new powered girl must have heard it too because she looked off in the same direction I had heard the sound coming from.


    "Hunting dogs?" I said.


    "Yeah," said the girl, "They use those."


    "But," I said, "Wouldn''t they need my scent first?"


    And then it clicked. I remembered Sienna taking my shredded blue overalls and binning them. I could easily imagine the Pied Piper Task Force officers digging through the trash, finding the shredded remains, and giving that scent to their hunting dogs.


    They were getting closer by the second.

 89. Run, Rabbit, Run.

    The girl dressed in black started to move away.


    "Wait," I said, staring off to the nearby hedge and the dark of night above.


    The sound of the approaching dogs filled the air. They were going to be on us in less than a minute tops.


    "They have my scent," I said, "If we run they''ll just keep chasing us."


    The girl searched the road as if the answer to what we should do next might be among the concrete and faded white markings.


    I strained to hear beyond the dogs. Were there vehicles following them? As far as I could tell there weren''t.


    "You want to fight the dogs?" said the girl.


    From the look on her face it seemed this was something she wasn''t keen on doing.


    "Can you fight?" I said.


    "I haven''t tried," she said, "I run away, mostly."


    The dogs were very close. Maybe ten seconds from us. Whilst alert and slightly nervous, I found I wasn''t nearly as frightened of the possibility of being chased by several hunting dogs like I would have been a little over a month ago.


    I can handle this, I thought, I''ve been through worse.


    "Don''t hurt them too bad," said the girl, clenching and unclenching her hands nervously.


    I nodded and said, "I''ll do my best."


    "Xandra by the way," said the girl.


    "Burgess," I said.


    Then the dogs were on us. They were kept at bay by the hedge in front of us for several moments before each of the dogs found a gap beneath to slip through.


    The dogs weren''t all of the same breed, not that I knew breeds well enough to know exactly which they were. One pair of dogs looked to be golden retrievers, with short coats, and another pair looked like german shepherds, with dark brown coats; though much of the colour of the dog''s coats was guesswork on my part due to how much of my vision was tinged with gray thanks to the power heightening my night sight.


    I didn''t have any intention of fighting the dogs in some kind of brawl. Instead I readied a powerful fox-like cry to scare the crap out of them.


    Don''t go overboard like you did with the Pied Piper officers in the underground complex, I thought, just scream loud enough to make them go away.


    Before I let out the scream however I noticed the dogs weren''t making an effort to attack us.


    Instead they stayed several paces away and, though barking, appeared to be joined in the same effort to keep their distance.


    "Look at their collars!" said Xandra.


    On each of their collars was a single steady red LED light.


    I let out my fox-scream and I could almost see the wave of the scream leave my mouth. The dogs yelped and whined and bolted back under the hedge they had initially crawled out from.


    "The Peepers must be tracking the dog''s location," said Xandra, "They''ll know where we are. We have to go!"


    I nodded, and turned to the hedge on the opposite side of the one the dogs had just crawled under. There was less room to pick up momentum to charge through the hedge, so what followed from me was a rather clumsy clambering and breaking of the twigs and branches to get myself through. Before I got all the way I felt a pair of hands against my back.


    Xandra landed on the other side of the hedge having just used me as a means to bound herself over.


    Impressive! I thought.


    We both broke into a sprint and, again, I found myself wishing I had something better than boots to run in. They simply weren''t made for high-speed sprinting.


    My concern that Xandra might have not been able to keep up with me was quickly tossed aside.


    If, by her own admission, she wasn''t much of a fighter, she certainly was good at running and jumping.


    She made the low stone walls, hedges, wooden and metal fences in our way seem trivial to avoid. Each time she jumped she seemed to spring up, her legs apart and her arms together in front of her. She had both cat-like finesse but also a silly, cartoonish defying of gravity to each of her athletic jumps. It was the kind of talent a parkour master could only dream of.


    My own efforts were heavy and blundering in comparison.


    We came to another farm, the kind with freshly plowed earth going on for about half a football pitch worth of land.


    Xandra was running just a little ahead of me, and I wondered then if she was making a point of showing that she could. Her head cocked to the side suddenly and she looked at me.


    "There''s police up ahead. It''s a checkpoint," she said.


    Before I could show any sign of understanding she made a sharp turn to the left. I skidded to a stop and nearly fell over. I renewed my sprinting pace, forcing my legs to pound the soil beneath me hard enough to quickly close the gap between Xandra and I.


    I took one last look at the direction we had headed in before veering off and saw the faintest glimmer of red and blue lights from police vehicles peeking out behind a far off hedge.


    Good we''re avoiding that, I thought.


    But something was troubling me. As I tried to think what it was, Xandra was the first to reach the end of the section of farmland we were in. The ground rose up to form a small hill, which Xandra used as a jump-off point to clear the hedge blocking our way.


    For a moment I was just in awe at how far she was able to jump and the confidence she was able to do it with. It was like something from a movie that I was living through in real time. And it was my turn to do the same.


    "Y-ah!" I shouted, having to strike off from the top of the hill with all the effort I could muster.


    Even then I just about cleared the hedge.


    I landed hard with both boots slamming down, knees bending deftly enough for my legs to absorb the brunt of the landing.


    I had however come to a hard stop. I simply didn''t know how to do a cool action movie roll to keep the momentum, or to land and keep running the way Xandra had managed.


    A sparse forest lay ahead of us which we both ran into.


    "Do you think the dogs will come again?" I said, between huffing breaths.


    "Maybe," said Xandra, "You seemed to scare them pretty good though!"


    With a little bit of deft weaving of the thin trees, we cleared the forest and came onto a hillish section of open land. The grass rippled in the firm night wind that had picked up more over the last ten minutes.


    Far off in the distance we could see a town lit with twinkling white streetlights.


    Xandra and I kept running towards the town. Our speed had slowed just a little.


    "This way''s not good," said Xandra, "There''s checkpoints in and out of most towns."


    "Okay," I said, "We need a place to hide, but before that we need to make sure we''re not followed by the dogs. I need to lose my scent."


    "Me too," said Xandra.


    She looked at me with her strangely large eyes and said, "I''m sorry for leading them your way. They''ve got my scent too. They were after me to begin with."


    I nodded, not knowing what to say to this new information. I needed time to think but with us both being on the run I felt way too occupied with escape to think back to how this chase even got started.


    We continued towards the distant town. It would still be a good while before we reached it, and there were plenty more hedges, fences, houses, farm buildings, and roads in the way. At the speed we were running the town seemed to be ever so slightly expanding.


    I searched the distance and saw there was another checkpoint far to the left on one of the winding roads that would lead into the nearby town.


    We could avoid that too, I thought, but that would force us more to the left.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    I strained my vision as much as I could muster, using the slight advantage of us being on a hillish section of land to see far off into the distance. The faint lights of two more checkpoints were faintly visible.


    "Wait," I said, coming to a stop.


    It took me a few moments to catch my breath and then it was as if I hadn''t just sprinted with inhuman power and speed for ten minutes straight. Xandra brought herself to a stop too and recovered just as quickly. She looked at me anxiously, raising her right sweater sleeve to chew on it.


    "What?" she said, her voice muffled by the sleeve.


    "I think they''re funneling us," I said, "If we keep going this way I think the checkpoints are going to be set up so they''ll lead us right where they want us."


    "If that''s the case," said Xandra, "Then there should be a police checkpoint up ahead. The funnel would make it so there would be less intervals between checkpoints, right?"


    I nodded.


    "The thing is," I said, "Whether I''m right or wrong I don''t think we should just keep heading in the same direction."


    Xandra listened, keeping her large eyes fixed on me.


    The way ahead wasn''t clear. I needed to think of a solution to getting away. But with checkpoints, and the potential of the checkpoints being set up in such a way to funnel us into a trap being a concern, on top of the dogs tracking our scent; the solution to our problems wasn''t coming easy.


    I crouched and held my hands to my ears as if doing so might contain the fragmented ideas inside my mind.


    Think of something, I thought, wishing I was a good deal smarter than I was. There was the option of using the power to increase my cognitive abilities, thereby circumventing my own lack of creative thought and problem solving, but the idea of giving the reins to the power like that was far scarier than the threat of the Pied Piper Task Force and their hunting dogs.


    Xandra hugged herself and sniffled as if she had a cold. With each moment that passed she muttered to herself and increased the enthusiasm with which she absently chewed her sweater sleeve.


    "Have you escaped the Pied Piper Task Force before?" I asked.


    Xandra didn''t respond. She was faced away from me muttering to herself in a panic. My hope for a new companion that might easily take control of the situation was quickly fading.


    "Xandra?" I said.


    Again she didn''t respond. I gave up trying to get her attention and instead tried again to think of a solution to our hunting dog problem.


    My hair felt hot and prickly so I took off the fox-hat. I looked at the hat, seeing it as a gray fox instead of the orange it was supposed to be given how dark the night was.


    The simple black eyes of the fox-hat stared back at me.


    Xandra sniffled again.


    "Help me think of something," she muttered.


    Was she talking to me? I looked around the field we were in and, for the time being at least, it was still just the two of us.


    It was then I absently rubbed my thumb over the stitched patch that made up the fox hat''s nose.


    "I''ve got an idea," I said.


    But, at pretty much the same time, Xandra also said, "What if we-"


    "Sorry," I said, "You go first."


    Xandra hugged herself even more tightly.


    "Erm, well," she said, struggling to get the words out, "Maybe we could increase our own sense of smell so at least we could have an idea what the dogs are smelling? It might help us figure out what we need to do to hide our scent?"


    I stood up, nodding.


    "Right," I said, "Good idea. We should do that."


    "What''s your idea?" said Xandra.


    "Well," I said, "I recently used the power to lower my body temperature. There was a helicopter and I thought it might be able to pick up my heat signature. I don''t know if the people who were in the helicopter were even looking for me in particular, though I have a good reason to think they were; and I don''t know if they were even using technology that detects body heat-"


    "--okay, okay," said Xandra, urging me to hurry up.


    I made an effort not to let Xandra cutting me off annoy me and tried to stay on track.


    "So," I said, "One way we can change our smell is by copying another. We just need to find something around us that has a strong smell, copy it, and maybe that will help us mask our scent. But I don''t know the first thing about how dogs hunt so-"


    "Okay," said Xandra, cutting me off again.


    "Increase our smell first?" she said.


    "Okay," I said, nodding.


    We both seemed to have the same idea about how we might increase our sense of smell. At first I thought it might be as easy as heightening my hearing, but my first attempt to smell my surroundings better proved to not make much difference. The scent of the grass, and the slight pollution from the nearby town and vehicles were much more pungent than before. The smell of the surrounding mud and of my own sweat also met my nose. But it wasn''t enough, I would need to push my sense of smell further to gain some real insight.


    It was becoming increasingly frustrating how every situation that called for me to use my power seemed to be pushing me towards becoming more fox-like.


    A part of me was still very much against the idea of allowing my nose to become an animalistic snout on principle. Not only because I probably would look very silly with a snout on my face, but also because I knew all too well how dangerous it could be going too far into one''s animalistic side.


    Holly had lost control, and had been killed. Adam had also lost control, and had been captured and given a fate that was arguably worse than death. So many teenagers at the Wedder Gorge facility had lost their minds to the power and had killed others as a consequence. They had all been killed by the lethal gas released by Officer Freeman; who, by killing them when their minds were still lost to their animalistic, so-called ''shadow-selves'', had died without even the dignity of being cognizant of their final moments.


    I was already hallucinating baby foxes. What if using my power to heighten my sense of smell akin to a fox''s was just another domino piece that would lead to an eventual cascade? The cascade in this case being the loss of my own mind to the power; to the animalistic ego.


    But we were running out of time. We had run fast and far but not nearly enough that the Pied Piper Task Force might not be on us within minutes, if not sooner.


    Despite how much I didn''t want to use the power in such a way, I decided I just had to take the risk.


    I''m not trying to integrate with my ''shadow-self'', I thought, trying to tell myself and the power not to get the wrong idea; It''s just a superficial use of the power to get what I need.


    I tapped into the power and felt my nose reshape into a fox''s snout. It wasn''t that I knew on some complex level how a fox''s snout worked, all I knew was what they looked like, and even then just vaguely.


    This is more imagination than knowledge, I thought.


    The sudden influx of new smells hit my nose in a way I was utterly stunned by. It wasn''t just that I could smell far better than before, which I could, but the smells suddenly took on a shape and meaning unlike anything I had ever experienced.


    "Woah," I said, and I could imagine my eyes dilating as if I were on some drug.


    Xandra was standing in front of me and she had just made her own nose become a snout too.


    Along with the rest of her goth-ish look, the addition of a snout gave Xandra a raccoonish look. Her large eyes went wide with the same awe that had taken hold of me too.


    I put the fox hat back on and noticed, through sniffing the air a few times, that Xandra had her own distinct smell. It radiated off her almost like an aura, as if the smell were rising away from her like microscopic debris.


    Make-up, toothpaste, sweat, mud, denim, wool.


    Whilst I could detect each individual scent, as if I were picking each one out in my mind''s eye, I noticed that, in some strange way, there was a ''code'' of sorts that was simply Xandra''s scent.


    But I needed something to contrast the smell with. I averted my gaze from Xandra and noticed the other scent trails in the night.


    There were undoubtedly rabbits nearby. I used to have a pet rabbit called Precious when I was very little, and knew her smell well. The memory of Precious''s smell, which I would never have thought would be something that would come in useful, paired with the rabbit scent trails nearby. I sniffed the air several more times and knew that, if I wanted to, I could follow the rabbit smell all the way to where they might be; most likely the rabbit''s burrow.


    "I can smell you," said Xandra, "Actually, I can smell everything."


    "Everything?" I said, sheepishly.


    "No," said Xandra, "I mean, like, everything around us. But yes I can smell all your smells too."


    I don''t like this, I thought, These powers are just plain creepy to use.


    "Okay," I said, trying to bring us back on track, "You''ve got my smell, and I''m pretty sure I''ve locked onto yours."


    Xandra broke into a giggle.


    "What?" I said, dismayed.


    "You just look funny with your nose like that; sorry," said Xandra.


    "Oh," I said, "Can you concentrate please?"


    "Sorry," said Xandra.


    She grew serious quickly.


    "I can smell rabbits," I said, "Can you?"


    Xandra looked up.


    "Erm, yeah," she said, "I can smell them too."


    "Okay," I said, "Now all we need to do is use the power to match the smell of the rabbits. If we can do that then our scents won''t be tracked by the dogs."


    "But I don''t know how to do that," said Xandra.


    "Oh come on," I said, "It''s all just wishing for the power to do what you need it to do. Don''t you know that?"


    Xandra looked at me as if this was news to her.


    How does she think the power works? I thought.


    "I''ll try first," I said.


    Just like how I had made the effort before to match my body temperature with my surroundings, I internally wished for the power to make my scent match that of the rabbit''s.


    A strange tingling sensation swept over me.


    Xandra''s eyes grew even wider than I thought possible. She sniffed the air with her new snout some more and looked like some cartoon character brought to life; although her overall look was uncannily creepy.


    "Your smell just completely changed," she said.


    She winced, "It''s so confusing because my brain is saying ''rabbit, rabbit, rabbit'', but I can see you''re still just Borges."


    "Burgess," I corrected.


    "Oh, sorry, Burgess."


    It took another minute for Xandra to figure out how to change her smell too. For some reason she seemed to find the process much more difficult. I had assumed she knew how to tap into the power to the same degree I could, instead she seemed to be figuring out the basics of how to even think about asking the power to do what she needed it to.


    She didn''t go through hell at the facility, I thought, So she hasn''t needed to learn as much.


    The smell-aura I knew as ''Xandra'' changed to ''rabbit'' instead. I understood what she meant by how it messed with how she perceived me; because a part of my brain simply would not accept that I was not smelling a rabbit that was standing in front of me. My eyes were telling a different story, and the conflict between the two was bringing about a migraine.


    I heightened my hearing and heard yet again the sound of the dogs approaching.


    "Let''s go," I said.


    I broke into a sprint and Xandra followed close behind.


    "Do you think it''ll work?" she said.


    "It has to," I said, "Or else we''re going to have to resort to Plan B."


    "What''s ''Plan B''?" said Xandra.


    "We''ll have to fight back," I said.

 90. Fort

    Our heightened hearing, vision, and sense of smell, in combination, gave us all the information we needed well ahead of time to avoid the numerous checkpoints and patrols.


    Xandra and I took turns leading the way across yet more farms and fields and forests. The repetitive nature of the scenery around us made time slip and shorten. When I thought we had been running through the night for about an hour, the first wisps of daylight sprung up on the horizon.


    Morning already? I thought.


    It seemed, finally, that we had managed to outsmart and outrun the hunting dogs and the Pied Piper Task Force that had been on our tail.


    Conversation between Xandra and I had been limited to brief exchanges about where to go next. It wasn''t that I had intended to ignore Xandra. There was something about being in the coiled state and running at full speed, using the power to make easy work of traversing a huge amount of land in a short span of time on foot, that made it difficult to have the sense of self to spring up idle conversation.


    The smell and sound of the sea had grown steadily stronger until it was incredibly pungent to my fox-like snout. Xandra and I breached one last farm and came to a stop at the peak of a steep hill filled with bushes and vines. There, at the top of the hill, we at last saw the coast, and the brownish-gray of the sea. The tide was out, leaving much more brown muddy beach exposed.


    "I know where this is," said Xandra, looking around and putting her hands to her hips.


    "It''s Putsly Bay," she said, "I know we ran far but I didn''t think we''d run this far."


    "Okay," I said, "So do you know a place where we can stay?"


    "Well," said Xandra, turning back to the sea, "I''ve not been here before, but I used to keep a list of abandoned places across the country. I know this is Putsly Bay because ¨C look, see that?"


    Xandra pointed out to sea to what looked like a small oil mining rig.


    "What is it?" I said.


    "It''s a fort," said Xandra, "There''s abandoned forts from World War Two all over the country. You''d be surprised how many abandoned buildings there are in this country."


    "Is it safe?" I said, "I mean, if I were the Pied Piper Task Force the first thing I would do if I were looking for powered teenagers on the run is keep watch of abandoned buildings like this."


    Xandra sniffed the air with her silly-looking, raccoon-ish snout. I felt suddenly embarrassed because I realised my nose was still adorned with a snout too. I wanted to get rid of it but I didn''t dare to given how much the heightened sense of smell helped avoid all the potential dangers around us.


    "I managed to hide away in lots of abandoned buildings for, like, two weeks," said Xandra, "You have to remember there are, like, thousands of teenagers like us on the run too. The Peepers probably don''t have the manpower to keep tabs on all the hiding places."


    My legs felt stiff all of a sudden. Although it really wasn''t the time to rest I let myself drop to the grass, which was damp and cold against the butt of my jeans. Xandra flopped down too, sitting with her legs crossed. The bushes around us made for convenient shelter from the brisk wind and anyone nearby that might glance over at the hill.


    "So you never got evacuated?" I said.


    Xandra looked disgusted by the idea.


    "No," she said, "I wasn''t going to let the Peepers force me into something like that. Were you?"


    "Yeah," I said, smiling mirthlessly, "Probably the biggest mistake of my life."


    For the next ten minutes I gave Xandra a very broad rundown of the things I had experienced at the hands of the Pied Piper''s Return Operation, including everything that happened at the Wedder Gorge Facility. Xandra listened intently, chewing on one sweater sleeve and then the other in intervals. In my telling of the events I avoided any mention of Holly, Adam, George, Sophie, Walter, and everything to do with the PUNCH program. I just wasn''t ready to talk about those things in detail.


    Xandra didn''t voice an opinion the entire time beyond little non-verbal reactions. I could feel myself wanting to hear words of sympathy and understanding from her, but she seemed either not to consider expressing that kind of sentiment or wasn''t willing to do so. This in turn made me think of Tiffany and how much easier it was to talk to her in comparison, which wasn''t helping the heavy dour mood threatening to take hold of me.


    "What about you?" I said, "You said you were on the run?"


    "Yeah," she said.


    She stopped chewing her sweater sleeves and instead brought her sweater over her legs to provide her with some extra warmth.


    "And then," she said, and I could see her mood shift and her eyes watering a little.


    "And then," she said again, "After I got tired of going on the run I stayed with my Aunt and Uncle for a while, but that didn''t work out. So I''m back on the run again."


    "What happened with your Aunt and Uncle?" I said.


    Xandra chewed her lip and looked at her knees that were brought close to her chest and still hidden beneath her stretched sweater.


    For a second time she refused an opportunity to connect on a more personal level.


    It''s fine, I thought, Most people aren''t going to want to open up about their problems. Just leave her be.


    After sitting in silence for a while longer I stood up.


    "Well," I said, "Want to go over to that fort whilst the tide is still out?"


    "Sure," said Xandra. I offered her a hand to help her to her feet but she decided to stand without my assistance. I tried not to take it personally.


    The way over to the beach was quick since it was downhill for the most part. After crossing over a fence that was in the backyard of a small house, we reached a low stone wall and hurried over it.


    The section of beach we were on was made up of large different coloured pebbles and shells and a fair amount of discarded plastic bottles and other unfortunate litter. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    The hard strip of beach gave way to soft, muddy sand. I was thankful to be wearing large boots because the sand squelched and sucked on them hard enough that it was possible to get stuck.


    "You know," I said to Xandra.


    "Yeah?" she muttered, whilst also occupied with not getting stuck in the mud and having a harder time of it because of her converse shoes.


    "One time when I was little my brother, Gary ¨C he''s a bit older than me ¨C he wanted to go out to sea like this when the tide was out. I didn''t really want to do it but he wanted to, so I did. Anyway, we got pretty far out and the tide was starting to come in. He was wearing plimsolls at the time. Things got pretty scary because his feet got stuck in the mud. The tide was coming in fast and I had to yank him really hard to get him unstuck. Pretty scary stuff."


    Xandra didn''t give much of a response to this little story of mine. The more she refused to talk the more I felt myself challenged to draw conversation out of her.


    Just leave it, I told myself, Don''t be overbearing.


    We reached the fort and, up close, it looked to be the size of a three story building. The large chunks of metal which kept it off the ground were covered in barnacles and seaweed and lots of dark slimy rust.


    We walked round the base of the fort, which took lots of sucking steps that felt more arduous in comparison to all the running we had done throughout the night.


    I spotted eroded brick steps near the middle of the fort base. Xandra followed me towards the brick steps and, with her right behind me, we made our way up the steps.


    There was a good deal of graffiti on the brick walls on either side of the steps, with lots of litter which, presumably, must have been left by the very same people that decided the fort was a good place to try out their skills with a spray can.


    The stairs led to the middle portion of the fort which had all the charm of a drug den.


    This pretty much sums up how my life is going, I thought.


    "So," I said, "I guess we''ll stay here until late at night. It''s too dangerous to go wandering about in broad daylight."


    "Yeah," said Xandra.


    A quick glance around the middle portion of the fort told us there really wasn''t much to see.


    There were brick walls that made up the middle area, which we could likely use as some shelter from the elements, but the outer area of the middle portion didn''t have walls, which meant we had a clear view of the beach and the nearby village on one side; and on the other side we could see the sea in all its miserably gray glory.


    It required a rusty black painted ladder to get to the top portion of the fort. I went first, climbing the ladder and emerging onto the top. A knee-high wall, built like the top of an old-fashioned castle, surrounded the top of the fort like a rusty crown. The middle section was all drab concrete. I spotted several used needles as well as empty cigarette packets and half an old metal spoon that looked burnt.


    "Charming," I muttered.


    I sat myself down, putting my back against the wall.


    With a similar kind of satisfaction like taking off a pair of socks after a long day, I removed all of the changes brought about by the power to my body. All my heightened senses reduced to normal, and my taller, broader self went back to the much skinnier, shorter me.


    Xandra had just finished climbing the ladder and stopped, wide-eyed, at the new, albeit original, me.


    "Is this what you really look like?" she said.


    "Yep," I said, raising my arms which caused the baggy flannel shirt sleeves to fall down to the elbows, "I didn''t mean to make it a surprise."


    Xandra shook her head as if a bee had just buzzed by her ear. Her nose returned to normal but otherwise she remained unchanged. Her eyes in particular were still uncannily large.


    She fixed her gaze on me and I realised I had been staring and looked away.


    She crouched low, rubbing her hands for warmth.


    "Are you cold?" I said.


    "Yeah," she said, "It''s fine."


    "Well there''s two things you can do," I said, showing two fingers, "First, you could use the power to reduce your body temperature to match your surroundings. Or, you could turn your hands into human lightbulbs."


    Xandra smirked.


    "Lightbulbs?" she said.


    "Yeah," I said, "Watch."


    I bulbed up my right hand, though not too bright since I didn''t want to turn the fort into a lighthouse. The warmth radiating from my closed fist felt really nice.


    It was then I remembered Jay and how creepy he had looked with his arms covered in frost, and how Amar had looked with his eyes flashing like strobe lights. I removed the bulbing from my hand as if that kind of mindless addiction to the power was infectious by memory alone.


    Xandra sat nearby with her back against the fort wall and practiced bulbing up her hands to entertain herself. She became lost in the challenge of getting her hands to bulb brightly, and quickly got the hang of it.


    With the soft gold glow of her hands on my periphery, I reached into my pocket and took out the cheap old-school mobile phone Donald had bought for me, as well as the two hundred pounds Sienna had given me.


    The light from Xandra''s bulbed hands died out all of a sudden along with the slight warmth they provided.


    "How much is that?" she said.


    "Two hundred pounds," I said, "And I''ve got a phone with some credit to make calls."


    Xandra''s eyes searched the floor in thought.


    "Have anyone you want to call?" I said.


    She shook her head, "No," she said, and didn''t elaborate any further.


    I thumbed the power button on the side of the phone and watched as the screen lit up in a shade of green. The phone was very similar to the one my mother had when I was around eight years old. A quick look on the phone showed that it even had the game snake on it. I dug my hand into my pocket and found the little black wire which I would be able to use to charge my phone.


    I wonder if I could just make electricity to make the phone charge? I mused, but decided it wasn''t worth potentially frying the phone with my power to find out.


    I went to the contact menu on the phone which brought up Donald''s number, and the number belonging to my brother Gary''s workplace. It had been the only number I had been able to find to have a way to get in touch with my family. It was Saturday, but that didn''t matter because my brother often worked Saturdays at his job working for a perfume company in London.


    My thumb rubbed the button that would start the call. For some reason I found myself hesitating.


    "Who are you going to call?" said Xandra.


    "I was thinking of calling my brother," I said.


    "Why?" I said, "Do you think I shouldn''t?"


    Xandra shrugged.


    "I just need him to tell my Mum that I''m okay," I said, "She''s got to be worried sick about me."


    Xandra just looked away.


    "Don''t you want to get in touch with your family?" I said.


    "No," said Xandra, with more force than I expected.


    The day dragged on and neither Xandra or I had much to say. Whilst not physically tired, I did feel an acute mental exhaustion which made it nice to simply lay against the wall and let the increasing sound of the waves lull me into a half-sleep.


    I had decided not to call my brother just yet. It could wait a little longer. I just didn''t feel mentally up to the emotional toll such a call might have.


    The tide crept in throughout the morning until, much later in the day, the only way back to the shore for Xandra and I would have been to swim. It felt good to have the extra layer of safety the sea provided.


    It was just a little after midday when the desire to talk became too strong to ignore.


    "Do you ever see stuff that isn''t there?" I said.


    The question sounded a lot more random than I intended. Xandra, who was leant against the stone wall and looking back to shore, whipped round all of a sudden, looking the most unsettled I had seen her since we first met.


    "Why?" she said.


    "I mean," I said, trying to keep a conversational tone despite the hostile way she was looking at me, "The other day I saw this baby fox in the kitchen. But when I asked the people that were with me if they saw it, they said they didn''t."


    Xandra''s eyes narrowed and then she took a deep breath.


    "I haven''t," she said.


    She didn''t sound very convincing.

 91. The Protector

    The day drew on, becoming darker thanks to thick dark clouds looming overhead. The murky gray of the sea matched the sky, making all of the surrounding sea and the nearby coast seem as if it were all covered in a giant tea stain.


    Xandra and I had stopped talking altogether and were sitting at opposite sides of the top of the fort. We had both taken to using the nearby low walls to shield ourselves from the occasional splashes hurled by the crashing waves which, though not particularly volatile, were far closer and commanding in their size and strength for me to feel comfortable sitting atop the fort.


    I had given up trying to get any semblance of a conversation out of Xandra. She had answered most of my questions throughout the morning with one word answers, and my own increasingly foul mood wasn''t helping matters.


    It had been a long time since I felt so utterly miserable in my thinking. A headache pounded inside my head and my body ached from stress and an ever increasing frustration. I sighed and sniffed and tried to find a comfortable position on the wet fort floor, but it was hopeless. Though I was far off from starving, I wanted both to eat and drink something nice. This wasn''t going to happen any time soon given the tide was still in and there were still several hours of daylight left to wait out. Even then, Xandra and I weren''t likely to attempt to head back to the nearby shore until it was very late at night to avoid crossing the paths of any civilians as possible.


    Before I was really aware that I was doing so, I bulbed up my hands to provide myself with warmth. The relief from this was immense, given how bleakly wet and chilly everything was so far out to sea.


    Don''t get addicted to using this power, I thought, but I didn''t have it in me to care. I kept the heat steady and enjoyed its warmth for several minutes before deciding, whatever, I''ll use it even more.


    I bulbed up the entirety of my body but at a very low heat, to the point that there was only the faintest glow emanating from my skin. It was like having an electric blanket under my clothes, and all at once the terrible weather and the cold brought about from being splattered with salty sea water was no longer a bother.


    This is a bad idea, I thought, grimly, remembering how Daniel had looked when he lost his mind and had bulbed up his entire body to become a burning entity made of light. As far as I could guess Daniel had been murdered from the gas Officer Freeman had pumped into the third floor of the Wedder Gorge Facility. If not the gas, then maybe from the were-cat revolutionaries that had attempted to pile on top of him.


    I shook my head like an etch-e-sketch to rid myself of remembering the Wedder Gorge facility. It wasn''t working because the more I tried to think about anything else, the more I thought about all the things I had seen.


    Tears stung my eyes as I remembered seeing the dead bodies of several teenagers that had been gunned down by the Pied Piper officers shortly after Christopher and Reece had started their failed revolution.


    I remembered seeing George''s face which had been half blown-apart by a Pied Piper bullet.


    The more I thought about all the horrors I had seen, the more I tried to think of anything that wasn''t horrifying about the Wedder Gorge facility.


    Tiffany had been there; but she had decided to join up with the PUNCH program. So had Mikayla and Blain. Abigail, who had seemed as if she might have been looking out for me from the start had actually just been making a series of false promises in order to manipulate me into joining her father''s program. She had been incredibly convincing, feigning her concern for me. So had Tiffany.


    For a while there I even thought Sophie and Walter might have stuck around. But then I had to have a lapse in sanity and help those bastard Pied Piper officers that had tried to murder us, that likely had murdered teenagers shortly before coming down to the underground complex.


    Yes, I had made it out of the Wedder Gorge facility, which I had been stupid enough to allow myself to go to in the first place. And I had found a nice old couple, Donald and Sienna, who had shown me far more kindness than I could ever have expected from strangers. And how had I repaid them? Because of my weakness they had their front door broken in and were wrestled to the ground at gunpoint. For all I knew they were likely being interrogated and charged with the crime of helping a wanted fugitive on the run.


    Steam rose from my skin and clothes thanks to the increasing heat across my body. I could feel water droplets against my skin sizzle and evaporate, only to be replaced by fresh droplets chucked over the fort wall by the sea. Rather than irritate me, I found the sizzling amusing and welcomed more of it. Each droplet brought to the point of evaporation served as a tiny distraction from my thoughts.


    There''s no escape, I thought, no return to normalcy. No going home. Not for a very long time.


    One day, if the PUNCH program proved successful, then public opinion would be influenced by the media to become positive of powered individuals, particularly those who were approved by the government.


    How long would that turn about take? One year? Two? Or three?


    Two years, I thought, If not sooner.


    Why did I think this? I had thought a good deal about why the Pied Piper Operation and Robert Hoffman''s PUNCH program search were done the way they had been.


    They knew powered teenagers existed, I thought, and then, because Chellam, the secret controllers of society and the world at large saw powered teenagers as a threat to their monopoly on things, they decided to kill the majority, and handpick the rest to make them their pawns for future schemes.


    For some reason thinking this through stopped the worst of the migraine from attacking my brain like an icepick. So I kept going, chasing the rabbit into its hole. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    But, I thought, there''s no way Chellam was prepared for how fast and by how much us powered teenagers were going to grow into our powers.


    Maybe, I thought, The Pied Piper Operation and the containment of powered teenagers was something that was supposed to be carried out over several years. When I had first arrived at the Wedder Gorge facility the best I could manage with my power was to run for hours on a treadmill. And yet, by the end of around a month, the things I could do, and what the other teenagers could do with our powers had grown massively.


    What if Chellam hadn''t planned for that level of exponential growth? But then, what was it that caused us all to grow so much in our powers in such a limited span of time? Most of us had gone our whole lives without even realising we had powers; and those who did had struggled to prove it. And yet, within the time I was at the Wedder Gorge facility, all of that changed.


    Was it as simple as it being the consequence of bringing all of us powered teenagers together, or was there more to it than that?


    At the very least one thing was for certain: Chellam didn''t know everything and they clearly couldn''t control all of us mice either. Which meant they didn''t have as much of a stranglehold on the future as it currently felt me.


    I lifted my head up, having found the sliver of the thing I had desperately sought: hope.


    I hadn''t realised Xandra had been staring at me, which was startling given how large her eyes were and how her pale face seemed at odds with the brownish-gray surrounding her.


    She wasn''t shivering and instead sat stock-still as if all the wind and the wet weren''t a bother at all.


    She''s matched her body temperature to her surroundings, I thought, seeing no reason to think that wasn''t the case.


    I looked at a tuft of grass which somehow managed to claw out an existence atop the fort, and thought more about Chellam and their schemes.


    When Donald had returned from his trip into town to buy me a cheap phone and a sim card, he had then decided to sit with me for an hour to explain some of the things he had learned about Chellam.


    "The thing you need to understand about Chellam," Donald had explained whilst leafing through the huge folder he and Sienna had filled with information they had gathered on Chellam over the years, "Is that Chellam first and foremost is a religion."


    Donald had turned a page to show a picture of a painting of a familiar looking figure. Painted in exquisite artistic detail, the painting depicted a giant man made of stone, or clay. This man had a domed head, and shining yellow stone eyes. This entity was a statue, and at the entity''s ankles stood its creators; craftsmen with long beards wearing dark blue aprons.


    "This," Donald had said, "Is what the Chellam Brotherhood calls ''The Protector''. This painting depicts the brotherhood having created a statue made to worship The Protector, who is a man given immense power who, so Chellam believes, will rule the entire world; and will usher in a new age of freedom and prosperity, but only for those who swear obedience and complete loyalty to The Protector."


    "I saw a statue really similar to that down in the underground complex. It was made of metal," I said, "It''s almost exactly the same."


    Donald had nodded sadly, "Well," he said, "Their cult has been awaiting The Protector for well over two thousand years."


    "But my Dad," I had said, "He''s a Chellam member. He goes to lodge meetings four times a year, you know, just to meet up with the other members."


    "I wouldn''t worry about your father being involved in this," Donald has said reassuringly, "Chellam likes to keep a large majority of their real work hidden; men like your father are the ¨C if you''ll excuse me saying so ¨C useful idiots who give Chellam a harmless public appearance."


    "So Chellam wants The Protector to come and be their leader?" I had said.


    "Yes," Donald had said, "And, if you ask me, it seems they believe that somewhere among all of you powered teenagers The Protector is emerging."


    Donald had seen how lost in thought I was.


    "Robert Hoffman," I had said, "He kept this little blue book with him. When I told him I didn''t want to be a part of the PUNCH program he actually seemed excited. He kept saying something like ''He will reject the call! He will reject the call!''"


    Donald''s heavy brow had creased with concern.


    "From my limited understanding of how Chellam is run," Donald had said, "There are those that believe The Protector will one day rise and rule the world. And then there are the rest who simply use the body of the Chellam religion and all involved to have a means of increasing their own power and influence in the world."


    Donald put a firm hand on my shoulder then.


    "It''s all nonsense, Burgess," he had said with utmost seriousness, "Chellam exists in rejection to the truth. A Savior did come over two thousand years ago and He is all the protection mankind will ever need. This nonsense about The Protector is made because evil men refuse to believe in all that is good and true. You did well to reject any involvement with such poison."


    The worst of the dour mood lifted. Thanks to the bulbing across my body even the wind felt nice against my hot skin. I glanced up just in time to spot Xandra walking across the top of the fort; she sat down beside me, bringing her sweater over her knees like she had done before.


    "What are you thinking about?" she said.


    "Ruff Rover," I lied, not wanting to get into all of the heavy Chellam stuff with Xandra.


    Xandra''s face lit up with sudden enthusiasm.


    "You like Ruff Rover?" She said, "I love Ruff Rover!"


    I felt my own enthusiasm start to pick up, but then the memory of sharing my love for Ruff Rover with George sprang to mind.


    "Yeah, it''s cool, I guess," I muttered.


    Xandra saw my sudden lack of enthusiasm and seemed at a loss for what to say next. Her whole vibe had changed from closed off to open at the simple naming of my favourite hero hound, Ruff Rover.


    Silence built between us and I started to feel bad for acting closed off around Xandra, especially off the back of me trying hard earlier in the day to get a conversation going with her.


    "So you like cartoons?" I said.


    Xandra''s eyes widened even more, which didn''t seem possible until they did.


    "Yeah!" she said, "I mean I love western animation and anime."


    And, just like that, Xandra began to talk my ear off about cartoons for the next several hours.

 92. Treasure Among Junk

    We had waited until the tide was mostly out before descending from the sea fort. We couldn''t afford to wait for the tide to go out fully, since it would more than likely be broad daylight by that time. The tide was out enough that we were able to submerge ourselves into the sea water up to our chests. I had also returned to my larger self in order to make my clothes fit better again.


    We both bobbed back to shore holding our shoes above our heads. Xandra had placed several of her make up items and a small black purse in one of her converse shoes to avoid them getting wet. I had also taken my boots off, and had put my mobile phone, the wire, and the two hundred pounds in notes into one of the boots to keep them dry.


    When we reached the shore we hurried across the pebbly beach and, still barefoot, up the concrete arch which led to the low stone wall. We both climbed over the wall and hurried along the main road until we came to Putsley Bay''s Charity Shop; the biggest of several charity shops along the same street.


    I didn''t like the idea of stealing, but given our circumstances stealing from a charity shop seemed like the least worst way to get some much needed supplies.


    I''ll leave some money behind, I told myself, so it won''t be stealing-stealing.


    Xandra and I heightened our hearing and vision to scope out the surrounding area. As far as either of us could tell there were no people living above the charity shop. The shop bordered a cafe on one side, and a real estate agency office on the other; both of which were empty and likely would stay that way for a while longer given it was a Sunday morning.


    Once we were at the back of the charity shop we both took a minute to use the bulbing power to warm ourselves up; steam rose from our bodies and the sodden wetness which had clung to our clothes was greatly steamed away.


    Man I love this power, I thought.


    Sure, I thought, having the power has completely upended my life and caused me to become a fugitive on the run, but credit where it''s due, the power is cool.


    We took the items out of our shoes, pocketed them, and then put our shoes back on.


    I watched as Xandra approached the charity shop''s back door. The handle gave a little but the door held firm.


    Xandra looked back at me with a cheeky look and then raised her left hand. Her fingernails grew to sharp and very shiny points.


    "No way," I muttered, somewhat in disbelief.


    Not because she had grown her nails out, but because she was using them in a way I had only seen in cartoons and movies.


    Slowly Xandra clawed her nail in a circle on the glass door. The sound was much louder than I imagined she anticipated but I could tell that the combination of the strength she put into her arm and the sharpness of her nail was, surprisingly, up to the task of doing exactly what she needed it to do.


    "Wait," I mumbled, stepping forward to try and stop Xandra but it was too late.


    She hadn''t anticipated the glass falling through the other side of the door. The circle of glass fell and smashed to pieces with a painfully loud crash.


    Xandra looked back at me with a mock-guilty expression.


    I strained my hearing as much as I could to see whether anyone in our surroundings had noticed the sudden noise.


    The lapping of the waves, the relentless cries from the seagulls, distant cars driving, the hum of the nearby streetlight pouring out its thick white light in the inky blue dark; the sound of a kettle boiling in a house five doors down, the-


    "-BURGESS?" whispered Xandra, her voice booming in my ears.


    "Hold on," I whispered, trying to ignore the sound of my own voice booming inside my head.


    More lapping waves, more seagull cries, more distant cars, the continued hum of the nearby streetlight and the kettle which was near to boiling over; the sounds happening at once but each made distinct depending on which I strained to listen to more.


    I reduced my heightened hearing and sighed.


    "I think we''re clear," I said.


    "Cool," said Xandra.


    She put her hand through the hole she had made and unlocked the door from the inside. Carefully she removed her arm and then she let herself in. I followed close behind, my boots crunching on the broken glass on the way in.


    The musty smell of the charity shop met my nose immediately. The donated shoes, and clothes, and all sorts of old knick-knacks such as board games and ornaments and old canvas paintings all contributed to the old smell.


    "We have to be quick," I said, "In and out, remember?"


    Xandra gave me a thumbs up and set to work gathering supplies.


    Xandra made a beeline to a section with rucksacks and took a black one which had the image of a cat on it with its mouth stitched shut. She then began to stuff different items into the rucksack including a knife and a fork, a travel flask, and a small tupperware box.


    A quick look at the remaining rucksacks provided three options; a simple dark red rucksack, a sporty blue one with a white stripe and, finally, a rather unique looking rucksack which looked like a frog, with its arms and legs acting as straps.


    I hesitated on which to pick before letting whimsy take over. Of course I picked the frog rucksack. In combination with the fox hat I knew I would look plain silly, but I really didn''t care and decided I wanted to have a little bit of fun for a change. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    I copied Xandra''s idea of taking cutlery, a flask, and plastic tupperware.


    Xandra hurried behind the shop counter and found a large carry bag for herself and also chucked one over to me, which I caught.


    She then went to the women''s clothing section and got to work picking out several shirts and other clothing items that were to her taste and needs.


    I moved over to the men''s clothing section and picked out a large black puffy jacket that reminded me a little of the gray one I had given up before; the inside lining was a stark orange which matched the colour of the fox hat close enough. I set the frog rucksack and the items stuffed inside its ''mouth'' onto the floor and then put the black coat on over my green flannel shirt.


    "We should both get changed," I said, "Or we''re going to stink of sea water."


    "Yeah," muttered Xandra, too enthralled by all the clothes at her fingertips to pay me much notice.


    I stuffed several shirts, some long-sleeved, some short, as well as two sets of jeans into the carry bag. I also picked out an old pair of gray shoes that would fit on my feet at a normal size.


    Xandra disappeared into the nearby changing room and returned shortly after wearing similar all-black clothes like before, with the sea-soaked ones abandoned to the changing room. The sleeves of the new black fleece she wore bunched up a lot at the elbows, making her arms and hands look a little small in comparison.


    I met Xandra''s gaze as she stood with her hands to her hips and, after an awkward pause, gave her a thumbs up. She gave me a thumbs up back and I moved into the changing room to get out of my damp clothes.


    After returning to my normal size again, I changed into a long-sleeved gray shirt and into simple blue denim. Once changed, it felt good to be back into clothes that fit my regular size; though I had made sure to stuff a couple larger clothing items into the carry bag should I want to be the larger, bigger and stronger me again. I put the damp clothes Donald and Sienna had given me into the carry bag as well inside of a plastic bag, rather than leave them behind.


    I made sure to listen out for any sign that someone outside of the charity shop was approaching. To my relief the same constant sounds continued outside, with just a little more distant car noises; there was however an impending sense of life to the quiet of the Putsley Bay Coast; the way a kettle grumbles as a sign it will eventually reach full boil.


    Whilst in the changing room I took stock of my reflection. Though clearly still under a good deal of stress, my eyes no longer had the same shellshocked look they had before. I looked like a real idiot wearing the fox hat and frog rucksack, but both items were, in some small way, a way for me to pretend that all the troubles in my life weren''t really as serious as they seemed.


    My hair had gotten quite scruffy and was in need of a cut, and the stubble on my chin and upper lip would need a shave soon.


    It came almost as a shock to see that, despite all the things I could now do, and all the things I had been through, that I was still the same me in the mirror. Just a fresh-faced eighteen year old that looked closer to sixteen if you didn''t know.


    I forced myself to look away from the mirror and exited the changing room. Xandra was standing at the book section of the store seeing what was on offer.


    "We''ve got to go," I whispered.


    "Give me a sec''," said Xandra, "There won''t be much to do when we''re hiding out."


    It was then I remembered how I used my power to gain a vast amount of medical knowledge within a few hours. I still wasn''t sure to what extent I had been able to retain that knowledge, since the strange inner voice that had told me about Sienna and Donald''s medical conditions had, thankfully, stopped shortly after it started.


    A question rang loud and clear in my head: what would I want to learn?


    For the first time since I gained my power a different kind of giddy excitement took hold of me. The possibilities of what I could learn were as vast as all of human knowledge itself. The answer came to me loud and clear.


    With the answer at the forefront of my thoughts I hurried over to the book section and joined Xandra''s side. In her arms were a bunch of books; a book of classic fairy tales, a thin book called Tales of Enlightenment, a book called How to Draw Using Your Whole Brain, as well as two manga volumes for a show titled Predatory Relock: Rebirth.


    "Did you know you can use the power to learn how to do stuff?" I said.


    "What do you mean?" she said.


    She did a double-take because she could see the enthusiasm clear on my face.


    I scanned the bookshelf and did my best to ignore all the fantasy and sci-fi novels on offer, since that would have been what caught my eye before. There were a range of comic books which, though probably apt for my situation, probably weren''t going to give the most useful information to use my learning power on.


    The more I searched, the more it seemed I wasn''t going to be content with the books that were available.


    Books are good, I thought, but not for what I really want to learn.


    I turned away from the bookshelf and then caught sight of something that stood out like treasure among the sea of donated junk.


    A portable DVD player with a screen attachment. I hurried over to it and found, much to my excitement, that there came with the portable player a remote and a charging cable.


    "Yes!" I thought, turning to Xandra, "Look!"


    I held it up for her to see. Xandra''s eyes widened with excitement too.


    "Good idea!" she whisper-shouted.


    She stuffed the books she had taken into her carry bag, which was close to being filled to the brim. Then, together, Xandra and I lay waste to the DVDs on offer, taking all of the DVDs we wanted out of the cases, only taking the discs since they would be easier to carry that way. We had about thirty discs each but the time we had taken all the ones that had caught our eye.


    We had lingered long enough. It was time to go.


    I put a one hundred pound note on the counter top.


    "What are you doing?" said Xandra in a confused tone.


    "Is it not enough?" I said.


    "That''s plenty!" said Xandra, "This is a charity shop, not a bank!"


    "I know," I said, "But we did break the glass. That''ll need to be repaired."


    "Then a hundred will cover it," said Xandra.


    She didn''t wait for a response. After listening out for any possible passersby she headed out of the charity shop, lugging her stuffed rucksack and carry bag with her.


    I considered leaving the second one hundred pound note, but decided against it. One hundred pounds likely wasn''t going to be enough to fix the door, but I frankly didn''t care that much whether it got fixed or not. I could certainly live with myself for having been a part of a charity shop break-in given our circumstances.


    Xandra was waiting outside for me. I stepped to her side, finding myself just a little above her eye level at my regular height, wearing the gray trainers I had taken from the charity shop.


    Xandra looked down at my carry bag and saw one of the DVDs I had taken.


    "Oh?" she said, her gaze curious and a little amused, "You like kung fu movies?"


    "Oh yeah," I said, gesturing down to the DVD which showed the title of the movie: School of The One Thousand Sorrow Fist; beside it in a fighting stance was legendary Chinese actor Sonny Yen.Learning medical knowledge was cool. Learning Kung Fu was necessary.

 93. Chainlink Fence

    Xandra and I had to climb over numerous back garden fences on our way out of Putsley Bay.


    The carry bags stuffed with clothes and other items taken from the charity shop, along with our new backpacks which were also filled near to the brim with stuff, added to the difficulty of leaving the seaside town unnoticed.


    It seemed we had timed our exit well because our heightened senses could hear the ever increasing bustle of people and cars coming from the main seaside strip.


    Xandra dropped down from what I hoped would be the last of the back garden fences. I let the carry bag drop to the grass on the other side first, then climbed over the fence and dropped down with a clumsy thud.


    It was becoming clear that we might have taken too much from the charity shop to be able to travel on foot effectively. Even Xandra, despite her nimbleness, huffed and puffed with each fence in our way.


    Xandra set her carry bag down and crouched low as she looked to the tall chainlink fence ahead of us. Beyond the fence lay parking spaces and a petrol station, which we could see from the back of the building.


    I set my carry bag down next to hers and crouched beside her. The whole thing had a tinge of fun to it, as if we weren''t on the run but were actually just playing hide and seek around our local town.


    "Last stop," said Xandra, "We''re going to need food for the next few days, so we should go into the back and take whatever''s in storage."


    "Wait," I said, "You don''t even want to try paying for the food first?"


    Xandra gave me a look as if I had said something pretty stupid.


    "Do you have a Piper Pass?" she said.


    "Obviously, no," I said.


    "Then our only option is to steal," she said.


    "Is some guy in a petrol station really going to take this Piper Pass thing that seriously?" I said.


    Xandra smiled without mirth, "You really don''t get how crazy things have got? People will freak out as soon as they suspect you''re one of the teenagers that might blow up or become some monster."


    "But the blowing up part isn''t true," I said, "It was all made up."


    "That doesn''t matter to them," said Xandra, "Trust me, the easiest way for us to get food is to go through the back, take what we can, and go. If you want to leave some money to ease your conscience then that''s fine too, I guess."


    I put my hand to my forehead and just felt tired all of a sudden.


    "I don''t want to steal," I said, "It''s a slippery slope."


    "Stealing some food won''t make you a supervillain, Burg-man," said Xandra, "Sure, if things were normal, stealing would be wrong. But we have an entire country wanting to lock us up and do who knows what to us; the normal rules don''t apply."


    "Yeah," I said, tiredly, "I''ve seen what they''d do to us firsthand. Trust me, you''re better off dead than getting caught."


    "Okay," said Xandra, "So we''re breaking in?"


    I let out a sigh and sat on the grass.


    Oh come on, I thought, I know how this will go. I''ll try to be good and pay for the food, the guy behind the counter will freak out, and then Xandra and I''ll have to run away. Who needs the stress?! Not. Me. Or, we could go through the back, take some food, I''ll leave some money, and then we''re out of here without anyone being bothered.


    "Fine," I mumbled, "But I''m going to break in through the back this time. Don''t want a repeat of what happened at the charity shop."


    Xandra smiled genuinely this time before giving me a playful jab on the shoulder.


    "Sorry I''m not an expert at breaking in yet," she said, "This stuff takes practice."


    "Yeah," I said, grunting a little as I picked myself up off the floor, "Let''s not get too much practice."


    Before we set off on our new mission Xandra and I made an extra effort to disguise ourselves. For my part I pulled down the fox hat over my eyes which, although the world became a bit more orange, worked surprisingly well as a half-mask. According to Xandra the eyes of the hat lined up pretty well with my real eyes hidden beneath.


    Xandra had taken a black hoodie from the carry bag and put that on beneath her fleece. She then put up the hood to cover most of her face in shadow; to my surprise the hood had a pair of cat-like ears attached to the top.


    "Oh great," I said, "We''re fox-boy and cat-girl."


    "Miss Raccoon," Xandra corrected, then she seemed to get a little embarrassed, "I mean, if I''m going to have a codename, I wanna be called ''Miss Raccoon'', okay?"


    I felt a sudden tightness in my gut. Something weird was going on. I had only been joking about our codenames but Xandra seemed to take it seriously.


    "Okay," I said, "Then you can call me Fox-Frog."


    I gestured to my frog backpack, "Don''t wanna leave this guy out of the fun."


    I wasn''t prepared for the sheer giddy joy that brightened Xandra''s face. She clapped her hands together several times like a girl told that she''s going to be a bridesmaid. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Fox-Frog!" she said, "I love it!"


    The whole thing felt very cringe to me, but in a fun way. But, in another way, I felt like there was something else at play with our new names. I had meant our names to be something casual, but there was a strange weight to the addition of the new names as if we had crossed a threshold we hadn''t realised the importance of until it was too late.


    Or maybe I was overthinking things as usual. Yeah, I thought, probably just overthinking it.


    It became my task to use my bulbing power in my right hand to quickly burn through the links in the chainlink fence. My hand carved through the metal links surprisingly easily, burning through each link until Xandra was able to pry a section of the fence away, leaving us both with enough room to move one at a time through the hole in the fence.


    I went first. Once on the other side of the fence Xandra passed through our carry bags. I took them and all the while I felt an ever increasing sense of dread. It wasn''t just nerves from what we were about to do, but a strange kind of dread that echoed the panic attack I had way back on the third floor in Wedder Gorge after spending several days on the fourth floor (directly after George had been murdered.)


    Xandra and I reached the back door of the petrol station and the feeling of dread grew so bad I could hardly think straight at all.


    "Fox-Frog?" said Xandra, and it took me a second to remember that was my codename.


    "What''s wrong?" Xandra asked, dismayed at the sight of me hunching forward as if I were about to be sick.


    "This is a bad idea," I said, "Something''s wrong. We can''t do this."


    "Hey," said Xandra, dropping the carry bags to the ground, "Everything''s fine. We''ll be in and out."


    A headache had come on me with a strange intensity.


    "No," I said, "I can''t do it."


    "How is this any different from the charity shop?" said Xandra.


    "I don''t know," I said, "I can''t explain it, I just ¨C I just don''t think we should break in."


    "What?" said Xandra, her tone changing from concerned to seriously annoyed, "Do you have the power to see into the future? Things are fine, you''re wasting time!"


    "Yeah," I said, nodding, taking huffing breaths, "You''re right, I''m being stupid."


    I forced myself to face the back door to the petrol station. The plan was simple; all I needed to do was coil up and yank the door open with as much strength as I could muster.


    But my body felt strangely agonized in a way that was taking me completely by surprise. It was as if the stress were gripping my body to the point I could hardly move.


    The fox hat in particular felt stifling and my hair prickled beneath it. I wanted to yank it off.


    "Ah!" I gasped, "I''m sorry, I can''t do this."


    I picked up my carry bag and walked back the way we had come from the chainlink fence. Xandra picked up her carry bag and chased after me. I came to the hole in the chainlink fence and felt Xandra yanking on my stupid frog rucksack.


    "What''s wrong with you?" she said, "Why''re you freaking out?"


    "I don''t know," I said, "This whole thing just feels wrong. Maybe it''s that simple. We shouldn''t go breaking into petrol stations; we shouldn''t be stealing food."


    It was then I felt a hard kick to my ribs that sent me crashing into the fence. I climbed to my feet and turned to see Xandra''s face bright red with frustration.


    "If you''re going to mess around like this then maybe it''s not a good idea for us to stick together," she said.


    For a horrible moment I felt so angry she had kicked me that I considered hitting her back. I couldn''t see her eyes, but I could see the way her jaw was clenched in anger.


    Then her anger lessened and she sighed.


    "This was stupid," she said, "I thought we''d be able to do this together but you''re not taking this seriously."


    "I am taking this seriously!" I shouted, "I''m dead serious. I''m sorry I don''t know how to describe it, but I just have this feeling that this is the wrong way to go about things. I can''t explain it."


    Xandra stifled a mirthless laugh.


    "You''re really going to let your feelings decide everything?" said Xandra, "What about making sure we don''t starve?"


    I took a deep breath and tried to think things through. What was it that made this different from stealing from the charity shop?


    People, I thought, there''s people here.


    "Look," I said, "We can try another place. Just somewhere where we''re not going to cause trouble. It was okay with the charity shop because there was nobody there."


    I gestured to the petrol station, "If we break into there then who knows what might happen."


    "Nothing is going to happen," said Xandra, "It''s just a stupid petrol station for crying out loud!"


    I stood to my full height. A sudden calmness had taken hold of me, met also with a hard-felt weariness.


    "Look," I said, "I just don''t think it''s going to be my way of doing things. It''s like¡­"


    "What?" said Xandra in a curt tone, "It''s like what?"


    I searched the parking lot concrete for an answer and surprised myself with what I found.


    "I guess right now I feel like I would be giving up something stealing from the petrol station. I''m prepared to try something else. To find another way to get something for us to eat. Maybe it''s just too soon to throw the towel in and expect the worst out of people. For all we know we could stroll in there and pay for the food and it''ll all be fine."


    "Sure," said Xandra, "Go ahead. But don''t cry to me when they come after you."


    "So you''re going to run off too?" I said, finding a sudden vitriol rise up in my words.


    "What?" said Xandra.


    "Trust me," I said, "You wouldn''t be the first person to give up and leave when things get tough."


    "Did I say I was leaving?" said Xandra.


    "I don''t know," I said, "That seemed to be what you were implying."


    "Okay," said Xandra, "Yeah, that was what I was implying. But, I guess while we''re at it, I''d love to hear what your better idea would be."


    "How about this," I said, with an unexpected smile on my face, "Let''s make a bet."


    Xandra cocked her head to the side a little.


    "Go on," she said.


    "I bet I can walk into the petrol station, pay for all the food we need, and there''ll be no hassle to it whatsoever," I said.


    "Do you really believe that?" said Xandra.


    "It doesn''t matter," I said, "Because that''s what I''m going to do. Now, if I go in and there''s no hassle, then you''ll have to admit that I was right and that maybe I''m not so stupid. Okay?"


    "And if I win the bet?" said Xandra, smirking, "What do I get?"


    I threw my hands up.


    "What do you want?"


    "I win," she said, "Then you have to admit you were wrong, that I''m right, and that my way of doing things is better."


    "It''s not," I said, so I confidently stuck my hand out for Xandra to shake. I felt the soft firmness of her hand in mine for a moment as we shook hands.


    The bet was on.

 94. Stitched-In

    I lifted the fox hat from my eyes and looked towards the petrol station entrance. To my surprise there were at least half a dozen people within, with potential for more that were hidden behind the aisles.


    Wind, strong and heavy after rolling in from the nearby shore, buffeted me. Knowing I could use my power to fend off the cold didn''t stop it from nipping at my face.


    Xandra swayed into view to my left. She was playfully bobbing her head this way and that as if moving like a fish through water.


    "What''s the matter?" she said, with a Cheshire cat smile, "Changed your mind?"


    "What about you?" I said, "You coming in?"


    Xandra shook her head.


    "No," she said, "I''m going to watch from out here."


    She nodded upwards to the petrol station.


    "Go on," she said, playfully, "A bet is a bet, isn''t it?"


    "Yeah," I said, grumbling.


    The front of the petrol station was a lot busier but, at the very least, there weren''t any police vehicles parked up. There was always the potential for plain-clothes officers, but that was going to have to be a necessary risk.


    I forced myself to remember how to walk and made my way towards the petrol station entrance.


    Xandra waited behind with the carry bags, her smile fading more with each step I took.


    All too quickly I was in the petrol station. A heater above the entrance provided a sudden rush of warmth. There were three people already in a queue at the cashier desk. A middle-aged woman wearing a white face mask that covered the lower half of her face jerked her gaze towards me and we locked eyes; hers were startlingly wide.


    I cast aside my gaze and tried to walk as casually as I could muster. After a sharp left turn I found myself in the magazine aisle. I pretended to care about what was written on the covers.


    The first which caught my eye read: Could the MICE threat be infectious?


    And then another cover read: MICE spontaneous-combustion threat not over after all?


    And then, one that made me double-take: Brave Mum of five makes ¡ê30,000 after turning over MICE fugitives squatting next door.


    A tightness in my gut reminded me what I had come for. I stopped at the end of the aisle, finding myself in the front left corner of the petrol station beside the entrance to the unisex toilets.


    There were roughly eight people - nine including the woman behind the counter - and it was then I noticed that everyone inside was at least thirty years old or older.


    They were all minding their own business, that is, except for the woman wearing the mask. She was looking around, and then at me, and then, finally, down to her black basket filled with items.


    It''s fine, I told myself, she might just be afraid. She might just buy her stuff and leave.


    I kept moving and found myself in an aisle filled with crisps, and instant noodle pots. I started gathering them up in my arms paying no attention to how much any of it cost; I was just pretending to be a regular human being, so the noodles could have cost five billion pounds for all I cared.


    Items in hand, I joined the back of the queue. There were three people ahead of me in the queue but, to my confusion, the woman wearing the mask was gone. I looked around the petrol station aisles. There was no sign of her. Had I heard the entrance to the petrol station chime around the same time I had scooped up all the crisps and instant noodle pots?


    Ah, I thought, she probably got scared and left. Not great, since she''ll likely call the police, but maybe I can be out of here before that becomes a problem. Just got to pay for these.


    I looked out towards the parking lot and couldn''t see Xandra anywhere. Where had she gone? Had she decided it was a good time to part ways?


    My stuff in the carry bag, I thought.


    Losing the carry bag stuff wouldn''t have been the worst thing in the world. Losing a new friend, albeit one with less scruples about stealing, was a much greater loss.


    She''s probably just round the corner, I told myself, worry about where she is once you''re out.


    The queue to pay was excruciatingly slow. I listened to the first exchange between the small Indian member of staff and the man paying for his petrol, and there was no mention of a Piper Pass. This gave me hope that the passes weren''t as regulated as I had first feared.


    The next customer took their turn paying for their items and again there was no mention of a Piper Pass.


    I breathed a small sigh of relief.


    It''s okay, I thought, maybe if we were in London the regulation would be way more strict. But far off in Putsley Bay people just cared less. Given the woman had been wearing a face mask she might have been more afraid of germs than me.


    I hardly believed any of these thoughts, my natural cynicism wouldn''t allow it, but I let the promise of everything being A-okay prance around inside my head if only to help keep myself from panicking more than I already was. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    It was my turn to pay for all the food. I dumped the armful of items onto the counter, which had a screen that separated customers from the members of staff.


    The short middle-aged Indian woman looked tired and disinterested in her job.


    "Piper Pass, please," she said.


    "Sorry?" I said, as if I hadn''t heard her perfectly fine.


    "Sir," she said, "I need to see your Piper Pass, please."


    "Oh," I said, patting myself down, "I think I forgot it. I can still pay for this stuff, right?"


    "I''m sorry, sir, but I cannot process these items until I see a Piper Pass."


    I looked over my shoulder and quickly wished I hadn''t. The half dozen customers in the store were looking at me now, and not because I probably looked stupid in the fox hat and frog rucksack.


    "F-fine," I stuttered, "Thanks anyway."


    I wanted to get out. This had been a big mistake. I had tried to pay for the food and was denied service, which gave me the ''out'' I needed to just make a beeline out of the petrol station.


    By the entrance however I saw something that made me flinch.


    A police vehicle had just finished easing into a parking space right beside the petrol station entrance. The officer that had been driving got out of the car, and the officer who had been in the passenger seat got out as well. My immediate impression of their demeanor was that they weren''t ready for trouble; instead they moved and chatted casually to each other.


    I took a step forward with the intention to leave the petrol station. I managed all of three steps before losing my nerve.


    I stopped by the entrance just in time to spot the woman wearing the face mask hurriedly approaching the two officers. I couldn''t hear what was being said but it was clear she was pointing into the petrol station; pointing at me.


    Ah crap, I thought, I need to get out. Now.


    I turned around, figuring I would find another exit; perhaps going through the back of the petrol station. When I turned around however I saw the half dozen people that had been dotted around the aisles, including the woman behind the counter, were looking at me.


    "Well?" said a man in his fifties with a venomous look on his face, "Clear off!"


    "I-I-I''m," I stammered, "I''m just¨C"


    A woman in a faux fur coat began to panic, putting her hands to her face.


    "I''m sorry," I said, "I''m going, I just need-"


    The woman broke into a hysteric scream that made my blood run cold. My confusion changed to a sense of indignation.


    "I haven''t done anything for crying out loud!" I said, sternly.


    The Indian woman was running towards the end of the counter closest to the entrance to the petrol station, from which there was a gap that could be used to take payment from customers when the main part of the petrol station was closed.


    "Help! Help!" she cried, "There''s a MICE in here! Help us please!"


    I moved an inch forward, and the frightened customers all moved an inch away in unison as if I were some kind of escaped wild animal that might kill them as soon as look at them.


    I looked round and saw the police officers were hurrying inside the petrol station, their hands moving to the guns at their hips.


    Before I could think to do anything one of the officers shouted.


    "Put your hands above your head now!"


    "No!" I shouted back, with a sudden indignation that surprised me. I wasn''t so much as afraid as angry at the officers and all the people inside the petrol station losing their minds.


    Pop!


    The officer fired their gun. A sudden stinging sensation hit my right leg followed swiftly by an excruciating pain.


    A long strand of wire connected the tip of whatever it was that was still stuck into my right leg just above the knee to the gun one of the officers was holding.


    The pain coursing through my body had reached a peak that remained steady for several seconds before stopping. I yanked the thing stuck into my leg out, ceasing the pain in an instant.


    With the pain stopped I just looked perplexedly at the officer that had shot me with her taser gun.


    Pop!


    The other officer, also female, shot me with her taser gun too. This time the tip of the needle or whatever it was stuck into my neck.


    The pain returned and I found myself falling backwards, having lost control of my body that spasmed from the shot. It hurt a heck of a lot, but it was the loss of control of myself that was the greatest worry on my mind. The petrol station tumbled ahead of me and the next thing I knew I could see the ceiling of the station and the harsh florescent light shining bright.


    My body had become rigid all over. A second could have passed, or twenty, because the pain in my body had reached a point where I could hardly think or see anything going on around me.


    It was only when the pain coming from the taser stopped that my ability to think returned.


    My eyes struggled to focus on anything around me. The next thing I knew I was on my stomach ¨C someone must have rolled me over ¨C and my hands were behind my back and being handcuffed. An officer had their knee on my neck, keeping me pinned down. I could hardly breathe save for strained rasping gasps for air.


    My eyes hadn''t focused yet. My oxygen deprived brain was barely able to make sense of all the muffled noise bouncing around.


    There was something green in front of me.


    My rucksack, I thought, they must have yanked it off when cuffing me.


    But that couldn''t have been true because I could still feel the tightness of the straps over my new puffy black coat.


    Bit by bit my vision returned and focused on the green thing directly in front of me. My left cheek hurt something fierce from being pressed down hard with all the strength one of the officers could muster.


    With the one eye available to me I finally saw what it was in front of me on the ground.


    It was a small. Puppet. Frog. Its stitched-in eyes were fixed on me.


    "Jump," said the Puppet Frog.


    The puppet frog had its hands behind its back and seemed to give off an aura of confidence, but also a very calming sense of understanding and patience.


    "What?" I said, garbling out the word.


    "Jump, Burgess," said the Puppet Frog.


    It nodded at me as if to give the final go ahead I needed.


    I let my body coil up. The force with which the two female officers were holding me down increased even more.


    "Help us here!" shouted one of the officers.


    Two of the men from the customers that had been standing away from me afraid of what I might do sprang into action. They pushed down on my arms and my back to keep me still.


    But I had already begun to coil up.


    Could burn them, could bulb up, I thought, that would show them.


    But I opted to do what the puppet frog, that was still looking at me with unblinking eyes, recommended.


    Thunk! Thunk! Thunk-thunk!


    Muscle bulged out across my body, giving me the benefit of years of working out that I hadn''t actually earned. Whilst the strength with which the four of them held me down remained the same, my own strength climbed.


    Climbed enough for me to rise up off the ground enough to be stuck in a squat position.


    "Jump!" shouted the frog, looking up at me now from the floor.


    So that''s what I did. I jumped.

 95. I Can Break These Cuffs!

    My feet didn''t even get off the ground with my first jump attempt, not with four full grown adults, two female police officers, and two middle-aged men holding onto me with every last bit of strength available to them.


    I blinked and the puppet frog that had been standing several inches from my face disappeared.


    "Hold him! Hold him!" one of the female officers shouted to the others.


    My hands were cuffed behind my back. The metal was digging painfully at my wrists. My teeth were bared and my face was hot and tense from the effort it took for me to remain standing despite their attempts to get me back on the ground.


    I''m going to jump whether you lot like it or not! I thought to myself.


    Jump! I thought.


    In order to achieve this goal I threw aside a sliver of the caution I continued to hold onto, since I was very afraid of hurting any of the idiots holding onto me, and let my legs bulk out far more than they ever had before.


    The blue denim jeans I wore bulged as the muscles in my legs filled them out. The stitching along the thigh ripped bit by bit.


    A sound similar to a gurgling noise came from my thighs as the muscles tensed and grew and repeated this pattern over and over, building the overall size.


    To a lesser extent I felt the muscles in my lower back and stomach tense and then grow in sudden gurgles and swells.


    "You! Idiots!" I yelled between gasping breaths, "I just! Want! To buy ¨C food!"


    I felt the veins in my feet wriggle and change along with the additional muscle and strengthening of the bones and sinews all across the lower half of my body.


    One of the men put his arm around my neck and squeezed with all of his might.


    The muscles in my neck built, seemingly spurred on by the muscle growth elsewhere. Even my spine seemed to give a little to the pressure exerted onto it before hardening and becoming as resilient as steel; or at least that''s how it felt.


    "This is your last chance!" I spat out, "Get off or I''ll make you get off!"


    The grips from all four of the adults loosened just a little as they weighed up their options. The police officers trying to hold me down I could understand, but the two guys? Were they under the impression they were doing a good thing by trying to pin me down? Or were they thinking about what they might get as a reward for their assistance in my capture?


    Their grips, though tiring, remained staunchly firm.


    Fine, I thought, Don''t say I didn''t warn you.


    I jumped again.


    The difference the second time around was staggering. There was real force behind the jump this time, lifting not only me off my feet, but the four full grown adults as well. Although my feet were only about a handwidth off the ground, all five of us were thrust into the middle aisle, an officer to my left and a guy to my right both collided with the aisles, sending packets of sweets, chewing gums, and chocolate bars all over the floor.


    The remaining two adults cushioned my fall, not that it would have hurt me all that much. I felt a crunch followed by the remaining female officer holding onto me screaming out in pain.


    I got quickly to my feet. I did so a little clumsily on account of my hands still being cuffed behind my back. The four adults that were now on the ground were groaning and squirming in pain.


    The officer that had screamed was holding her wrist.


    Without any forethought I squatted low and examined the officer''s wrist.


    "Colles fracture," I said, the information coming out of my mouth sounding almost robotic. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    The female officer, who was no older than forty, shot me a perplexed look.


    "You can tell it''s a Colles fracture because of the ''dinner fork'' shape," I said, the words coming out like vomit, "It''s a dorsal displacement of the distal fragment."


    I stood up and looked over at the others.


    One of the men was nursing the small of his back and wincing.


    Just bruising, my inner voice told me.


    I breathed a small sigh of relief. The others, though dazed from the impact of the fall and hurting a little, weren''t going to need medical attention.


    A sudden clacking noise alerted me to a nearby door opening. I looked to my right and saw Xandra standing at a now open doorway with our two carry bags hanging on each arm, and a medium-sized brown box filled with food and other items held in her arms.


    She froze, looking at me and the adults on the ground.


    "I''ve got the stuff," said Xandra, "We should go."


    I took a few moments to catch my breath and to think about what I wanted to do next. In the scramble with the four trying to pin me down the other scared people had fled the petrol station, with the exception of the Indian woman who was standing trembling behind the plastic screen.


    My legs were still enlarged, almost comically so given how my upper body, though muscled, wasn''t bulked to the same degree. I didn''t reduce the size of my leg muscles despite the thought occurring to me.


    Xandra hurried over to me and set the box filled with food and other items at her feet.


    "Hold on," she said, "I can get those off."


    "I might be able to break them," I said.


    I felt Xandra tugging at the handcuffs. She sighed and looked past me to the officers on the ground.


    "Who''s got the key?" she said.


    "As if!" said the officer nursing her fractured wrist.


    "Forget it," I said to Xandra.


    I concentrated on increasing even more muscle into my arms and across the rest of my body, giving the power within me permission to do so, activating that internal light in my mind''s eye.


    Thunk! Stretch! Thunk! Stretch! Gurgle!


    The sleeves to the gray shirt I was wearing beneath the puffy black coat were starting to rip their stitches too.


    Riiiip!


    Particularly around the wrists and the shoulders the fabric gave way to the newly bulked muscle there. Never had I felt my arms become so heavy and huge.


    And this is what I can muster at my normal height, I thought with a slight sense of wonder that came as a silver lining to all the on-going frustrations in the petrol station.


    I gritted my teeth and, in a single effort, broke the cuffs apart. They were still stuck to my wrists, and digging in a bit uncomfortably, but that was a problem that could wait for later.


    The look of awe from the two officers seeing I had broken the handcuffs seemed like something I should have felt a touch of pride in. Instead I just looked down on them with a heavy sense of derision.


    I turned my attention to the cashier desk.


    "Hey," I said to the Indian woman, trying to sound as normal as I could muster, "Can you ring these up for me, please?"


    "Bur¨C I mean, Fox-Frog! What''re you doing?" said Xandra.


    "What I came here to do," I said, trying and mostly failing to keep a calm tone.


    I reached into my pocket and took out the one hundred pound note. I wanted to slap it onto the countertop but that would have undermined my point. Instead I placed it calmly on the counter and even gently stroked it for good measure, like patting a duvet after making one''s bed.


    The Indian woman just stared at me like I was about to break through the plastic screen and eat her.


    "If you don''t want to," I said, "That''s fine, but I would very much appreciate being able to pay for this food instead of stealing it. Would you please do me a favour?"


    The Indian woman''s eyes darted this way and that as she tried to make up her mind for what to do. She met the gaze of the female officer nursing her wrist, and then shook her head, declining to put the food through for me.


    "Fine," I said.


    I took the note back, pocketed it, and walked out of the petrol station the way I had come in.


    Xandra picked up her box of stolen items and chased after me, reaching my side just as we both exited the petrol station.


    Xandra and I had the sense not to wait around for more trouble. I asked her which way we should go and, after thinking it over, Xandra led the way north-west of the petrol station.


    We crossed the road. As we did Xandra handed over my carry bag.


    I saw she was stuck carrying her own carry bag as well as the box filled with food and other items she had stolen from the back of the petrol station.


    "I''ll take your bag too," I said, and she handed hers over, leaving her with just her own rucksack filled to the brim with stuff on her back, and the box in her arms.


    A chest-high rise in the ground separated the concrete road from the grassy stretch above and beyond. Xandra managed a nimble leap up.


    For my part I used my newly bulked legs to leap and, despite holding the two carry bags and having the rucksack on my back, I sprang up and cleared the distance with surprising ease.


    As frustrated as I felt with everything that had just happened in the petrol station, I couldn''t help but feel a sense of wonder at what I could now do with my legs.


    I leapt again and again, hippity hopping between long bouts of running for a good while longer on the way out from Putsley Bay.

 96. Dont Call Me Crazy

    Like before Xandra and I ran for hours to make sure the odds of the police and the Pied Piper Task Force catching up to us were slim.


    The day drew on with little conversation between Xandra and I due, for the most part, because I wasn''t in any mood at all to talk. The other, smaller part, was because we were both prone to losing track of time when coiling up and sprinting for long periods of time.


    Often I would find myself looking up at the sky and being startled by how much it changed in the blink of an eye. At first becoming brighter and then, later in the day, darker, with much thicker clouds threatening to rain on us.


    By the time it started to get dark Xandra and I had come to the fringe of a very familiar, though not particularly welcome sight for me.


    It was a rugby pitch.


    It wasn''t one I had been to before since I had only been to a handful during my mid-teens on trips to games with my Dad, of which I hardly ever got picked to play. When I did it was for a spare five to ten minutes.


    We stopped, panting, at the fading white line at the back left corner of the huge pitch, which was bordered by forestation all around save for a clubhouse off in the far corner diagonal to us.


    "If it''s clear we should stop there for tonight," said Xandra, "It''ll be another half day before we reach the underground bunker."


    She set the box filled with food and other items stolen from the petrol station onto the damp grass with a sigh. She then arched her back, which popped several times from the effort.


    "Sure," I said, setting the two carry bags down on the ground as well. I wasn''t tired, but I was fed up with having to hoist the carry bags for hours.


    We both took a minute to breathe in the increasingly cold night air. I didn''t like being outside at this time of night, especially because of the rain which had already begun to spit on us as a precursor for more to come at any second.


    A horrible nervous energy gripped me as I sniffed and put my hands to my hips and looked about the rugby pitch. My heightened hearing and vision told me there were no people for a good distance.


    My body was brought back to normal for the most part. No more huge bulked frog legs, or overly huge musculature across my body. I had kept about a year''s worth of hitting the gym on me just to make sure I wasn''t too weak to carry the bags and keep up with Xandra.


    "Come on," said Xandra, nicely,


    She picked up the cardboard box from the grass and set off at a jogging pace towards the clubhouse.


    Xandra''s tone had softened since everything that had gone down at the petrol station. She hadn''t made any mention of our bet either, not even to get an ''I told you so'' gloat out of the way.


    In a way I would have preferred her to gloat just so there wasn''t an ongoing question of when or how she intended to talk to me about what happened.


    We reached the gravelled parking lot at the edge of the clubhouse. It was almost pitch black outside and the nearby floodlights hadn''t come on automatically to compensate.


    Xandra led the way up to the front door.


    "Okay," she said, "I think we''ll be able to break in without much trouble if-"


    A loud bang followed after I kicked in the front door. The metal lock had bent and the wood frame which held the lock in place splintered and burst from the impact.


    "Or just kick it in, I guess," said Xandra.


    She sighed and followed in after me.


    I found the nearby lightswitch. A single bulb lit the hallway space.


    Although she didn''t say anything I could feel Xandra''s questioning look at my decision to turn the light on, which would be an obvious sign to anyone passing by outside that the clubhouse had been illegally entered. I simply didn''t have it in me to care.


    I led the way deeper inside. A large banner reading ''Shepperton Rugby Club'' hung from the top of the first doorway. There were cabinets filled with trophies of various sizes too.


    I looked around for the next lightswitch and found it.


    We were in the main hall. It wasn''t much bigger than a living room, but it was big enough to serve as a good place to buy hotdogs, burgers, and chips during and after games. I set down the carry bags and spotted the nearby counter beyond which lay a narrow kitchen.


    "Should be showers here," I said, "I can wait with the stuff if you want to go first."


    Xandra set her cardboard box down and moved over to a nearby wooden bench set against the wall. She sighed and started to unlace her shoes.


    "I can wait for a bit," she said, "But yeah, a shower sounds good."


    The sudden gurgle coming from Xandra''s stomach asked and answered an obvious question.


    "Let''s eat first," I mumbled, "Showering can wait. I''m starving."


    Although neither of us were physically exhausted, our mental tiredness was more than making up for it.


    I lumbered into the kitchen, flicked the light on, then leaned against the counter. Xandra hurried inside with the cardboard box in hand which she set onto the counter as well.


    "Well," she said, digging into the box, "In the mood for noodles?"


    "Sure," I mumbled.


    "O-kay," said Xandra.


    She set to work preparing two bowls, which she found in one of the cupboards, then she filled up a kettle with water and switched it on.


    "And," she said, "Whilst we wait for the noodles; here ya go."


    She took out two large Jupiter bars and slid them across the counter to me.


    "Thanks," I muttered.


    I made quick work eating both bars, my body seeming to become hungrier the more chocolate I ate.


    The kettle started to grumble. Xandra leaned against the opposite counter. She shot me a look with her large eyes which told me she was thinking about asking me something personal.


    "Ah," I said, "Forgot something."


    I hurried out of the kitchen and went to my carry bag.


    I returned to the kitchen holding the portable DVD player and several discs.


    "Might as well make use of the electricity while we''ve got it," I said.


    "Good idea," said Xandra.


    I plugged the portable DVD player''s charging cable into the wall socket and was greatly relieved to see a small red LED charging light appear on the device.


    Food''s good, I thought, But what I''m really starving for is something to watch.


    The kettle finished boiling and Xandra saw to filling the bowls with the dried noodles, which she poured hot water onto.


    "How do you handle spice?" She said.


    "Not great," I said, "But I''ll manage."


    I had the portable DVD player open. I pressed the power button and the screen blinked to life.


    I thumbed the button to open up the middle of the player. There wasn''t a disc already inside. I took one of the discs from the few I had taken from the carry bag and slipped it into the player.


    The disc spun and whirred within.


    Please work, I thought, being taken a little by surprise by just how badly I wanted to be able to do something as simple as watch a movie.


    The menu for School of the One Thousand Sorrow Fist flickered onto the screen. It showed a snippet from the movie on a loop; expert martial artist Sonney Yen stood surrounded by thirty other fighters in gi clothing. Traditional oriental music played from the tinny speakers. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    "Noodles and a movie, then?" said Xandra.


    "Sure," I said.


    She finished preparing the noodles. I unplugged the player, which was charged enough to last until we were sat in the main hall. We used our coats and jumpers as seats, positioning ourselves against the wall.


    We started eating the noodles (boy were they spicy) and School of the One Thousand Sorrow Fist began to play.


    "So is this any good?" said Xandra.


    "No idea," I said, "Never watched it before."


    I made sure to heighten my hearing again to make sure there wasn''t anything or anyone approaching the clubhouse. It wasn''t a foolproof way to keep us safe and prepared for trouble, but I was finding it difficult to be overly cautious given how mentally drained I was.


    The movie turned out to have a wafer thin plot; in the movie a young warrior''s master is murdered by an arrogant warlord, thus kickstarting a murderous revenge spree. The fights on the other hand were cartoonishly bloody, brutal, and spectacular.


    I had always delighted in the over the top fighting sequences in martial arts movies, so the many bone breaks and burst organs were gorishly delightful. Xandra barely batted an eye to all the violence, though she did gasp and giggle at the right moments, particularly at the more bloody kills nearer the end of the movie.


    The more the movie progressed, the more I wanted to learn how to fight just like the lead actor, Sonny Yen.


    Sure, it was all choreographed, and wires were used to help them make those impossible leaps and bounds; and all manner of special FX were used to make the fighters seem superhuman; but maybe that wouldn''t matter for me. Maybe I would be able to do the things they could only pretend to do?


    "Mind if we take a tea break?" I asked halfway through the movie.


    "Sure," said Xandra.


    We both headed back to the kitchen. Xandra hurried ahead and made sure she was the one making the cups of tea for us both. She flicked on the kettle again and prepared the tea bags and took the milk from the fridge (it came as a pleasant surprise to have tea and milk already provided in the clubhouse, neither of which Xandra had bothered stealing from the petrol station.)


    Whilst the kettle boiled she just leaned against the counter and stared at me again.


    "Yes?" I said.


    "What?" she said.


    "You look like you want to say something," I said.


    Xandra played dumb. She just shrugged.


    "So you don''t want to talk about what happened at the petrol station?" I said.


    Xandra forced a smile.


    "You lost the bet," she said, playfully.


    "Yeah," I said, "So congratulations, I guess."


    "I wanted you to win," said Xandra, "I just knew you wouldn''t. So now you know."


    "Yeah," I said, "Now I know. Next time I''ll just use the power to make myself look older. The woman working behind the counter didn''t ask the older people for a Piper Pass."


    "Gross," said Xandra, "I''m not making myself look older."


    "What?" I said, "Not even old enough not to get carded?"


    Xandra shrugged, "Haven''t you noticed how the changes also change us?" she said, "The more we tap into our power, the more it sort of wants to mess with our heads."


    "So it messes with your head too?" I said.


    The kettle finished boiling. Xandra forced her attention from me and spun around to occupy her attention with making our drinks.


    "Xandra?" I said.


    "Yeah," she said, a bit agitated, "It messes with my head too."


    "How?" I said.


    Xandra placed her hands on the counter top as if to stop herself from screaming. She stiffened and an awkward silence followed. After steeling herself for a moment she turned and faced me.


    "You''ve seen stuff, right?" she said, "Things that shouldn''t be there? Like that baby fox you mentioned?"


    "Yeah," I said, "And something else too."


    "What?" said Xandra.


    I grinned and rubbed the back of my head.


    "Well, I-er, saw a talking. Puppet. Frog," I said, "I saw it in the petrol station. It told me to jump when all the adults were trying to pin me down."


    Xandra nodded. "Okay," she said, "Well, I have a theory about what it is, but I didn''t want to say anything until I was sure you''d seen this kind of thing too."


    "Why?" I said, still grinning, "Don''t want me to think you''re crazy or something?"


    "I''m not crazy," said Xandra, "Don''t ever call me crazy, I mean it."


    "Hey," I said, "I don''t think you''re crazy, so you don''t have to worry about me saying that. What''s your theory?"


    Xandra sighed and played with her hair nervously for a moment, as if wondering whether or not it would be a good idea to share her theory after all.


    "I think it''s a ''you are what you eat'' situation," she said, "You know what I mean?"


    "Like you eat carrots, you can see in the dark type thing?" I said, half-joking.


    "Yeah," said Xandra, "Or, have you ever heard the phrase, ''You stare into the abyss, the abyss stares into you?''"


    I nodded, "Oh yeah, something like that."


    "I''m paraphrasing, obviously," said Xandra.


    "Right," I said.


    "So," said Xandra, "I think that this power sort of¡­reflects back at us what it sees. So you say you saw a baby fox, was there anything that happened to you before that made you have some kind of extra personal connection with baby foxes, or something?"


    "Yeah," I said, quickly, not having to give the question much thought.


    Xandra finished making the teas and handed me over mine as I spoke.


    "When I was escaping from Wedder Gorge I used my power to heighten my scream. I screamed so loud I practically made the Pied Piper¨C"


    "-Peepers-" Xandra interjected.


    "-Pied Peepers, deaf," I said.


    "Well that''s good," said Xandra.


    "Yeah, well," I said, "The thing is, when I did that I knew I had to boost the power enough to get my throat to the point it could scream that loud. I thought about foxes and half transformed into one ¨C like a were-fox ¨C in order to get it done. I kind of regretted doing it to the Peepers after since, you know, I''m not some monster that enjoys making people go deaf."


    "Not even if they deserve it?" said Xandra.


    "Not even if they deserve it," I said.


    "And what about frogs?" said Xandra, "Do you like puppets or something?"


    She sipped her drink. I sipped mine.


    "Nectar," I muttered contentedly under my breath. Xandra giggled.


    "Look," I said, "I think it probably has something to do with the frog rucksack I got from the charity shop. I saw it and I just had this impulse to take it. Maybe that and the fact I knew I needed to jump to get the officers off me created that weird little hallucination. But I blinked and the little puppet frog guy disappeared. I don''t think it was really there."


    "It wasn''t," said Xandra, "But that doesn''t mean you didn''t see something."


    I took another sip of my tea and then said, "So what do you see?"


    Xandra winced a little at the question. She set her cup of tea aside and started hugging herself for comfort.


    "I''ve seen stuff all my life," she said, "At first I thought my drawings could come to life. And not just my drawings, but, like, stickers and pictures and stuff like that too. The images would talk to me."


    Xandra fixed me with a look to see if I was seriously questioning her sanity or not. I made an effort to make it clear that I was sincerely listening.


    "So," she said, "The older I got the more my Mum and Dad thought I just had an active imagination. And then when I kept talking to the drawings in my room they started to think I was, you know, crazy."


    "But I''m not," she said, "I tried to explain to my parents that the drawings were really talking to me. They were my friends. Particularly this little raccoon girl, sort of like Minnie Mouse or Lola Bunny, that I drew over and over again. Her name''s Regina Raccoon and she''s sort of become my best friend."


    "You still talk to¡­her?" I said.


    Xandra nodded, "But I know better now. I figured out she''s not real. That it''s just the power communicating with me."


    "What kind of stuff does it say?" I said.


    Xandra shrugged again and tried for an answer.


    "She used to tell me the things that my parents tried to keep secret. Like how they planned to get a divorce, or how they were heavy into credit card debt. Regina would tell me all sorts of things like that about people; at first I thought she must''ve been able to move on her own, to leave the pages where I had drawn her, but she couldn''t do that; because she was just a drawing, just the power trying to communicate with me; or feeding back what I already knew in a way that made sense to me as a child. I think I was heightening my hearing back then and hearing all the things, and the drawings were just a kind of¡­coping mechanism I guess. Does that make sense?"


    I nodded, "Yeah," I said, sincerely, "I''ve heard of others having powers when they were younger. Someone I knew at the facility said he could use his power to make his hands colder. It was only after coming to the facility that he was able to make the water cold enough that he could prove it wasn''t all in his head."


    "What about you?" said Xandra, "Did you ever do anything with the power when you were growing up?"


    "No way," I said, "I was pretty much useless at anything I tried. I played rugby for two years and couldn''t even score a single try during a real game, not after many nights turning up and being one of about three boys to actually bother training. I didn''t have any idea I might have powers until after the evacuation started."


    "So," I said, "Your parents know about your powers?"


    Xandra looked cross all of a sudden, though not at me.


    "Oh they knew," she said, "At first they were determined to make me think I was just imagining things. And then when I started telling them things they wanted to keep secret they thought I was just being a troublemaker. When I was fifteen they had already tried taking me to therapists and doctors because they wanted to prove that I was crazy. But I''m not crazy. When the Pied Peepers started the evacuation my parents tried to force me to evacuate too. They bought into all the fear mongering on the news; thought I might blow up and kill them, or worse."


    Black streaks from Xandra''s tears mixing with her make-up leaked down her cheeks.


    "They said I had to give myself up for evacuation or leave home. So I left home."


    "Have you talked to them since?" I said.


    "No," she said, "And good riddance. What use is family if they don''t stick up for you? I''m better off on my own."


    She sniffled and saw to drinking the rest of her tea as if she were suddenly very thirsty.


    "So I went on the run for two weeks," she said, "And then I thought, hey, why not stay with my aunt and uncle? They''d always been nice to me. That was a big mistake. I''m not going into that mess."


    "It''s fine," I said, "You don''t have to. Do you want to get back to watching the movie?"


    "Sure," said Xandra.


    She put her empty mug aside and I put mine down next to hers.


    We returned to the main hall and finished watching the rest of the movie.


    As much as my body was able to fend off physical tiredness, the mental tiredness from the last forty-eight hours finally caught up with me. I fell asleep sometime near the end of the movie.

 97. Weakness

    Tiffany Becker stood at the end of the bland white corridor beside Robert Hoffman. Far too close for my liking. Robert rested his head against Tiffany''s chest and she held him gently. Both appreciated how close they were together.


    I watched on feeling both confused and disgusted. I turned my gaze towards the corridor floor and saw something which left me unable to breathe.


    Teenagers in ruined blue overalls, all familiar faces, were dead and bleeding on the ground. Among these teenagers were large were-cat beasts riddled with bullet holes.


    The one nearest me was Holly. Half in her were-cat form, half-human; her big yellow left eye was gazed lifelessly up at me.


    My eyes snapped open.


    "Burgess, what''s wrong?" said Xandra.


    Just a nightmare, I thought.


    Finding my first breath after waking proved difficult. The more I tried, the more the air was trapped inside my chest refusing to come out.


    "It''s okay," she said, "Just breathe."


    I can''t, I thought.


    Then, finally, my lungs relented. I breathed fitfully whilst the horrible dread which had been as thick as the fountains of blood in the nightmare stayed with me even after waking.


    Finally, I let out a sigh.


    It was morning, not quite light outside yet, and Xandra was crouched in front of me with a worried look on her face.


    She held a rugby ball.


    The dread eased just a little.


    I looked around the same rugby clubhouse hall Xandra and I had chosen to stay the night.


    "You fell asleep watching the movie," said Xandra, "I didn''t want to wake you. I slept in the locker room."


    I nodded. As much as the dread was easing off just a little it was replaced by worries about what the day would bring. We were still fugitives on the run, still powered and aimless. What future did we have now that the entire country, perhaps even the whole world, considered us dangerous freaks? How could I return home to my family if this was the state of my life now?


    "So," said Xandra, in a playful tone, "I found this ball and I was thinking we could throw it around. What do you think?"


    "I don''t know," I mumbled, wiping the sleep out of my eyes, "Shouldn''t we get going?"


    "Five minutes won''t hurt, right?" said Xandra.


    I sighed, "Sure," I said, "I guess not."


    It was cold outside on the rugby pitch. A thin layer of mist hung over the grass.


    Xandra jogged onto the pitch and I had to force myself into a jog to keep up.


    Xandra turned about and threw the rugby ball at me. It was a normal throw that was on the lighter side and not particularly precise.


    I caught the ball clumsily, my numb fingers found the stiffness of the ball harsh in the morning chill.


    I threw the ball back. Like Xandra my throw wasn''t anything special and was actually off-target.


    Xandra reached low for it, missed, and had to go jogging over to get it. The rugby ball bounced funny upon landing, making Xandra look like she was chasing a chicken in pursuit of it.


    "What are we doing?" I mumbled, "Shouldn''t we just go back in and leave before somebody turns up?"


    Xandra picked up the rugby ball and seemed to ignore my question.


    "Okay," she said, smiling, "How far do you think you can throw?"


    "With or without powers?" I said.


    "With, obviously," said Xandra.


    I shrugged, "No idea, pretty far, I guess."


    "Okay," said Xandra, "I bet I can catch whatever you throw."


    She threw the ball back at me and this time it had some power behind it. I wasn''t coiled up at all so the ball hit my chest with a hard enough thud to make me grunt a little in pain. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "I''ve had enough bets for a while," I said.


    I forced a smile, making an effort to rise above the dread that hung around like a monkey on my back.


    Coil-up, I thought, asking the power to give me the strength I needed.


    With more finesse than usual my body''s muscles swelled to a larger size, giving me an athlete''s body in an instant.


    Xandra put her hands to her side and then I saw her body also grow in muscle, enough to be noticeable in the black long-sleeved t-shirt (with a cartoon mouse on the chest) and the black denim jeans she wore. It still filled me with a sense of awe to see someone else transforming, even in a small way.


    I threw the ball as hard as I could. It sailed into the air like a missile, becoming a blur. Xandra''s keen eyes locked onto it and she broke into a powerful sprint. Her legs became something of a cartoonish blur as she sprinted after the ball.


    "Woah," I muttered, both at my own throw and Xandra''s speed.


    The ball continued to sail through the cloudy sky.


    "No way she''s going to catch it," I muttered.


    The ball was close to the other end of the pitch. Xandra was a good distance off reaching it. But then she hurled herself forwards, diving and catching the ball. She landed hard on the grass, sliding for a moment before she sprang up again, much muddier for the effort.


    "Good job!" I shouted.


    Xandra threw the ball back, the speed and power of the throw matching mine. All at once I had to increase my vision potential, as well as my reaction time; this didn''t slow down the ball but I was much more aware of its position in the sky in relation to where I was on the ground.


    I broke into a sprint, moving at an incredible speed. Despite all this I had still managed to misjudge my position. I wasn''t going to make the catch.


    I would have to jump.


    It took me a fraction of a second to remember what it had been like to bulk up my legs back in the petrol station, and what it had been like to run and jump at intervals for hours.


    My jeans, which were already ripped a bit at the thighs, were yet again stretched beyond their limit, needing to make room for all of the new muscle.


    I jumped, springing into the air with a power and deftness that left me utterly stunned. I caught the ball and planeted my feet nimbly down onto the mildewy grass.


    "Woo!" Xandra cheered in the distance.


    She sprinted back and made a small jump of her own at the last stretch, landing in front of me. She was beaming with excitement.


    "Great catch!" she said, "Burgess! Sprints like a fox! Jumps like a frog!"


    "How does a fox sprint, exactly?" I said, grinning, twirling the ball around some more.


    "Oh, you know," said Xandra, "Low to the ground, scampering."


    "Ah," I said, playfully, "Scampering, that''s what every guy wants to hear his running form is like."


    Xandra started to giggle.


    "What?" I said.


    She gestured to my legs, "You look like a chicken! Look at those drumsticks!"


    Xandra''s giggle became gut-wrenching laughter to the point she could hardly breathe. At first I shot her an amused, but also an unimpressed look, which only made her laugh even more. Her laughter was infectious enough to make me start laughing too. Very quickly we were both laughing so hard it hurt.


    When we were done laughing I felt a lot better than I had done upon waking.


    We threw around the ball some more; Xandra jumped pretty high to catch my throws, but she was reluctant to give herself the same drumstick legs as me to reach the heights I could.


    To compensate she used her power to make herself taller, giving herself several inches in height, standing taller than my normal self by about two inches.


    I considered making myself taller but there was something about doing it that just didn''t appeal to me; I was wearing clothes that fit just fine so there wasn''t the need to grow into them to compensate like before.


    We quickly lost track of time throwing the ball around. Since we were both coiled up neither of us felt the natural tiredness that would come about from throwing, diving, laughing, sprinting, and jumping.


    We didn''t even care when it started to rain thick and heavy. If anything it made throwing the rugby ball even more fun.


    When it truly started to chuck down rain Xandra, giggling, started to enjoy not throwing the ball to me anymore and keeping it all to herself instead. Naturally, I chased her to get it. She sprinted this way and that, deftly staying one step ahead of my lunges to grab her. Caked in mud and laughing, she led a merry chase around the pitch. Several times we both slipped, getting even muddier, forcing us to wipe huge wads of mud from our faces.


    Xandra kicked the ball ahead of her; it bounced perfectly in such a way to come straight into her arms.


    She didn''t have me in her sights this time so I jumped with all the power in my legs I could manage.


    She turned, looking for me.


    It was only when she looked up that she saw me leaping overhead. She must have been so impressed by the sudden athletic display that she hardly put up a fight when I snatched the rugby ball from her grip.


    More rain bucketed down on us. It didn''t matter how cold or wet it was because I never had as much fun playing sports.


    Xandra swiped for the ball but I held onto it tightly. We wrestled, our powerful hands and arms yanking the ball backwards and forwards in a superhuman tug of war.


    We both screamed in unison, losing our footing, and we fell over onto the grass. The ball, under the pressure of our grips, exploded.


    We fell onto our sides, splashing up yet more rainwater and mud.


    Xandra''s large eyes met mine and it was then I felt a very strange sensation in my chest. Sort of like a weakness.


    We both came to our senses a moment later, getting up and paying particular attention to our own muddiness.


    "I better take a shower," I said over the sound of the rain.


    "Sure," said Xandra, "You go first."


    I didn''t need telling twice. I ran back towards the clubhouse. The unease in my chest wasn''t going away.


    Great, I thought, one more thing to worry about.

 98. Training Montage - Glass Bottles

    The comforting heat from the shower water against the back of my head brought me back to reality. I sputtered from the water trying to get into my mouth and kept my hands against the smooth wall ahead of me.


    Shouldn''t take too long, I thought, Xandra''ll want to take her turn after me. We need to get going soon.


    I finished showering only to realise I didn''t have a towel to dry myself off. Instead I decided to bulb-up all over just enough to turn the water all over my body to steam, briefly turning the locker room into a sauna.


    With the exception of my hair, which was still a little damp, I was dry. I changed into a simple baggy blue t-shirt, put on boxer briefs and socks, and then slipped on a pair of gray sweatpants.


    The remains of my muddy clothes lay strewn in a heap on the tiled floor. A tinge of guilt struck me for making a mess, but another part of me couldn''t muster the effort to care.


    I''ll need to give these a wash, or maybe just abandon them, I thought.


    I decided to check the pockets and was glad I did. Inside the right pocket of the mud-lathered denim jeans was the one hundred pound note, and the cheap phone Donald had gone to the trouble of buying for me.


    I turned the phone on and was relieved to see it was still working just fine. The screen came to life and showed two numbers; the first belonged to Donald. The second was the number for my brother''s workplace. The clock on the wall in the locker room told me it was nine in the morning.


    My brother would be at work.


    My thumb hovered over the call button.


    Just do it, I thought, call Gary and let him know you''re okay. Then Mum and Dad and Susan will know you''re alive at least.


    I pocketed the phone and stepped around the muddy heap of clothes on the floor on the way out. If I did decide to take those clothes and wash them they were going to be a problem for me in the near future.


    Xandra was sitting still caked in mud and dripping wet on a bench in the corridor outside the locker room. By her feet was a smaller bag filled with a towel and a change of clothes.


    "Sorry for the wait," I said.


    "Oh don''t worry," said Xandra, playfully, "I''ve heard mud is just great for skin."


    Though what she said was kind of funny I had to force myself to laugh a little. Xandra lingered for a moment, picked up her bag, and then walked with wet steps off into the locker room.


    I was aware enough of the troubles tugging at my mind to start counting them.


    One, whether or not I should call my brother.


    Two, the possibility that Xandra and I were starting to have feelings for each other.


    Three, that I was pretty darn hungry.


    Four, that the clubhouse would likely not be safe to stay for much longer given the owners could come to check on it at any moment.


    There were still more problems to worry about, like whether going to the underground bunker Xandra planned on us going to next was a good idea or not. She had made mention of it a few times but I had been either running or too lost in my own thoughts to pay much attention.


    All of the problems vying to be given priority in my mind caused a maelstrom that made me not want to think about any of them. Instead of attempting to think through any of the problems I simply walked into the main hall and sat down and opened up the portable DVD player.


    It had been charging all night. Since I opened it the screen blinked on and the disc inside the player whirred to life; School of the One Thousand Sorrow Fist''s menu appeared on the screen.


    Some things never change, I thought.


    Even way back on the night I was evacuated I had been watching TV as a way to escape from the troubles playing on my mind. At that time I had decided to let myself be evacuated rather than go on the run with my friend. I had been so stressed after making that decision that I spent two weeks straight watching all of my favourite movies as a way of coping.


    And here I was, just over a month later, using a portable TV player to cope with the stress again.


    At least this time I could lie to myself about why.


    Although the hunger in my stomach was gnawing something fierce, the urge to escape from all my concerns prompted me to skip through the movie to the first training scene in the film.


    In the scene Sonny Yen''s character, at the time just a student learning the basics of The Sorrow Fist Way, was told to practice the various movements needed to achieve greater control of his body. The gimmick of the scene was for Sonny to balance upon a rack of empty bottles, with the drinking end of the bottles against the soles of his bare feet.


    What followed was a pretty awesome montage of Sonny Yen''s master taking a bottle away every day until just one bottle remained for each foot.


    Then, finally, the next bottle was removed so that there was just the one left.


    It wasn''t just that Sonny could balance for hours on a single bottle by the end of the montage that was the trick. It was that he could do so whilst dodging apples and other miscellaneous items thrown at him by children told by the Master to throw them.


    By the end of the montage Sonny could not only balance on the single, fragile bottle, but he could do so whilst moving his body with perfect control to avoid the objects thrown at him.


    All during scorching hot weather.


    Well, I thought, Why not give it a try too?


    I walked into the kitchen and checked the cupboards for possible bottles to use. There was an absence of bottles but there were a large number of drinking mugs. I almost took them but stopped myself because, though Xandra and I had already broken in and made a large amount of mess, putting my feet all over the mugs belonging to the owners of the clubhouse was a step too far.


    After rummaging around some more I found a better option; several empty glass jars. I scooped up several of the jars and took them into the main hall. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    I lined all six jars on the floor, making sure to take off the lids too. I then took the small remote which came with the portable DVD player and, after taking off my socks, I stood atop the jars.


    In any normal circumstance this was a really, really stupid thing to do for many reasons. What if I fell over and cracked my head open? What if my bare feet broke the jar underfoot and the glass cut deeply into the skin?


    Whatever, I thought, I''ll heal myself if it happens.


    I pressed play on the remote and fixed my attention to the portable DVD player screen. The montage started again. Sonny Yen started shakily standing atop the bottles and made his first attempts at the dance-like movements instructed by his Master.


    I let the montage play through all the way, which took about two minutes, all the while feeling the jars biting into the soles of my feet, though holding steady.


    I didn''t feel like I had learned how to do what Sonny Yen could do by the end of the two minutes. But that was to be expected because I hadn''t asked the power inside me to start retaining the information.


    I thumbed the backwards button on the remote which, conveniently enough, started at the beginning of the montage.


    My heart started to thumb heavily in my chest from the surge of excitement.


    I closed my eyes and searched inside myself to find the ''light node'', that fragment of the power, which would be able to retain the information specific to learning martial arts from a cheesy kung fu movie from the late Seventies.


    After several moments, like when I had tapped into the power to learn all of the medical knowledge from Donald''s textbooks, or further back when I had achieved the emerald unlocking of my eyes at the Wedder Gorge facility, I knew that the power inside of me was ready to retain the information I wanted it to.


    I opened my eyes and watched the montage play out again.


    The experience this time was vastly different to the first time round watching the montage without using the power. This time round all of my concerns fell away until all that remained was a stoic calm and a hyper focus.


    There wasn''t a single thing in the world that mattered other than what I was watching on the portable DVD player. My world became my attempts to copy what I was seeing in The School of the One Thousand Sorrow Fist montage.


    I was aware in the beginning the way my body mimicked what was being done on screen. I lagged behind Sonny Yen''s movements, like a robot jerkily gaining control of its own limbs for the first time.


    A rhythm was quickly established. The montage played out and my body copied the movements shown in segments; particularly when Sonny Yen perfected what he was supposed to learn by the end of the montage.


    Gradually time began to get away from me until my world became the movie.


    As if in a dream I was no longer standing in the main hall of the Shepperton Rugby Clubhouse.


    Far from it.


    I was standing atop several glass bottles somewhere in ancient China on a scorching hot day.


    Was I still me? I looked down and saw that, yes, I was still me and not Sonny Yen.


    Were I not in the throes of using the power perhaps I might have been far more surprised by the whole experience. I could feel the humidity in the air; and could feel the ache in my legs and the bone-aching soreness in my feet; my own sweat rose off me in a stench that told me I had been trying to stand and do all of my Master''s instructed movements for several days in a row.


    Fwop!


    An apple hit my head and exploded into pieces.


    Children were all about me holding slightly rotted apples and all sorts of other off fruits and vegetables (one particularly annoying brat was about to throw a crowbar at me); there was a moment of silence and then the kids started throwing the fruit and veggies and, yes, the crowbar, right at me.


    By this time however I had been practicing retaining my balance and all the movements my Master had shown me for several days and nights.


    Fwoop! Schwa! Swap!


    I nimbly dodged a good number of the items thrown my way, and kicked and blocked with my fists several more.


    Then the crowbar smacked me in the head.


    It hurt as much as a block of steel thrown at full force by an eight year old Chinese boy would.


    I fell back, losing my footing.


    And hit the ground hard. Instead of grass however I hit the cold hard and slightly wet wood of the clubhouse main hall.


    What''s more, Xandra was looking down at me with panic on her face.


    "Burgess?!" she shouted, "Are you okay?"


    For a brief moment her face changed to become the love interest of the movie; a beautiful young Chinese woman who was the granddaughter of Sonny Yen''s Master.


    Stop the fragment, I told myself.


    I willed the power to stop trying to soak up all the information and, in the blink of an eye, the main hall and Xandra were the only reality that remained persistent around me.


    Xandra helped me to my feet.


    She was dressed in new clothes (a pink shirt with an anime character on the front and a longer white-sleeved shirt beneath, as well as a pair of baggy blue denim jeans). Her hair was still wet and she wasn''t wearing any make-up.


    "What was that?" she said.


    I stepped away and looked down at the empty glass jars which had broken durng my fall and scattered across the floor.


    "I was learning kung fu from the movie," I said, "I swear it was like I was there."


    Xandra''s already large eyes widened.


    "In the movie?" she said, "For real?"


    I told Xandra more about the experience over breakfast. She made more noodles, but also added in fried eggs over the top as well. She was happy to handle making breakfast so long as I told her every tiny detail of what I had just experienced.


    I avoided telling her that she had looked like Sonny Yen''s love interest for a few moments before I told the power to stop working. I was glad we weren''t both acting weird around each other after what happened on the rugby pitch.


    Maybe I had just imagined that moment, I thought to myself.


    I was a little worried that Xandra was going to be angry with me for trying to learn kung fu, or for losing myself in the experience to the point I was full on hallucinating being in the movie. Instead, the idea seemed to be of real interest to her.


    "Cool!" she said, "It was like your mind made you think you were there as a kind of, like, buffer."


    "Buffer?" I said.


    "Yeah," said Xandra, "A normal human brain can''t learn kung fu super fast. But the power can. So maybe it was a way for your brain to comprehend all of the information you were retaining?"


    "Maybe," I mumbled.


    After breakfast we packed away our things. Xandra had taken cleaning supplies from the clubhouse and the petrol station, so she was adamant that we take our muddy clothes with us to wash later. We took separate bags found in one of the cupboards to carry our muddy clothes.


    We both decided not to bother cleaning up after ourselves. I reflected for a brief moment that I simply didn''t care about cleaning up, and how that wasn''t a good thing; but it wasn''t as if there was an authority figure around to reprimand us for not doing so. I felt a tinge of guilt but not enough to do anything about it.


    Another day of cloudy skies and the threat of rain presented itself to us as soon as we stepped out of the clubhouse front door.


    "So," said Xandra, carrying all her bags as well as the rucksack on her back, "To the bunker?"


    "Sure," I said, carrying my own carry bag, the smaller plastic bag filled with my muddy clothes, as well as my own rucksack on my back.


    Xandra shot me a questioning look and then set off across the gravelly path towards the nearby forestation. She made it several paces before noticing I hadn''t moved at all.


    "Burgess?" she said.


    "Hold on," I said.


    I put my bags down and dug into my right pocket, retrieving my phone.


    "I need to make a phone call," I said.


    Xandra nodded.


    "Don''t take too long," she said.


    I nodded and then hurried back into the clubhouse to make the call. I sat on the nearby bench, being careful to avoid the muddy spot where Xandra had sat before.


    The call rang on the other end several times. Each successive ring made me want to hang up and forget the whole thing.


    Why are you so nervous? I thought, It''s just your brother.


    After several long rings someone on the other end picked up.

 99. Tuna and Elephants

    The call with my brother had been brief.


    At first the call was picked up by a Polish girl who sounded as if answering the phone was a great chore.


    "Yes, who this?" she had said.


    "Hi," I said, forcing the word out, "Is this Rarity? The perfume store?"


    "Yes, what is it you want?" said the girl.


    "I''m calling to speak with Gary O''Bannon, is he working today?"


    "Yes, he is out front at moment. You want me to get?"


    "Yes, please, thank you."


    After a delay there came a scratching sound on the other end of the line.


    "Hello?" said a very familiar voice.


    "Gary! It''s me!" I had said, "How are you?"


    There was silence on the other end of the line. Then, in a cautious voice my brother had said, "Burgess? Where are you?"


    "I''m safe," I had said, avoiding the question a little, "I''m not at the facility anymore."


    "What?" Gary spat, "Why?"


    There was something accusing about his tone that didn''t sit right with me. But this was my brother after all. We''d always been like oil and water, or two opposing magnet ends.


    "It wasn''t a good place," I had said, "I had to leave."


    "They let you go?" said Gary.


    "No," I had said, "I escaped."


    "You ran off?!" Gary had snapped, "What are you playing at?"


    "Gary," I had said, "I''m calling to let you know I''m okay."


    After another long pause where I thought Gary might have hung up, he then said, "Okay, I can''t talk at work. I''ve got your number. I''ll call you back when I''ve finished work, okay?"


    "Okay," I had said, "Could you give me Mum''s number so I can tell her I''m okay?"


    "We can worry about that later," said Gary, "Just stay by your phone and be ready for a call later. I''ve got to go."


    And just like that Gary had hung up.


    Since then Xandra and I had left the Shepperton Rugby Clubhouse and headed off towards the old underground World War II bunker she knew as the next abandoned spot we could stay for a while. It didn''t help matters that it rained something fierce as soon as we set off, and hadn''t stopped at all despite us both running and stopping at intervals over the course of three hours.


    The rain made it much harder to use our senses to avoid trouble ahead of time. The abundance of houses and small towns in our way proved another obstacle; since we had to avoid main roads and had to jump over fences and hurry down alleys, on top of the usual forests and farms.


    The only upside was how difficult it would be for anyone to see us given how utterly unpleasant it was to be outside.


    After the third hour of the rain not relenting in the slightest we both agreed to stop for the day.


    The best shelter we could find under the bleak circumstances was an abandoned tractor which had long since been deprived of its wheels.


    Xandra handed over her carry bags and then climbed up the side of the tractor. After a hard yank from Xandra the rusted door opened for what was likely the first time in a very long time.


    "Quick pass ''em up," said Xandra, looking like a soaked cat as she reached down to take the carry bags from me. Once she had all of our bags stuffed behind the tractor''s driving seat it was my turn to climb inside.


    Crank!


    With the door closed Xandra and I were forced to share a seat inside the tractor.


    We both shivered against the cold.


    "M-mind if I w-warm the inside u-up?" I stuttered.


    "You don''t h-have to a-ask," Xandra stuttered back.


    I bulbed up as gently as I could manage and turned the water all over me to vapor.


    The water which drenched my clothes and coat started to steam up too. The thick dark clouds and the pummeling rain beyond the tractor window was quickly covered up with steam.


    Without meaning to, I had made the already dark interior of the track that much more so. I bulbed up my right hand to create some more warmth and light for the both of us.


    Xandra followed my lead, bulbing up too, adding yet more steam to the windows. For a good few moments we couldn''t even see each other.


    Soon after the steam settled and we were both relieved to be out of the rain and someplace somewhat warm.


    "I really hate this," said Xandra, "I wish I was home."


    I nodded in agreement.


    We both sat in silence for a while longer.


    "You''re not going to ask me how the call went?" I said.


    Xandra looked at me from the corner of her eyes and smiled.


    "I already know," she said.


    She pointed to her ear. "I snooped," she said.


    "Really?" I said.


    "Sorry," she said, "You can never be too careful."


    "You don''t trust me?" I said.


    "I trust you enough," she said, "But we can''t afford to trust people anymore. That''s how you get caught."


    "That''s a very positive outlook," I mumbled, "Very positive."


    A flash outside the window lit up the field around us for an instant.


    "One elephant," said Xandra, counting, "Two elephant, three elephant, four-"


    At four a sudden thunderous boom filled the sky. We both flinched and smiled nervously.


    "Maybe sitting in a metal tractor''s not the best idea," I mumbled.


    "You want to get out?" said Xandra, giggling, "You first."


    "Nah," I said, "I''ll take my chances."


    "You should throw away your phone," said Xandra. She sounded as if she had been wanting to say this for a while and had only just found the nerve to say it.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Instead of giving an immediate response I considered why she might think it to be a good idea.


    "So," I said, "You think my brother will call the Pied Peepers or something?"


    "He might," said Xandra.


    "He''s a bit of a git," I said, "But he''s not that much of a git."


    Xandra sniffled and wiped some remaining water droplets from the end of her nose. She fixed me with another look and said, "So, he''s never betrayed you before?"


    I considered the question.


    "I mean, there was one time he took my debit card and took twenty pounds out of my bank account," I said, "Only reason I caught him was because it showed up on my bank statement."


    Xandra''s eyes widened a little. Given how big they already were, that was saying something.


    She really did have nice eyes. In a way it was hard to tell what it was she was thinking at any given moment, and that must have been something I liked about her.


    "You know," said Xandra, "It would be nice if you were just a little bit more considerate of me as well."


    "What do you mean?" I said.


    "I mean," said Xandra, shifting uneasily as she spoke, "If we''re in this together then you taking risks like this affects me too. Just because he''s your family doesn''t mean you should automatically trust him."


    Maybe it''s none of your business, I thought, bitterly. But I held my tongue.


    I remembered Xandra saying something about her Aunt and Uncle, and how she had made a mistake there.


    Another flash of lightning filled the sky.


    "One elephant," I said.


    "Two elephants," said Xandra.


    "Three elephants," we said together.


    "Four¨C"


    Again, at four, the boom of the thunder followed. We both took a nervous delight in the sound.


    I looked out the window and pretended to care about the spiderweb crack in the tractor window glass.


    "So," I said, "You''ve been betrayed by your family?"


    Xandra shook her head and let out a theatrical sigh.


    "Ooh," she groaned, running her fingers through her wet hair, "You''re really not subtle."


    I smiled and winced, feeling caught out.


    "Yeah," I said, "Guess not."


    Xandra brought her shoes up onto the seat and sat with her back against the door on her side. After a look from her I felt obliged to do the same, mirroring the way she was sitting on my side.


    "If you really want to know I''ll tell you," she said, "But only so I can manipulate you into doing what I want, okay?"


    "Manipulate me?" I said, incredulously.


    "Yeah," she said, "I think it''d be smarter to throw your phone away, and my, what''s the word for it; my, you know, my backstory, will illustrate my point."


    "Illustrate, right, right," I said, "Like drawing, because that''s your thing."


    Xandra looked at me with half-lidded eyes and hugged herself for warmth.


    "Okay, sorry," I mumbled, "Over to you."


    Xandra nodded.


    "So," she said, "I was on the run for two weeks. I was doing pretty good but I got sick of this sort of thing."


    She gestured around the shabby confines of the tractor. The cobweb attached to the review mirror helped her point.


    "I decided to visit my Aunt and Uncle. They were always nice to me and I figured they would at least be okay with me staying in a guest room. I visited them like twice a year with my parents and I got on really well with my cousin, Ally."


    I wiped off some stray water droplets that had streaked down from my wet fox hat and hair and continued to listen attentively.


    "There''s not much to it," said Xandra, "I turned up at their house and asked if I could stay. They were really nice about it and said, ''sure, no problem, come on in''."


    "I told them about how my parents wanted me to get evacuated and my Aunt and Uncle agreed that it wasn''t a good idea. It was a huge relief because they were willing to have me stay in their guest room. They said I could stay as long as I needed and they weren''t going to tell my parents I was with them."


    "Did they go back on that?" I said.


    "No," said Xandra, "They were cool about the whole thing. It was little Ally that caused the problem."


    "Ally''s only twelve but she''s smart for her age. She does well in school. She''s kind of a little genius actually. And she knows it."


    Xandra squirmed in her seat a bit at the recollection of what happened.


    "The whole time I stayed with them I did my best not to do anything weird. You know, with the powers. I stopped talking to Regina because then they would think I was crazy too, But they could tell something was weird about me ¨C obviously."


    "Obviously?" I said, a tad confused.


    Xandra pointed to her eyes.


    "Oh," I said, "They weren''t always so¡­expressive?"


    Xandra shook her head.


    "Nope," she said, "In fact they got bigger whilst I was staying with them. It really freaked them out. Freaked me out too, though I think they''re kind of awesome."


    "They''re¡­" I began.


    I didn''t know what to say next however. Cool? Uncanny? Weird? Pretty?


    "Unique," I said.


    Xandra gave my knee a tap with her shoe, "Thanks," she said, in a small voice.


    Phew, I thought, that was a close one.


    "I don''t really know how to describe what I was feeling at the time," said Xandra, "Other than I could feel the power, whatever it really is, growing inside me."


    "Wait," I said, "Were you doing something to make it grow?"


    Xandra shook her head.


    "No," she said, "That''s the thing. I wasn''t using my powers at all. I had gotten used to using them for the first two weeks I was on the run, but I stopped as soon as my Aunt and Uncle let me stay with them. Maybe just using the power had sort of kickstarted it growing inside me, or maybe not. It''s not as if it comes with an instruction manual."


    "That would be useful," I said, "Maybe a bit boring though."


    "I had this theory, by the way, not to interrupt your story," I said, "But I had this theory that it was the Peepers bringing us all to the facility that had made our powers grow so fast. I really don''t think they planned for us to grow into our powers as fast as we did. If anything I think their plan to control us was supposed to last years. So I don''t get how your power was growing without you being around anyone else."


    Xandra shrugged, "Maybe it''s got nothing to do with being around others. Maybe it just grows on its own."


    "Equally though?" I said.


    I reminded Xandra about how the Peepers had carried out an experiment that showed several of the teenagers at the facility bulbing up at the same time. At their maximum heat they had managed to be exactly equal in their output.


    "Why would that be?" I said.


    "Maybe the power grows at the same rate in everyone," said Xandra.


    "Sorry," I said, "What happened with your family?"


    Xandra searched her lap for where to go next with her explanation.


    "I got bored," said Xandra, "Actually, if you want to know, I started talking to Regina again."


    "I wanted to see what I could do with the power because, like, who wouldn''t? It''s just like in an anime. What loser wouldn''t try and experiment with their powers a bit?"


    "True," I said.


    I made myself remember back to when I had first coiled up at the Wedder Gorge facility, taking a touch of pride in the fact I had been one of the first (that I knew of at least) to figure out how to do it.


    "I got really good at doing gymnastics," said Xandra, "All indoors though. One time when I was doing handstands on top of a high-backed chair Ally walked into my room and caught me doing it."


    "Oh," I said, "Did she freak out?"


    "Nope," said Xandra, "She loved it. She wanted to see more. I was feeling pretty good about what I could do. I wanted to share the excitement with someone. So for a few days I tried different things out with the power and Ally loved watching me get better. You know, stuff like changing my hair, growing out my nails, making myself a bit taller or shorter. Between Ally and Regina cheering me on I just got caught up in it."


    "So," said Xandra, "One evening Ally comes up to me and she asks me to share my power with her."


    I narrowed my eyes, "She said what?"


    "Yeah," said Xandra, "She wanted to do what I could do. Like, really badly. Obviously I told her I didn''t even know if I could share the power with her. But I also didn''t want to try. Giving this kind of power to anyone, let alone a twelve year old, especially a precocious twelve year old, sounded like a really bad idea."


    "Ah," I said, "So she didn''t take you saying no too well?"


    Xandra chewed her lip, wincing at the memory.


    "Yeah," she said, "The thing is, after enough times of her asking I gave in. I thought, what the heck. If she really wants the power that bad then I''ll see if I can give her a bit of it. So I held her hand and tried to imagine some of the power in me pouring into her."


    "Oh no," I said, "Did she explode?"


    "No," said Xandra, giving me a playful kick, "Nothing happened."


    "Oh," I said, "Well, that''s a relief."


    "Yeah," said Xandra, "But Ally freaked. She thought I wasn''t trying to give her the power. She was convinced I could do it but wasn''t, or I wasn''t trying hard enough. So she tried blackmailing me."


    "No," I said, shocked.


    "Yep," said Xandra, "She said she would call the Peepers and tell them where I was if I didn''t share my power with her. What could I do? No amount of trying to talk her down worked."


    "So she called them?" I said, in a whisper, as if listening to the end of a scary ghost story.


    "Well," said Xandra, "I didn''t know what else to do so I turned to my Aunt and Uncle for help. I told them what Ally was threatening to do. They seemed understanding, at first."


    The silence that hung in the air said there was a but to all this.


    "But," said Xandra, finally, "Her parents agreed with her. After thinking about it, and arguing about it, they decided that they wanted their daughter to have powers. She was already such a smart girl that her future could only be made better by her having powers too. So, they gave me an ultimatum. Give Ally powers or go."


    "Did you try again?" I said.


    "No," said Xandra, "By that point I''d had enough. Why the heck would I try and negotiate with people trying to force me to do something like that? They''re supposed to be¨C"


    Xandra became choked up with tears. She didn''t finish her story. Instead she hugged herself for more warmth.


    Another flash filled the sky and three elephants later the sound of thunder followed.


    "That''s awful," I said, "I''m sorry you had to put up with that from your family."


    Xandra nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. She hadn''t yet reapplied her make-up so there weren''t any mascara stains at least.


    "So believe me, B," she said, "You''re better off throwing away your phone. You can get in touch with them again later. At least now they know you''re alive."


    "What about their numbers?" I said.


    "Just write them down, or memorise them," said Xandra, "You memorised a bunch of medical knowledge. I''m sure you can remember two phone numbers."


    "Yeah," I said, "Good point."


    "So," said Xandra, "Are you going to do things my way this time?"


    I took my phone out of my pocket.


    Was I going to do things her way? The last time I did things my way, things had gone pretty badly. I squeezed the phone, feeling the plastic crack just a little under my grip.

 100 - Tuna and Elephants II

    As if thousands of hands were drumming against the tractor the rain outside was unrelenting. I could hardly hear it because all I could think about was the phone in my grip.


    Stupid, I thought, even a phone like this would give away your location to the Pied Pipers.


    I gazed over to Xandra who was chewing her thumb nail. I fixed my attention to my phone again.


    "What are you thinking?" Xandra mumbled.


    "If I get rid of this phone I won''t be able to get in contact with my family until we get another phone, or find a payphone," I said, "So it''s not the end of the world. But, I don''t know, it doesn''t feel good throwing the phone away knowing my brother is going to try and call me back later."


    Xandra didn''t try to argue her point any further. Maybe she could tell she no longer needed to. Or maybe she wanted to see what I would do without her having to press me into a decision.


    Before I could second guess myself I coiled up my right arm, bringing the muscle and firming up the sinew and bone in my hands; then, with a sudden squeeze, I broke the cheap phone into pieces. That likely wasn''t going to be enough so I bulbed up my hand next and held the crumbled remains until the interior of the tractor was filled with an acrid burning smell, on top of the musty stench of old leather, dust, mud, and cobwebs.


    Xandra and I coughed a little and I opened the tractor door and threw the black charred fragments of the phone onto the wet field beyond. My arm had only been exposed to the rain outside for a few moments and was already soaked. I yanked the tractor door shut.


    Xandra tapped my knee with her shoe.


    "You okay?" she said, softly.


    I sighed, "Yeah," I said, "It was the right thing to do. For a moment there I didn''t think I had the guts to do it."


    "Yeah," said Xandra, "Me too."


    For a while we both sat quietly enjoying the sound of the rain and the sense of isolation it provided. As cold as it was outside, Xandra and I were able to stay nice and warm thanks to one of us at intervals bulbing up.


    Xandra stretched her legs out, popping some joints in her knees and feet. I stretched too, doing the same. Very quickly we both started to pop every joint we could manage in a sudden ''pop-off'', seeing who could pop their joints the most.


    Xandra won. She was in a much better mood, no doubt, because I had followed her advice about breaking the phone.


    "Hungry?" said Xandra.


    "Always," I said.


    Xandra giggled and started rifling through her carry bag. She retrieved two small tins of spicy-flavoured tuna.


    "It''s got lots of protein," she said, handing me mine.


    "Protein, smo-tien," I said, "All I care about is if it tastes good."


    We both rifled through our respective bags for our forks. When we both had ours we peeled open our tins and dug in. The tuna was spicy, but just as an extra kick of flavour, far from something I couldn''t handle.


    "Cheers," I said, holding my tin out.


    "Cheers," said Xandra, happily.


    We tapped our tins together and continued eating.


    "Can I ask you something?" said Xandra.


    "Sure," I said.


    "If none of this crazy Pied Peeper stuff ever happened," said Xandra, "If you never got powers, what would you want to do with your life?"


    Like a robot that''s run out of battery charge I slowed my chewing to a stop. I stared at my right knee that was against Xandra''s.


    "Well," I said, "I guess I''ve always wanted to do something creative. Like acting, or writing, maybe even producing movies. But I guess I never decided exactly what I wanted to do. I''ve always been waiting to be good enough at something that it would seem obvious what I should do. But I was in the special classes growing up. I''ve always felt like I''ve been behind everybody else when it comes to the milestone things in life."Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    "Is that a good enough answer?" I said, forcing a smile.


    Xandra shrugged and smiled a little.


    "School''s a waste of time anyway," said Xandra, "All they want to do is brainwash you into being a normie."


    I dug out another chunk of tuna from the tin, being careful not to make annoying scraping sounds whilst I did.


    "What about you?" I said.


    "Me?" said Xandra, though I could tell she had anticipated the same question being thrown back at her.


    "Oh," she said, "I was thinking about moving to Japan. I want to learn Japanese, maybe work as an English teacher over there. Then, who knows, maybe get a job at some cool company out there. It just seems like a really cool place to be."


    "Have you ever been?" I said.


    "I wish," said Xandra, "But since those kinds of dreams are dead now, I guess I''ll just have to figure out some other way to get there."


    "Well," I said, "You''ll be able to get there eventually. Sooner or later our powers are going to get to a point where we won''t have to hide like this."


    "Do you think?" said Xandra.


    I nodded. In fact I had given the future a lot of thought whilst running. Whilst time had stretched it did allow for a certain degree of navel-gazing thought to occur; though it did require an extra mental effort to stop my brain from going into complete auto-pilot mode.


    "I don''t want a repeat of what happened at the petrol station," I said, "Next time, if I''m going into a situation like that, I''m just going to change my appearance enough not to cause a scene. I know you said you think it''s gross to make ourselves look older, but I can put up with the grossness if it means staying out of trouble."


    Xandra shivered.


    "It''s just," she said, "What if we make ourselves older but we can''t reverse it? What if we lose years of our lives?"


    "Or," I said, "Maybe we''re already immortal, in a sense."


    Xandra cocked her head to one side.


    "You think?" she said.


    "Well," I said, "The human body ages because it wears out. Our cells degrade over time and can''t keep up repairing the damage well enough. The older we get, the worse our bodies get at stopping the decay. So, in a sense, if we can already heal ourselves, who is to say we''re even going to grow old anymore?"


    Xandra''s large eyes widened into even larger whites.


    "Wow," she said, "I hadn''t thought of it that way. So it won''t matter so much if we make ourselves look older, since it''s not like we''re going to grow old anyway."


    "Maybe," I said, "It''s just a theory. For all I know maybe there''s a ''base'' level to our powers. Like we''ll just age naturally. Like, imagine we''re both eighty years old but we can tap into the power to make ourselves young again, but at some point, if we ever decide to revert back to our ''true'' selves, then we''d eventually die of old age."


    Xandra''s enthusiasm lessened. "Ah," she mumbled, "Yeah, that could be the case too."


    "Or," she said, "Whose to say we even need to stay human?"


    "I''ve seen what happens when people use the power to become monsters. It''s not nice," I said.


    "That was then," said Xandra, "But maybe there''s a way to make the power change us so that we don''t lose our minds. Maybe that''s what this power is all about. Becoming something ¨C like ¨C more."


    "Just be careful," I said.


    Xandra winked at me and smiled. I felt that weakness inside my chest again and decided to fix my attention on the last chunk of tuna in the tin. Even this small amount of food seemed to rejuvenate my body.


    We let our tuna tins drop to the tractor floor, since the whole thing was a big hunk of junk anyway. A part of me felt bad about the pair of us leaving a trail of debris wherever we went, but another part of me kind of liked being a little rebellious. Another, even smaller part of me resented being on the run in the first place, so what did I care about something as trivial as littering? Even so, leaving the used tuna tins on the tractor floor played on my mind a lot more than it perhaps should have. I was tempted, more than once, to pick them up and take them with us to put in a proper bin somewhere, but I managed to ignore the impulse.


    A half hour later it was pitch black outside and the rain had slowed to a pitter patter. We decided it was probably the best we were going to get and that we had stayed in the tractor for too long already. We grabbed out things and climbed down from the tractor. It felt good to breathe in the fresh field air.


    Without saying a word Xandra led the way from the tractor across the field. I kept pace. Soon we would coil up and break into sprints, but first it was nice just to stretch our legs the old fashioned way.


    When we cleared the field where the tractor had been we spotted a motorway off in the distance. The headlights of many cars headed in both directions, left and right, made me feel a simple kind of joy as if I were looking at Christmas lights. There was also a bridge which went over the motorway, which I assumed we would both soon be walking over.


    "You know," said Xandra, still looking straight ahead whilst holding her carry bags, with her hood up, and with her rucksack on.


    "What?" I said, breathing a little heavy from carrying my own bags, knowing I would soon need to coil up to compensate for all the effort of moving briskly and carrying all the extra weight.


    "I was thinking," said Xandra, "We should try pushing ourselves more. Experiment with our powers, you know? Like you with your martial arts movies?"


    "Oh yeah?" I said, "Why''d you say that?"


    "Because," said Xandra, "The next time I see the Peepers, I want to make them regret messing with us. We can''t avoid them forever."


    "We can try," I said, "But I know what you mean."


    "So," said Xandra, "If you''re up for it, how about we see how fast we can really run?"


    She shot me a challenging look and smiled mischievously. Something told me she was going to break into a sprint whether I agreed to push my body to run faster than ever before or not.