THE WHITE LINE FEVER

A NOVEL BY VANE VANDER

SECOND EDITION

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1

TUESDAY, DAY 1

“Clear!”

Anders’ return to consciousness wasn’t at all like the blaze-filled barbecue that he’d been indoctrinated as a child to anticipate after death. Half-expecting the religious stories of old to be true, the electricity slipping among his veins sure burned like the flames that he had been promised.

But if this was hell, then where was Satan? Where were the demons?

“Giles, you buffoon! Can you be a bit quicker with the tools, please?” yelled a voice to his right.

Through Anders’ blurred vision, moving at the same speed around him as molasses, he could figure the shape of a middle-aged man whose name he couldn’t remember and a colorful eggshell mural of a person he assumed to be Giles.

“Are you sure that you put the IV in correctly?” the second man barked. “Anders shouldn’t be so unresponsive at this stage.”

“Maybe it would be best if he weren’t awake for this, Jacob.”

A sharp tug seared on Anders’ forearm, forcing him to wince. The faint taste of blood filtered onto his tongue.

Was my bottom lip supposed to be this split?

“Oh, joy, so you are awake.” A tickle as Giles fiddled with his IV tube. “Welcome to hell, Anders.”

Turning his head to the side, Anders mustered up what little strength he had left and spat out the dark red blood in his mouth onto the floor. His body had been scrubbed clean and was left completely naked for everyone in the room to gaze upon. A bundle of tubes sprouted from the hole in his chest.

“Dammit, Jacob! Who told you to revive me?” Anders yelled, all in a single breath, his lungs heaving.

Jacob shrugged his shoulders, wheeling in a large bulky contraption. “I wasn’t aware you had a death wish, Anders. Quite to the contrary, I gathered.”

“Can’t you just shoot me full of drugs and knock me out already?” He writhed on the table, but the burning in his chest forced him to stop before the straps did. “Please, Giles, I’m begging you.”

“Sorry, Master Shew. I can’t do that right now. You need to be a bit more stable before we start using the heavy stuff.”

Something pricked Anders’ forearm again, and he flopped his head over to meet the guilty face of Giles as amberish fluid started dripping in. His own face, he assumed, was less than dignified.

“Please...”

Ignoring his pleas on the verge of crying, Giles backed up and allowed Jacob to position the long arm of the machine over Anders’ body.

“Giles?” Anders cried.

Giles came back over with a wet washcloth and laid it over Anders’ forehead. His eyes flickered at the cool touch of the fabric.

“Yes, Master Shew?”

Anders’ eyes took note of the small circle of little scalpels sheathed inside the “hand” of the machine, which also hid various prongs and a shining printer head.

“Please don’t kill me.”

“I would have thought that I'm a testament to your safety. You’ll survive this procedure." He paused. "I think."

With a solitary nod from Jacob, his eyes as cold as steel and looking straight ahead to avoid witnessing the horrors about to happen, Giles folded out two other metal arms from the machine- albeit without the tools of the middle one- and secured them to both sides of Anders’ table.

And, with a single flick of the switch, one of the most unholy sounds ever to grace the earth pierced the eardrums of the two men nearby. Giles kept his elbow hard up against the drug release button, hoping that would ease the pain, but nothing could assuage the unearthly shrieks of Anders having his chest cavity opened. Little by little, the machine removed more and more bullet-riddled flesh and replaced it with a layer of printed neon-green tissue, simulating bones and flesh damaged beyond repair.

The whole thing was so off from normal procedure that it was bizarre to observe.

But then again, it wasn't every day that the Institute brought back people from the dead.

And it certainly wasn't every day that Anders' throat threatened to rupture itself from shrieking itself so hoarse.

After about ten minutes of the torture, Jacob went into the back room and brought in his gloved hands a replacement heart made from Anders’ stem cells. Anders whimpered, the fight gone out of him, as the arm of the machine lifted a few feet to allow the heart to be placed. And, after a few minutes of connecting the new heart to the body, the machine went right back to its quest of filling the two-fist-sized pit with the neon-green tissue.

Two hours passed by in this fashion.

When the machine finally finished filling the hole to slightly above the skin level, Anders went limp. The arms retracted. What little shrills had made it to the end faded from the hallways, still reverbing for a moment. Half-passed-out, he didn’t notice Jacob leaving the room and Giles approaching his table.

“Anders?” Giles asked, foregoing his former formality. “Can you hear me?”

“I...” Anders gurgled for a moment before coughing out a mixture of blood and spit onto the floor. His chest heaved as he struggled to speak. “Giles...”

“A private partition in the recovery suite, correct?”

“I don't care. Just put me under properly for a while.”

“Anders, I don't think your body-”

“You know what I said!” he wheezed. The world began blurring out before him, and he closed his eyes before the confusion in his brain could make him retch. “Please...”

“Alright. Whatever you say.”

Giles stepped back and fiddled with the drug release panel, releasing a slow sigh as Anders’ erratic breathing evened out. His brown eyes slowly closed, and Giles wiped his forehead, relieved, when Anders’ head flopped to the side.

Jacob was nowhere to be seen as Giles transferred Anders to the recovery suite, probably run off somewhere else to be ogling the female workers out of the corners of his eyes. Sometimes it was a mystery as to how Jacob retained a job there, seeing as he was even more useless on a daily basis than Anders was at that moment. Certainly Anders saw something in the man, or else he wouldn't resist every attempt by the others directly under Anders’ command to get Jacob fired.

Giles pulled a white curtain around the bed in the corner once he had lain Anders’ unconscious body inside, making note in the system that he would need further assistance sometime overnight to stabilize the body.

The body...

Tears brimmed in his eyes- the first in a long time. He turned away from the bed and promptly exited the recovery suite.

Anders, his boss, the one who had shown so much bravado and confidence so far in his role as administrator, was now lying helpless in a sterile bed.

And now poor old Giles Merun was saddled with a job that he didn't want until Anders could wake up.

2

WEDNESDAY, DAY 2

A light breeze ruffled the pastel curtains as it blew into Rena’s room. Her goose bumps rose a bit, but she took no further notice as she continued her blank stare into the folder sitting on the desk in front of her.

My plans for the liberation of Gehenna-Altaris, the front cover read in big blocky red letters. Rena’s eyes had passed over them at least seven times in the past hour. The folder sat undisturbed, no indication that she'd ever mustered up the energy to read it.

My plans for the liberation of Gehenna-Altaris, along with a crash course in Gehennan-Altarian culture for the uninformed. Required reading for all the soldiers and agents of Bes’ Liberation Army.

Why would he want us to know every single little detail of the plan if we’re just mere pawns? Wouldn’t it be better for us to only know our own roles if we were ever captured?

Rena sat hunched over and pondered this question over, as she had for every other question that the cover had begged since she had arrived in the room. Argentina would have probably devoured half of the book already, grateful for something to take her mind off of the events of the past month, of the past week, of the past few days.

But Argentina didn’t exist anymore.

Two knocks sounded from the door to Rena’s room, a gorgeous door with a beautifully carved scene of two people calmly fishing at a lake. Instead of answering, Rena continued sitting at her desk, although her eyes were now focused on the carving instead of the title.

A clock ticked faithfully away on the wall opposite Rena’s desk. One tick, two, three... Rena anticipated that, by the seventh tick, the person would leave and continue on with some other business.

But fifteen ticks passed, and instead of the sound of footsteps heading down the hallway and moving on, the doorknob slowly turned. Rena straightened her posture, defensive.

“How are you?” The door opened, and a fellow Mithrae raised a hand and waved. Slightly disappointed when Rena didn’t wave back, he continued, “Is the place nice so far?”

Rena clenched her jaw in lieu of a response.

“My name’s Hai. Would you like to take a walk with me? I can’t possibly imagine that it’s entertaining in such a somber room. Fresh air is good for the soul.”

Hai... Have I heard that name before?

I feel like I have.

“Hai...” Rena tried the word on for shape in her mouth, finding that it was unnatural, man-made, discomforting. “This is hell. It’s supposed to be somber.”

“Well, maybe a stroll through the yard will cheer you up.” He turned around, heading for the staircase. “Join me?”

Rena sighed. “Fine.”

It took a good five minutes to travel down the creaky spiraling staircase, seeing as Rena had been stationed on one of the very top floors in Bes’ mansion. A few times, her foot slipped, and she almost knocked Hai over in trying to get a hold on the handrail.

But once they were out of the staircase and through the main hallway, the yard opened up in front of them, the first time that Rena could remember being outside in Gehenna. A purple sky stretched out forever above them.

“To be honest, I expected more flames.” Hai took a seat underneath a tree, and Rena followed him. “The people in the soul reassignment chambers, man... They don’t know what they’re missing.”

“Soul... reassignment?”

“The mechanism by which people get reincarnated. It’s a big business in this realm, second only to the Earthen disaster response team.” Hai twirled a blade of bluish-greenish grass in between his fingers. “After the liberation, I want to work in Shrine Processing. Maybe I can get a few confused attention-seeking teenagers to donate me a better body.”

“So you’re going to possess people?”

“I would rather call it flesh tourism.” Hai blinked hard, expelling a bug which had landed on his eyeball. “Speaking of possessions, what happened to you that led Bes to invite you to the forces? Did Bes strike a deal with you that you couldn’t fulfill? Or are you one of the suicidals?”

“I...”

Rena’s limbs seized up, and she was powerless to stop herself from crumpling to the ground.

Samhain...

Her chest trembled, and it was only by Hai’ help that she could lie down properly. The sun being in her eyes wasn’t a problem as the cloud cover was particularly thick in that region, so Rena simply closed her eyes and pressed down on them with her fingers.

“I’m sorry, miss... you know, I didn’t get your name.”

“Samhain...” Rena moaned.

“Your name is Samhain?”

She suffered a sharp intake of breath, trying to keep herself from crying. “No, Samhain...”

“Oh...” Hai leaned back on the tree in understandment. “That’s a story for another day, I presume.”

Hai turned his head to the sky. The clouds above them were various shades of blue, from the lightest of pastels to navy puffs close to the horizon.

“You know, the sunset here is simply spectacular compared to that on Earth. Once our eyesight adjusts, I hear it’ll look even better.”

“That’s nice, Hai.”

He softly laid a hand on Rena’s shoulder, taking care not to disturb her hair. “Do you want to take a walk?”

“I think I’ll spend the rest of the day lying here. It’s not like Bes needs anything of us right now.”

“Alright. As you wish.”

3

THURSDAY, DAY 3

He began his new life face down and crumpled up on the floor of a tank, submerged in not-quite-water. This was his chance to have a first thought that he would actually be able to remember, to think something so profound that he would be able to brag later that he started out as a genius.

But that thought would have required another thought in order to come up with that thought in turn, so instead, he wondered to himself: Am I a corpse? I can’t move.

Something sparked in his brain, and he suddenly pushed himself up. He flailed about for a moment, trying to right himself. As he sunk into a squat on the floor, his eyes darted wildly around the area, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

Why am I in a tank? Was I just revived? That would explain my adult body. Or maybe I am dead and my brain hasn’t figured it out yet.

Something glinted in the corner of his eyes. Twisting, he caught the glare of another person standing in what he thought was a doorway.

Did he revive me?

He stretched his legs, intending to gracefully float over to the person- but he stretched out too far and smacked himself face-first against the wall of the tank. Dazed, he slid back down to the floor, his long hair billowing out above him.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have expected so much. But damn, Loyalis, you're a beautiful woman.”

The newly revived person winced and turned away, feeling his face sting. As the liquid wasn’t helping the pain at all, he turned back to the person outside of the tank and brushed his long hair away so that he could see.

Is Loyalis my name?

Well, his nametag says he's Jacob, so who else would he be referring to?

Jacob’s eyes traveled all over Loyalis' body, and he was suddenly aware that he was naked, private bits out for anybody who entered the room to see. Jacob’s eyes flashed when he reached the crotch, but he continued exploring, although this time with a renewed interest.

“What, are you too stupid to recognize your own name?”

Miffed, Loyalis scowled, biting his bottom lip and covering his crotch with his hands as much as he could to thwart the staring. He was thankful for the cool liquid he was submersed in, since blushing would have made the whole situation worse.

“Oh, good, Anders’ creation is capable of emotions!” Jacob scratched the back of his neck, but thankfully the scent of his unwashed armpits didn’t translate into the liquid of the tank. “If only he were awake right now to see it...”

Loyalis opened his mouth to protest- I’m not an it!- but even though the liquid afforded him the ability to breathe, his vocal chords stressed in vain. All Jacob could see was Loyalis’ mouth moving soundlessly.

Maybe I should pound on the glass, Loyalis thought, but before he could take the idea seriously, his attention was caught by the buzzing of the walkie-talkie on Jacob’s belt.

Jacob donned a scowl of his own as he unclipped the device from his belt and placed it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Jacob?” The voice on the other end crackled. “It’s Giles-”

“Yeah, I can tell. You’re the only one around here who has such a gravelly voice. Did you smoke when you were younger? Were you ever young, or did you just come prebuilt like that and Anders got you off a shady seller on the deep web?”

“I-” Giles stuttered on the other end of the line, trying to regain his semblance of authority. “Jacob, don’t play around. There’s a problem with Anders-”

Anders, Loyalis thought. So I was made? Not revived?

“-in the recovery suite. For his dignity’s sake, I’m not going to say exactly what’s wrong over this device, but if you could-”

“Is his catheter blocked again?” Jacob drawled, trying to conceal a giggle at getting underneath Giles’ reconstructed skin. “That seems to happen a lot with him. Are you sure he’s not dead and you’re not just coddling a cor-”

“Come down immediately, Jacob. I insist. And may I remind you that your performance review is due in a week? Anders can't do you any favors if he's dead.”

“Alright, I’ll come.”

Jacob rolled his eyes and vacated the room, throwing one last glance at the exposed Loyalis still floating by the wall of the tank. Loyalis was still confused, so he dropped down to the floor of the tank and waited for Jacob to return- obviously Jacob would visit him later, because no other person in this facility would, willingly or not, show Jacob such a scandalous amount of slender skin.

The waters stilled. A faint reflection of Loyalis stared back at him from the glass. He moved to touch it, to drag his fingers along the sharp jaw and try to memorize the shape, but the waters rippled again and banished the image.

What even am I supposed to be? It’s like Anders threw gender to the backseat when making me. If Anders even made me.

If I was even made.

Maybe I’m unfinished?

4

THURSDAY, DAY 3

The white ceiling fan softly tinkled above as it completed one more slow rotation. It had lingered in the back of Rena’s mind all day and would have annoyed her had she not been distracted with more pressing issues- how many people did Bes need for his army, anyways? Would her mental breakdown the previous day affect her standings within the army, or would Bes see her as a weakness and throw her out?

Nah. Bes would be more understanding than that. I’ve only been here for a few days. Plus he didn’t see it, and Samus doesn’t seem like the type to rat me out.

“Hello?”

Samus knocked on the other side of the door. It was the third time that day he’d come around; the other two times were at breakfast and at noon when he’d wanted to go on another walk.

Rena groaned, too lazy to remove the pillow from over her head and answer the door.

“Can I come in?”

“You might as well.”

***

Rena tossed the pillow to the end of the bed, where it had perfect timing to hit Samus as he entered the room. He winced for a moment, caught off guard by the frilly plush square hurtling for his face, and placed it at the footboard.

“What was that for?” he questioned as he took a seat at the end of the bed.

“I’m just frustrated at myself. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Alright.” Samus cleared his throat. “So there’s been a development.”

Rena’s eyes flashed. “What is it?”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me your name first.” Samus cast his eyes to the floor. “You didn’t tell me yesterday, even when I asked.”

“Rena.”

“Rena?” Samus avoided eye contact with the Mithrae only a few feet from him. “Did Bes give that name to you, or did you pick it out yourself?”

“Bes did.”

“Ah. He must favor you for some reason.” Samus scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t get a choice to change it, so I had to keep the one I had. I had picked it out for myself back at Earth, so it wasn’t as big of a deal, but still...”

“So, the development?”

“Oh, yeah, that.” Samus placed his hands in his lap. “Bes needs about twenty-five of the soldiers and servants here- I can never tell them apart since he seems to use the words interchangeably. But he wants them to team up and invade the Institute so that they can assassinate Anders.”

At the mention of Anders, Rena’s throat lurched. She clenched the border of the bed’s blanket in her fists, purple frills matching perfectly with her skin.

“Why can’t Bes do it himself? There would be less room for error. Like the old adage- if you want something done right, do it yourself.”

“I’ve never heard that phrase. And anyways-”

“Bes would easily overpower Anders.”

“But then where’s the sport of it?” Samus cast his eyes around the room, accidentally making eye contact with Rena before focusing on the wall clock. “And besides, Bes is too busy making sure that this location can’t be traced. I didn’t give up my body just to have my soul recycled by the government here.”

“Why-”

“Treason and murder,” he answered without missing a beat. “Even though I technically haven’t committed any yet. It would be a shame to be recycled for a crime I didn’t commit.”

What would it be like if I were recycled?

Maybe you should ask Samhain. She’s probably already gone through the process.

Rena shuddered- the thought of Samhain being a baby again, helpless and alone in the world without any knowledge of where Rena was, was too much to bear.

Anders, you sick bastard.

Without a further moment of hesitation, Rena nodded her head. “I accept full-heartedly.”

“Whew.” Samus wiped his sweaty forehead, exhaling a sigh of relief. “I thought that you’d go all mental on me and-” he noticed Rena freezing up- “sorry.”

Rena didn’t respond, but instead wove her fingers together. The motion was inexplicably calming.

“We should probably rest tonight. We’re leaving early in the morning so that Bes has enough time to explain the plans to everyone participating and assign bodies.”

Rena looked up. “Bodies?”

“Well, yeah, how else do you think we unexperienced people are going to go down to Earth?”

5

THURSDAY, DAY 3

“Wakey wakey. It’s Giles.”

Loyalis’ eyes slowly opened, dragged out of his sleep by the rhythmic tapping of a man’s fingers on the side of the tank. The intruder’s fingers were a dull red, leaking into green as the patchy skin traveled up his arm.

Who’s there? Is Jacob here too?

“Good, so you didn’t die while Jacob was occupied,” the intruder remarked. “I told him not to wake you up yet, but he never listens.”

Loyalis’ vision cleared. Jacob’s not here.

“What should I call you? Jacob probably gave you a really asinine name.” Giles turned away from Miranda, exposing an orange patch on the back of his neck. “He was never that brilliant when lust got involved.”

Loyalis pushed himself off of the floor of the tank, trying to stand up. The waters of the tank reached to a foot above him, and two more feet of air separated the surface from the top of the tank.

“I think I’ll call you Miranda. It means miraculous- miraculous that Jacob was distracted before anything worse happened.” Giles turned back around, and his eyebrows arched at seeing Miranda active. “Miraculous that finally, after years of research and design, we’ve finally made life from scratch.”

Miranda reached his left arm to the top of the tank, just barely touching the top of it before the liquid below him began to swoosh. A quick glance to Giles revealed that he’d switched off a switch hidden on the wall, making the waters of the tank slowly recede.

Miranda floated down along with the water, powerless to keep himself standing until, when the tank was completely empty save for him, he was a sopping mess sitting dazed on the ground. Giles kept his attention off the naked body as he unlocked and opened a door sealed with translucent rubber on the side of the tank.

Miranda turned his head to his right. Brushing his long brunette hair out of his eyes, he crawled out of the hole, trembling when Giles helped him stand up.

“I...” Miranda’s voice warbled as he opened his mouth, trying out the sound of his voice for the first time. He sounded like a woman. “I’m not going to have to be bare all the time, am I?”

“Goodness, no.” Giles helped Miranda back down to the floor and brought over a box of clothes to the trembling person. Inside was a simple white shift and a pair of underwear and socks. “It’s okay. I’ll turn away.”

And turn away he did, allowing the confused Miranda to don the clothes. The shift stopped abruptly at his knees, and the front sagged a bit since Miranda didn't have any breasts, but overall, the clothes were a fine fit. Giles turned back, and, pleased with Miranda’s ability to at least dress himself, helped him back up and out of the room.

Miranda, shaky on his legs, leaned heavily on Giles’ shoulder like a drunken man as they crossed the hallways. As Giles guided him towards the northern end of the building, Miranda’s eyes darted along the walls, taking note of little sticky notes here and there and marks on the walls that looked like Giles wouldn’t be willing to explain. Rarely was a dried blood splat seen- the janitors must be competent at their jobs, Miranda concluded at the otherwise cleanliness of the place.

“I’m sorry, Miranda,” Giles said as they turned the corner. “It will take a few days for your body to gain full coordination. You’re not weak; your brain is just confused.”

“Are we almost where we’re going?” Miranda asked. The taste of the tank’s liquid lingered in his mouth- a vague hint of iron.

“Almost.”

A few feet later, they stopped in front of a pair of double metal doors with a small rectangular window in each. Miranda leaned on a guide rail as Giles unlocked the doors, but he couldn’t see anything through the windows from the angle that he was leaning.

The doors opened, and as Giles helped Miranda step in, every single eye in the room- whether in a pair or not- focused on the two as they entered. Humanoids in all sorts of shape and forms, from just barely modified augments keeping to themselves to the most extravagant hybrids, held the same hope in their eyes that that day would be the day that they got promoted to the higher experiment dorms.

“Ay! Giles!” A much younger adult, looking fresh out of high school, came up to Giles with his arms out wide for a hug. “I thought you’d sworn off dating! What’s her name?”

“I’m not dating him.” Giles fixed a cold stare on the young man. “His name is Miranda, and he’s Anders’ newest creation. Why are you in here, Austin?”

“I was checking on a subject.”

“Alright. Don’t dawdle.” Giles turned back to Miranda and led him to one of the bunk beds a short distance from the door, helping him onto the top. “This is purely a temporary spot depending on your willingness to cooperate with the events of the next few days.”

“Such as?” Miranda asked.

Giles ignored him and left the dorms, locking the doors again as he walked away. The hope in the subjects’ eyes slowly faded as they turned away again from Miranda, disappointed for yet another day.

I might as well occupy myself.

All the bunks were laid out in a six-by-six grid throughout the expanse, Miranda noticed. Below him, he observed as he leaned over the safety rail of the bunk, was a little angel girl sleeping fitfully in sheets tossed about. A couple with scales covering their arms and legs were stationed in the bunk across from him. A few bunks away, a runt with cracked skin blackened with flame wailed, attracting the derisions of those around her who wished that she would keel over so that they would at last get some peace.

Miranda patted his disquieted stomach. Maybe dinner will be delivered soon.

6

FRIDAY, DAY 4

Am I near a river? I thought that Bes was going to bring us down to Earth. How is a river going to help us get to the Institute?

Rena opened her eyes, and instead of the muddy banks of a flowing stream, she was met with metal bars a few feet away from her face.

Oh. It’s just my head. That's a pity. I could use some rushing waters right now.

Rena tried to sit up, but the resulting wave of nausea forced her back down to the bottom of her cage, which wasn't tall enough for her to do anything more than curl up on the floor. She was startled to find her skin a normal color again, but there was a heaviness in her limbs that she hadn't anticipated.

Serves me right after relatively being light as air for so long.

She rubbed her eyes, fatigue from the previous night still hanging on her like oversized clothes. She had woken up at six in the morning, when one of the more senior guards inside Bes’ close circle of confidants had escorted her to the left basement. A purple swirling circle had been on the floor, leading to an abandoned warehouse in an undisclosed place on Earth.

“I've got a load of bodies waiting for us to take them,” Bes had explained, seeing the reluctance of the volunteers to jump through an unknown portal chute. “They've got a delivery truck parked outside. If I take the driver overnight, nobody will notice, and the bodies don't have any souls. That should make it easier for the newbies to possess them.”

Rena and the other “newbies” hadn't received any sort of training on how to possess bodies, and she strongly suspected that there was at least some information inside of the training manual that would have helped. But when she had approached the body that looked the most feminine, she was sucked in by the toes- and then blacked out for the next few hours.

“Hello, lovelies,” Bes’ voice flowed silkily through the speakers. Rena jerked her head forward at the sudden blast, smacking it against the cage and making her head pound harder. “We will be arriving at the Institute soon.”

Rena rubbed the back of her head, wincing at the more intense Earthen pain that she hadn’t missed.

“Currently, we are on a busy highway in rush hour traffic. That is why your oversensitive ears are probably feeling overloaded. As we draw closer to the Institute, hopefully the sound will recede back into a comfortable range.”

Rena looked around her past the bars of her cage- or at least as much as her restricted headspace would allow. Samus was somehow sleeping below her despite the noise, his toes twitching every few seconds with his snores. On the other hand, the others who volunteered- some with eagerness, some pushed into it by a desire to get on Bes’ good side- were almost at the edge of panicking. Their eyes were wide open, darting around the trailer interior and chatting amongst themselves in a language that Rena had only heard snippets of from Samhain.

Is there something wrong with the plan? Rena clenched her fists, trying to keep herself from kicking the end of the cage and disturbing the people around her. Did Bes mess up and his hubris is keeping him from seeing it?

What if we fail? Will be recycled?

Rena folded her arms and wheezed into her chest, feeling the ground spin beneath her.

Rena, you can't get recycled. Keep your head on, or it won't be around to remember anything about Samhain.

But then again, Samhain won't be able to remember anything about me, either.

I've got nothing to lose, don't I?

7

FRIDAY, DAY 4

There was a low hum of activity as Miranda stirred the gray and tan strands of his oatmeal. Reminiscent of a high school cafeteria, albeit much cleaner, the staff and caretakers who chose to eat the provided breakfast had already separated into their own little cliques and friend groups. There was no specific seating assignment as far as Miranda could tell, but not knowing anybody whose face wasn’t already turned away from him, he took a seat alone in the far corner.

Miranda’s spoon clinked against the ceramic bowl as he choked down another bite of the bland material. An extra spoonful of brown sugar had been plopped into his, along with a wink from the man stationed as server duty for that morning, but it was just barely tolerable now as it slogged down his throat. Nobody had protested in the line, anyways.

“Miranda!”

Miranda looked up from his bowl to find another young man waving to him furiously from a few tables away, attracting looks of annoyance from his partners at the table.

What was his name again? Miranda searched his mind for only a few seconds, the memory of the boy bantering with Giles popping up immediately. Austin?

“Miranda, do you want to sit with us?”

Miranda turned his face back to his oatmeal, pretending to not have seen the bright face.

Come on, you prick, he was just trying to be friendly...

Miranda looked up to find that Austin had abandoned his seat and was now making his way to Miranda.

Well, it doesn't matter anyways.

Austin sat down in the seat across from him, immediately putting his hand out in a warm greeting. “Good morning, Miranda. How are you?”

“I’m alive, I guess.” Miranda hesitantly took the hand, giving it a few limp shakes until Austin retracted his hand, hurt. “Sorry.”

“No harm done.” Austin shook his head, returning to his usual gleeful state. “A few of my friends will be coming over in a moment to say hi. We’re excited to have you among us here at the Institute.”

“A few-” Miranda, alarmed, turned his head to see that a group of no less than fifteen scraggly-haired trainees were approaching him. “Austin!”

“What?” Austin choked down a bite of his own plainer oatmeal, grimacing at the aftertaste. His tongue was a bright pink, the same shade as his lips. “You're important, you know that? You're the first person we've ever made from scratch. That's gotta be worth something!”

The first of the trainees sat down next to Miranda, quickly elbowed out of his seat by one with lighter hair. They began bickering amongst themselves, arguing over who got to sit by Miranda and diagonal from him and who had to be demoted to the farther ends of the table.

One of the young people pushed themselves into Miranda’s face, leaning over his tray and almost spilling his carton of milk. Their bright eyes darted all over his body as they questioned, “So, Miranda, what's it like being alive?”

“Well, the same as you, I guess. Except not nearly as annoying.”

They didn't get a chance to get offended before they were shoved out of the way and replaced with a more feminine face. “Are you having any difficulties with mental processes?”

“Well, it’s a bit hard to think with all of you mobbing me.” Miranda tried to stand up, but a small crowd had formed around him, pushing him back down into his seat. “See?”

They took no notice of his discomfort, however, as they continued to mob. Miranda couldn't see the rest of the cafeteria above the heads buzzing with chatter about him, but he estimated that at least half of the people in this breakfast shift had abandoned their own trays to get a glimpse of Anders’ creation and maybe glean some sort of wisdom from him.

Miranda took one last swig of his milk carton, finishing his breakfast, and planted his palms on the table. He forced himself up, making a rippling effect that knocked at least five people over behind him.

Miranda spun around, shocked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” The oldest of the victims rubbed his head as he tried to get enough space from the people around him to stand up. “You're pretty strong, you know that?”

“But Giles told me-”

They paid no attention as they pushed further into Miranda, eventually forcing him to stand on top of the table itself to get away from the crush of the mob.

Would I get in trouble if I ran on top of the tables and tried to jump over the weakest part of the crowd?

No, but you'd probably hurt yourself. Or make everyone crush on that side of the table as they tried to follow you.

I could fake them out that way, though...

Miranda attempted to sit on top of the table, but the latches keeping it upright squealed as he stretched out his legs. He lowered himself right back down and put his feet on his seat and slid down onto it.

“Where do you think you're going?” a random voice from the mob squealed.

“I want out!”

Miranda pushed the people in front of him, trying to get them to form an escape path for him- but a most curious thing happened. They threw themselves down to the floor instead, and the unspoken command pulsed through the crowd until the floor was covered in a sea of people begging to be stepped on by Miranda.

Miranda carefully stepped in the holes between bodies, trying not to harm anyone, but every so often an arm from a fanatic would shoot out and try to hook Miranda’s ankle or grab a foot. Miranda stayed one step ahead of them, instead causing them to grab someone’s nose or plant a hand in an unsavory spot.

As soon as Miranda was free of the mob, he took a look behind him, seeing that ten people were still sitting in their original seats, looking upon the crowd with a sort of derision. They rolled their eyes at Miranda’s confused face, dismissing him and returning their attention to their pathetic food.

Miranda broke out into a run as soon as he passed through the cafeteria doors, immediately taking a left- or a right, he couldn't remember, he couldn't remember much of anything at all until he was at the southern staircase leading up to the second floor. Miranda nearly misplaced his feet quite a few times trying to dash up the steps, but he got up and continued, not bothering to take a breather until he had reached the main hallway leading back to the dorms.

His legs burned as he limped his way to the dorm doors. Miranda almost collapsed at the last turn, but he pushed on, not stopping until he had climbed up into his bunk and crumpled onto the crumpled sheets.

Holding back a sob, Miranda threw the covers over his head, not caring who saw him. His mind raced with a million thoughts, most variations of the many copies of the inquiries that the mob had thrown at him.

Why are you blubbering like a baby, you idiot? You're obviously well loved. All they wanted to do was listen to you talk about anything- anything in the world! Anybody else would kill to be so valued!

Well, see, they clearly didn't value me as anything above a robot, or they would have seen me discomforted and left me alone! I didn't want to be mobbed; I wanted to be left alone- that's why I sat in the corner.

And if they treat me like this when I'm in their good graces, what happens when I accidentally slip into the bad?

I don't think they would go to the trouble of making you just to euthanize you for a small infraction. You're not very much use to them dead.

But- loss of privileges-

Something rustled behind Miranda, just barely audible above his sobs of frustration. Miranda jolted up, covers strewn around him, to see Austin standing by his bunk.

“What do you want, Austin?” Miranda shot, more venom in his voice than he would have liked. His guilt immediately arose, covering his eyes with his hands.

“I came here to say sorry for causing that mob.” Austin placed his hands behind his back, his eyes pointed towards the ground. “I was hoping for something a bit calmer, like a friendly welcoming committee.”

Miranda’s lips quivered, holding back another sob. “It’s not your fault, Austin.”

Austin’s eyes shifted back to the door, and he cast a concerned glance to his watch. “I have to go now. I’ll see you around, I guess.”

And with that, Austin left.

8

FRIDAY, DAY 4

Bes saw a short man bent over a cluster of flowers as he pulled into the parking lot. His rear end was up in the air, jiggling a bit in his jeans as he wiped the quickly beading sweat off of his forehead. If it hadn't been for the suspenders straining against his shoulders, a plumber’s crack would have graced the summer afternoon air.

Classy. Bes rolled his eyes as he shifted the truck into park and turned off the ignition. A perfect picture of my feelings towards this place.

Bes pulled off his coat and left it in his seat as he slipped out of the truck. The door rattled as he slammed it shut. He shivered as his feet brushed against and then settled onto the hard concrete.

I'd forgotten what it was like to walk on such a heavy Earth.

“Hey!” The gardener stood up straight, pulling his pants farther up and smacking his lips together. “Whaddaya doin’ here?”

Ignoring his question, Bes stepped into the courtyard.

“Isn't your job supposed to be obsolete? I thought that they had pest-proof flowers now.”

“It ain't foolproof. Seeds from the dandelion farm keep leaking over here.” The gardener waved his spade at Bes, who took a few more cautious steps towards the front door. “I'll be watchin’ ya.”

Bes sighed as he detached himself from the gardener, who was getting worked up to rant to Bes about the unsteadiness of his job. The doormat was a self-cleaning model, a new one from the neatness of its edges, and Bes slightly raised his eyebrows as the dirt slid off of his shoes.

A patchwork man from inside jogged to the door, looking just as frazzled as Bes felt just by glancing at the gardener. The man waved his hand somewhere to the left of the doors, sliding them open just enough for his voice to be heard.

“Welcome to the Institute. What is your business here?”

“I have a shipment that one of Anders’ immediate inferiors requested.” Bes was impressed with the smooth low timbre of his voice, although he didn't let that show to the patchwork man.

The patchwork man stepped outside of the building, squinting in the strong light. “My name is Giles.” He held his hand out, which Bes gingerly shook. “Can you please take me to your vehicle?”

It’s the only delivery truck in the parking lot, you dunce...

Bes ignored the ranting of the gardener as he passed through the courtyard, approaching his truck parked towards the end of the parking lot. It wasn't far away at all, but it felt like a century to Bes until he could finally unlock the rear hatch of the truck and display the rows of cages to Giles.

Rows upon rows of blank faces stared back at the two men, glazed over and delirious. Bes swore under his breath as he realized that he'd forgotten to leave the air conditioning on in the short amount of time that he'd abandoned them.

“So these are the sixty subjects that you're importing... Vladmir Abaya?”

The ID card sitting in the pocket of Bes’ coat flashed in his mind. “Yes, sir.”

“That's probably the most unique name I’ve heard all day.” Giles scratched the back of his neck as he pulled the walkie-talkie off of his belt. As the crackle of the empty channel gave way to whoever was manning the delivery team that day, Giles spoke, “There’s a drop off of upwards of fifty subjects here. I want them taken to processing for temporary storage until we can find Anders’ plans.”

Bes suppressed a smile, only letting it show a little bit at the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitched in his pockets. Whoever the person known as Vladmir Abaya was before being possessed would just have to do the next day with an awful headache and a slightly emptier bank account, because Bes knew how he was going to celebrate the first step of his plan gone without a hitch.

9

FRIDAY, DAY 4

The fireplace in Anders’ private suite was damp and dirty, having not been touched since the end of winter that year. The rough grates were locked shut and would remain so until Giles deemed that it was cold enough to warrant starting a blaze in the thin metal divot in the wall.

The lamp sitting on the side table flickered as Anders gingerly took another sip of his tea. The steaming orange liquid was laced with painkillers, keeping down the blunt of the discomfort, but fresh pangs of soreness came with each rise and fall of his chest.

Anders shivered, pulling his blanket up closer against his body tightly wedged in the armchair. He winced when his phone chimed, reminding him that it was nine at night and that he should be heading to bed soon.

I've done enough sleeping for a while.

Waking up was probably one of the hardest things that Anders had ever done in his year at the Institute. One of the technicians whose name Anders couldn't recall had messed up his sedative dosage for the third time in a row, and instead of consulting Giles immediately, he had allowed Anders to fitfully rise from his coma.

Anders had wanted to go back to sleep, but nobody would let him, and after ten minutes of screaming through his haze, Anders was secluded in his private suite.

“Hello?”

Anders weakly turned his head to see that Giles had opened the heavy wooden doors leading to the suite. It wasn't that complicated to find him, anyways- it was just a large living room and then a hexagonal bedroom attached to the back end.

“Giles? Why are you in here?”

Giles took a deep breath, knowing that he was intruding on Anders’ solitude. Skipping the usual formalities, he answered, “Miranda is awake.”

“Who is Miranda?”

Shoot, I forgot to tell him.

Giles stepped out of the doorway, carefully pulling on the door handle to mask the thud of the closing. “Your creation. He gained sentience yesterday. I’m sorry that you weren’t able to be there.”

Anders’ eyebrows wrinkled, dismissing that last sentence. “Send him up immediately.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, what with your fragile health and all-”

Anders bit his lip as he set down his cup and struggled to pull himself out of his slouch, sitting up in the armchair. His arms trembled, trying not to buckle from the pain blossoming behind his sternum until, with a cry, he plopped back onto the chair’s cushion.

“I want you to bring Miranda up here right now. I need to talk to him tonight before the drugs kick in and I forget this night’s planning.”

“I don’t think that you would give off a good impression in your current state.”

“Good impressions be damned. I show up downstairs every day in a plain t-shirt and jeans while almost everyone else parades around in a uniform. If I wanted to make a good impression, Giles, I would dress in the same shades as the rest of the staff. I would have spent far more time in college and in the menial workforce filling my pockets with credentials. Now please bring Miranda here.”

Giles departed from the private suite without a word, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Anders took another sip of his tea, trying not to curse the teenage girl who had shot him and forced him into such a deplorable situation.

You can’t go too hard on her, Anders. She was in shock from her friend’s death, and we both know that shock does not make good bedfellows with logic and reasoning.

I should have hidden the gun. Then maybe Argentina would be alive right now and grieving instead of lying dead in a morgue.

10

FRIDAY, DAY 4

God, I wish they'd shut up.

A thunk sounded from somewhere to Miranda’s left as he pressed a pillow against his ears, groaning at the sounds keeping him from sleeping. Throwing the sheets in his bunk over him did nothing to hinder the noise, and neither did hiding in the tiny bathroom stall that he had to share with everyone else.

A few bunks away, two of the subjects were having a standoff, one with its slender fists in the air ready to block the advances of the other’s meaty hands. The fight hadn't gotten physical yet, just nasty vocalizations exchanged in some alien form of arguing understood to only them. But the subjects on the fringes of the crowd surrounding the standoff still warily eyed the door every once in a while, expecting some of the staff to come bursting through any minute and send them all to reprogramming.

The cameras throughout the dorms were pointed on them, anyways, so no matter how much they tried to play down any punches, the staff would know within seconds.

Miranda sat up in bed, brushing the hair out of his face. A few more subjects had joined the fight, lightly dancing throughout and mocking the two subjects’ reluctance to do nothing other than have a staring contest with their fists in the air.

This is pathetic-

The doors squealed, and everybody in the crowd froze in place. All eyes wandered to the man in the open doorway, hearts beginning to pound harder than they would have if the entire crowd had turned into a crushing pit. Light from the dorms spilled into the darkened hallway.

“Miranda.” Giles relaxed his hands, attempting to keep his eyes off of the crowd. “I need you to come with me.”

The sigh passed through the crowd again, this time tainted with relief at escaping consequences for another day. Miranda slipped down from his bunk and silently departed with Giles, grateful to be away from the noise.

“So what do you need me for?” Miranda inquired, folding his arms and trying not to shiver once they had turned the corner. “I wasn't involved in the fight at all. I was trying to sleep.”

“Anders requests your presence in his private suite. The noise level can be addressed later.”

Miranda sucked in a sharp breath at the mention of Anders, trying to keep up with Giles’ anxious pace. They took the winding staircase up to the third floor, Miranda’s nightgown dragging along the steps and making him almost trip over a few times. Small electric lanterns dotted the hallways as their feet pattered through, casting shadows behind them.

Giles shushed Miranda as they came up to a pair of heavyset wooden doors. He placed his palm on the handle, and when the hidden LED flashed green, he opened the doors and allowed Miranda in.

“Ah, Miranda. My feminine magnum opus. I’ve been dying to see you.”

Miranda hesitantly stepped into the carpeted room, taking a seat on a lush long red couch. Hidden from view at first, a fragile young man struggled to push himself up out of his chair.

“Giles, I need help.”

Giles moved to the man’s side and slid his arms under him, carrying the young man to the couch opposite from Miranda. It was identical to the one Miranda was seated on except for a slightly deeper red color that contrasted with the young man’s light clothes.

As soon as Giles slid away from the young man, he focused his eyes on Miranda, black circles threatening to puff up under them from a lack of quality sleep.

“Hello, Miranda.” The man extended his hand. “My name is Anders.”

“Hello, Anders.” Miranda lightly shook Anders’ hand, fearing that if he shook any harder, he’d break him.

Anders refused to let go of Miranda's hand, however, and he turned the palm up to face the ceiling. He rubbed a thumb over Miranda's palm as his eyes widened.

"So you're really alive. And you're sitting in front of me."

Miranda ignored him, rolling his eyes and jerking his hand away. “Why did you call me up here? Unless you were giving me a place to sleep away from the noise.”

“That’s not what I had in mind, although I can certainly arrange that.” Anders rubbed his cheeks. Although he wasn’t skin and bone, there was a definite gauntness to his features. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together from here on out.”

Miranda fidgeted in his seat. “How?”

“What I want...” Anders set his hands in his lap, radiating calmness with his eyes still closed. “...is for you to pretend to be my partner.”

“What-”

“Let me explain. I designed you and put your creation in motion; you are an artificially created human. If all goes well and you are proven to be viable, then slowly we will make more. But what happens when they start leaking into the mainstream? They become ostracized. Religious nuts go insane, lobbying against them. And then they get pushed back into the shadows while the human race keeps killing itself.”

“And what do you need me for? I’ve barely been alive a day.”

“I’ve already said. I need you to at least pretend to be my partner so that, when the public catches wind of you, they don’t see an emotionless robot but a blossoming human being with the full range of emotions and experiences.”

Miranda took a deep breath.

He looks awfully weak. I could easily overpower him and escape this place.

What are you doing, you idiot? You’ve got a man who is willing to keep you elevated above the rest of the subjects.

“Are there going to be any special... favors that I’ll have to give?”

“Only if you want to.” Anders opened his eyes. “I’m not going to force you to do anything except exist. And maybe stay close to this building, but that’s just so that you don’t get lost, not some sort of personal property view. You represent a significant investment, but you’re more than a piece of meat. Understand?”

And besides, Giles could just as easily force you into a cage, and then you’d be stuck in a bad place for a while. And where’s the fairness in beating up a recovering sick person?

And besides, the fire behind his eyes would be more than enough to compensate for a sickly body.

Miranda cast his eyes to the floor. “Yes, sir. I understand. When do I have to start?”

“I would prefer immediately, but I’m going to leave you the night to decide.” He cast his gaze to Giles, who was still standing in the doorway. “Can you bring up some blankets out of storage and wash them quickly? Miranda would like to sleep away from the usual nightly disturbance.”

11

SATURDAY, DAY 5

Miranda would have preferred to get more than five hours of sleep, but the sound of Anders’ shower firing up woke him in a cold sweat on the red couch. His blanket, the big fleece one that Giles brought up for him the previous night, laid on the floor along with his pillow.

Well, at least it was a shower and not the raucous roar of another fight. Showers are somewhat peaceful, I think.

A yelp sounded from the shower. Miranda jolted upright.

I thought wrong.

The sound of water spraying out of the showerhead faded to the back of Miranda’s mind as he let his eyes wander around the room. There were two large glass windows opposite from the heavy wooden doors, letting light in through the white curtains that fluttered every few seconds. Miranda almost felt pure for a moment, and-

Is that Anders singing in the shower?

His soft voice filtered through the crack under the door, swinging from the lightest of notes to a stable tenor. His words were incomprehensible through the door, however, and Miranda probably wouldn’t have known the song anyways.

It must be nice to have a bathroom all to himself, Miranda thought, shuddering at the memory of the shared bathroom in the dorms. The complete lack of hygiene wasn’t entirely the staff’s fault, as there was only so much time a day that one of them could be bothered to clean the three stalls.

The voice ceased, and Miranda heard the sound of a curtain being pulled back. He turned his head just in time to find Anders opening the bathroom door with nothing but a towel around his waist.

Miranda covered his eyes. “What-”

“I’m sorry!”

Flustered, Anders ran back into the bathroom, accidentally exposing his left buttcheek as he closed the door. A few minutes later, filled with profuse apologies from Miranda and reassurances from Anders that he’d done nothing wrong, and he stepped out of the bathroom again.

Miranda lowered his hands to find Anders wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. As Anders took a seat beside him, still blushing with embarrassment, Miranda folded his arms.

“Good morning,” Anders whispered with soft pink lips that Miranda couldn’t help but notice. Anders looked much healthier than he had the previous night- more like a pale but healthy young adult instead of a frail hospitalgoer.

“Good morning.” Miranda shifted in his seat, trying to avoid meeting Anders’ eyes. “What do we have to do today?”

“Well, first, I want to know what your thoughts about our project are.” Anders reached for one of Miranda’s hands.

Miranda withdrew his hand before Anders could touch it. “I guess I’ll play along. It would be disingenuous for me to fake a relationship, especially since we haven’t even known each other for a full twenty-four hours, but..."

"But what?" Anders interrupted.

"It doesn’t really seem like I have a choice either way.”

Anders, disheartened, cast his eyes to the floor. “You don’t have to be my romantic partner. We can just be friends if you would prefer that. The only requirement is that we be friendly to each other.”

Miranda straightened his back, daring to look Anders in the eye. “I like that better. I accept.”

“Alright.” Anders stood up, stretching his arms and yawning before opening the heavy wooden doors. “I’m going to let you relax for the day and wander around as you please. Gotta get acclimated to your new surroundings, you know? I won’t bother you.” He turned around. “Either you can come down to breakfast in a few minutes, or Giles can deliver something to you.”

“I think I’ll wait.”

12

SATURDAY, DAY 5

The metal bars of the cage below Rena rattled as a disturbed subject dragged their tattered fingernails along the wall for the fifth time that hour. Rena’s ears rang from the constant squealing, and the screech of the cage locks as the staff withdrew and returned subjects rubbed the pain in further.

Processing wasn't too bad, though, Rena reflected, lying down on the floor of her cage. Her skin still ached where the needles had pinpricked her, and her brain ached to hold on to the memories of half an hour where a chip was embedded in her skin. The incision was still visible to her burning eyes, bright red through the hastily tied on bandage.

“Rena? What was the plan again?”

Rena lifted her head to see Samus, who was positioned across the room from her.

“I don't remember exactly. There was a riot, though.”

“But how are we supposed to riot?” Samus scratched the back of his neck with his foot, bent back at an unnatural angle. “We’re trapped in cages.”

“Rush the staff when they open someone’s cage doors?”

“I don't think that would work, Rena. They’re armed. I've been here before. Didn't you see their belts?”

Damn, he’s right.

“How are we supposed to assassinate Anders when we never see him?” one of the other subjects who had come with them jeered, eliciting shrieks of agreement from a handful of others. “Forcing our way out of the cages would alert security. And then we'd all be dead!”

“Just wait.” A crotchety wrinkled subject held up one of her fingers, pointing to the clock mounted on the wall. “Be patient. An opportunity will soon make itself available. Trust me. I've been here before as well.”

Bes closed his eyes as the breeze picked up again, swaying his hammock gently in the breeze. It pleased him not to be inundated with the several layers of clothing that made up his uniform, and his legs were certainly thanking him as they stretched out and relaxed.

The afternoons are always the best. The early mornings are horrible for outdoor rest. Hell was never intended to freeze over.

If this revolution fails, I’m going to look into a nice dimension that has nice weather all the time and doesn't change as drastically as Earth’s climate.

Leaves crunched to Bes’ right. He opened his eyes, irritated, to see one of his soldiers in plain clothes standing at his side.

The soldier, anxious, raised his right hand with three fingers raised in a hasty salute.

“Sorry to disturb you, Sir Bestiele. I just wanted to ask a question.”

Bes sighed in frustration. “I said to call me Bes. None of that formal first name business.”

“Yes, Sir- I mean Bes.” The soldier quivered in his boots, which were slick and covered with particles of dead leaves.

“What is your name?”

“Andromedo, Bes.”

“What is your question?”

“See...” The soldier crossed his arms, trying to keep himself from trembling so much to the point of collapsing onto the ground. “If you can exorcise people so easily, why don't you just possess Anders and make him kill himself?”

Bes released a long sigh before sitting up in the hammock. It twisted a little bit, almost throwing Bes off until he stabilized himself.

“Where’s the fun in that, Andromedo?” Bes wiped his sweaty forehead. “Have you read through the entire training manual and packet?”

“N-no, sir.”

Bes’ eyes flickered. “Well, Rule Six of the Earthen Rules of Conduct forbid possessing a person with the sole intention of making them kill themselves. You would know that if you had bothered to read.”

“I-” Andromedo was full-on vibrating with anxiety now. “I’m sorry-”

“When a living vessel dies,” Bes quoted, “the soul that inhabited that vessel is sent to soul reassignment unless it relinquishes control of the body before the mortal wound occurs. Once a mortal wound occurs, the soul is bonded to the body and cannot escape the route to soul reassignment no matter what.”

Fearing a confrontation, the soldier took one last quick glance at Bes before scurrying off across the yard. Bes exhaled, rolling his eyes before lying down on the hammock again.

Maybe all of this nonsense with Anders will be over soon, and then the real fun can begin.

13

SATURDAY, DAY 5

Dear mother, there have no doubt been a few rumors circling around the neighboring cities that I have died in a horrific accident. Despite the best efforts of my dear assistants, the news stations could not resist jumping on the news that I was assaulted and held in critical condition for a few days. I don't blame them, to be honest. They've got to make money somehow.

Anders closed his eyes, allowing the pen in his right hand to twirl around his fingers as he searched for the next sentence to write. The ink had blotched tiny little marks in what he had written, as was expected for the low quality paper, but it was a small price to pay to ensure that a depraved fangirl wanting wings grafted onto her back didn't steal it for her celebrity shrine as it passed through the mail system.

There was a good reason why Anders rarely left the walls of the Institute. It was only noon, and he already knew that today would be a slow day spent indoors.

I would sure hope that this letter proves that I am alive. It would be a shame if I were a ghost and didn't know it yet. Or maybe I am still in a coma in the recovery suite in the Institute and this is all a dream. I really wouldn't know, would I?

Anders’ eyes flickered to the other end of the room, where Miranda was curled up in the corner. With a blanket around him and one of Anders’ old and tattered journals laid across his lap, he softly murmured to himself as he read, letting his brain wander among the written words of a much younger and much more angsty Anders.

“I went to Amane’s house today,” Miranda read, pulling the fleece blanket closer around him. His voice wavered every few words. “He had just made the first payment on his house and was working on moving all his possessions from his father’s house. His mother was in the hospital for a nasty case of pneumonia, so he wasn't in the best of moods when I slipped through his front door. But the sight of me made his eyes light up a bit more...”

Anders shivered. “Miranda?”

Miranda looked up. “Yes?”

“Could you maybe skip to the next entry, please?”

“Why? You said you were okay with me reading the entirety of the journal earlier...” Miranda's eyes wandered to the end of the page, and his eyes widened, trying to stifle the embarrassment growing on his face. “Oh. I can see why you would want to hide that.”

Blood rushed to Anders’ head in embarrassment.

“Please just turn the page!”

“Alright, alright...” Miranda turned the page, lowering his voice back to a murmur. “Today was the anniversary of a blizzard that happened before I was born that my parents won't shut up about...”

Anders, flustered, returned his eyes to the unfinished letter in front of him. He had buried that encounter with Amane in the back of his mind, hoping that it wouldn't ever resurface again- although Amane, during the last few visits, refused to let him forget it.

But in other news, my main project- the one where I was growing a human, I told you about it in my previous letter- has come to its conclusion. Not a thrilling one as Miranda, as he is called, is still a bit dazed and confused about life and his place in it. But I think he will acclimate quite rapidly once his brain fully finishes wiring itself.

It’s been too long since we last talked. How are things going in your household? I might want to take Miranda there some day in the near future if my workload doesn’t increase drastically. Giles is still a bit miffed about having to deal with administration issues for a few days even though I named him the emergency admin quite a long time ago. I won't be able to take a break for a while.

With love, your only son, Anders.

14

SUNDAY, DAY 6

Rena’s head lolled against the door of her cage as she struggled to stay awake. The day’s pace had been slow so far, the only events having been given a small pill to serve as sustenance and one subject being withdrawn from their cage to be monitored for a severe case of halitosis. The wails of pain and anguish surrounding Rena kept her awake- not that she could have ever fallen asleep there, anyways.

The door to the cage room opened, and a young woman with her employee badge askew on her tight shirt strolled in through the opening. Several of the subjects gripped the front bars of their cages, rattling around and shrieking like monkeys, but she took no notice as she went directly to Samus’ cage.

“How are you?” She swirled the words around on her pierced tongue, drawling like a summer sophomore blondie from the South.

Samus refused to respond, instead choosing to scratch the back of his neck. His face was blank as he stared back.

“Oh, so you’ve got a bit of doggy in you?” Her face fell, her lips pouting as she unlocked the door of Samus’ cage. “That sucks. You’re scheduled for organ-”

Samus suddenly kicked his leg forward. His foot landed in the middle of her chest, pushing to the floor. Crawling out of the cage, he stood up in the middle of the floor and released a long caw before bolting for the woman’s pockets.

“Samus!” Rena sat up shock straight in her cage, her eyes darting wildly around the room at the other subjects straining to be freed from their own cages. “What are you doing?”

“I’m creating a diversion. If I’m already scheduled for organ harvesting, there’s nothing I can do but be a distraction so you can fulfill the mission.”

“You don't have to-”

“Please, Rena. I’m already doomed. Take advantage of this.”

Samus rifled through the stunned woman’s pockets. His fists closed around a silver set of backup keys. Tears sparkled in his eyes before he wiped them away.

Rena squatted in her cage as Samus crawled over to her. He deftly unlocked her door, throwing the lock across the room into the corner before dropping the keys and dashing out of the room.

Bye, Samus, Rena thought as he disappeared down the halls. Rena sprinted from the room on two shaky legs, going the opposite way as Samus, hoping- daring to hope that she was close to the third floor staircase and that Anders’ suite wasn’t far away from that.

The tiles passed by underneath her feet in dizzying rapidity as she passed by other doors. Each one was closed and locked shut, a red light coming to life-

A piercing siren shrilled in Rena’s ears, sending her stumbling to the floor.

“There has been a breakout in the second floor in the live storage suite. Please execute lockdown procedures immediately and remain so until further notice.”

Rena picked herself up and rubbed her sore and ringing ears. She didn't dare to look behind herself as she begged her burning legs to keep running.

Is- is that a staircase ahead?

Rena pushed her legs onward, her slender burning legs that were at the point of snapping, of failing and sending her stumbling head over heels-

But of course, none of that mattered as Giles came from the adjacent hallway and sent lightning down her spine.

***

Rena released a sob as she painfully came back to consciousness. The base of her neck stung, and when she lifted her arm to rub the aching spot, her elbow screamed with the remnants of the shock.

And, of course, pressing into her skin were the familiar cold bars of a cage.

“Rena."

Rena’s heartbeat jacked up at the sound of a familiar but stern voice. She sat up. Her head just barely brushed against the top of the cage as Anders came into view.

“Rena, are you conscious?”

Rena turned her head to the right. Sitting on a chair straight in front of her was Anders. His arms were crossed, creasing his shirt.

“I know you were involved in the disturbance,” Anders said.

Rena raised her arm to her pounding head. Her skin threatened to crawl right off of her body, but her eyes told her that it was staying right where it was.

Anders retrieved a clipboard from under his chair. Other than that piece of furniture, the cage, and the two people, the room was completely empty.

“Why did you do this?” Anders asked, twirling the pen in his fingers.

Rena let out a long sigh, keeping her lips sealed shut.

“Was it a heat-of-the-moment thing, or was this planned out?”

Rena shook her head. Anders’ eyebrows wrinkled in confusion- Rena hadn't indicated which question she was answering.

“Did your former owner tell you to do this? I thought Giles’ account of the delivery seemed a little off.”

Rena stared straight ahead, wordless.

Anders sighed, setting down his clipboard. “Rena, I really don't want to have to pull out one of the other interrogators... But I need you to cooperate. Please. You don't have any other choice.”

Rena closed her eyes and spat out, “I don't want my organs to be harvested!”

I’m not going through that and then facing Bes in the eyes. I haven't come so far only to fail.

“Well...” Anders crossed his legs. “The contract that your former owner signed upon my accepting the load of subjects stated that I and my colleagues am allowed to do whatever we see fit to the subjects as long as it advances our research. Anything to advance our research.”

Rena’s hands shook, clammy with sweat. So Samus is going to die?

Holy hell, Samus is going to die!

Rena kicked the door of her cage, shrieking over the rattling. Anders’ hands flew to his ears, wincing at the unholy sound.

“You’re not killing my friend, you soulless bastard! Not again!”

“I haven't harvested from anybody,” Anders hissed through the ringing in his head. “Yet.”

“You're not taking me down with you! In fact, I should harvest from you!”

Anders quit the room in disgust. He groaned as he entered the cooler and stiller air. The faint murmurings of him calling for Giles to come and take Rena away filtered through the doorway, reaching Rena’s tired ears.

Anders didn't return to the room, and a few minutes later, Giles came in. Rena tried to bite at his fingers as he lifted the cage from the sides, so Giles shifted his fingers to the handles protruding from the cage's top.

The handles squeaked in an odd rhythm the whole way through the hallway. Taking a right and then a left, Giles wordlessly entered and deposited Rena’s cage in a stone room.

Closing the door sent an echo through the room, which remained for about three seconds before fading away. Rena released a cry, but that rang even louder, hurting her ears.

Underneath her body was a seemingly neverending expanse of concrete. She wouldn't know- all light was gone from the room, just as it was absent from her future. All that she was certain of was the hard ground underneath her body and the fast pace of breathing.

And even then, not even the pain in her ears could stop her from releasing another cry, pulsing with the agony in her body and the anguish in her heart.

15

SUNDAY, DAY 6

One, two, fiddle my shoe...

Samhain... Samhain... Samhain...

Rena stretched out her fingers. The last time she’d tried to get herself off of the floor- five minutes ago? an hour? she couldn’t remember- she’d sent screeching echoes all throughout the room, inviting throbbing pain through her sore ears and sending her back down to the floor.

Sleep evaded her. The only thing she could do was lay still and try to count the seconds passing, although she lost track each time.

The door cracked open. Rena curled in on herself, desperately scrabbling to cover her ears before the blinding light spilling in from the hallway seared her retinas as well.

God, have I really become so pathetic?

Rena bit her lip as she opened her eyes a crack. Through the blur, the face of Giles slowly came back into focus, eliciting a hiss from Rena as he stepped forward. How long had she been in there? Hours? Days? And this was the person to save her from the quiet.

“What do you want?” Rena reached towards him, but her fingers weren’t long enough to reach as he soundlessly took her cage’s handle.

“Anders wishes to see you again.”

“Why? What more does he want from me?”

Giles refused to answer as he removed the cage with Rena from the room. A short walk later, and they were back in the office again. Anders was perched on his chair, almost as if Rena's stint in the isolation room had never happened.

“So what’s new with you?” Rena spat, taking notice of the ice pack Anders was holding to his head.

“Just a raging headache.” Anders lowered his left hand, keeping the other on ice pack duty, and grabbed his pen. “Shall we start?”

“Just a raging headache? What, you all could make people and be willy-nilly with other people’s lives in order to improve your own, but you can’t even cure a simple headache? Aren’t there drugs for that?”

“There are always drugs I could take, Rena. Lots and lots of drugs. Some not even available to the public yet.” Anders winced, pressing the ice pack harder against his forehead. “But unfortunately, my job requires me to have a clear mind, so this is the best remedy I could come up with.”

Anders took a deep breath. “So are you ready to finally answer my questions? It’s a bit hard to extract them when the brain is disembodied.”

Rena slumped over in her cage. “I guess I have no choice.”

“Why did you explode earlier and escape from the subject storage?”

“Because...” Rena drifted off. Her plan was pretty much screwed at this point. Was there a point to telling Anders her plans to kill him?

“Rena?” Anders leaned forward, still not close enough for Rena to touch him through the bars of her cage. “Were you trying to kill me?”

It doesn’t matter. Bes is going to kill me for failing.

“I..” Rena closed her eyes and bowed her head. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s understandable.” Anders sat up straight in his chair. “I’m the administrator, so obviously I’m responsible for everything that happens here, right?” He released a snort. “I don’t blame you for having such a simplistic understanding of how things here are run.”

“Then why don’t you tell me so I will understand?”

“Because I’m planning on sending you away. You don’t want to be harvested, and I don’t want you anywhere near this building where you could murder me, so I’m giving you another option.”

Rena’s heart sank. If Anders wouldn't kill her for attempting, Bes certainly would for failing.

“Which is?”

“I know of a wildlife rehabilitation center that you could live out the rest of your days at.” Anders set his clipboard and pen underneath his chair. “You won’t be contributing to our research, which is a shame, but you wouldn’t have been anyways even if you stayed here. But you can hold onto your pithy life, maybe even make something out of it.”

But then I’ll have to beg Bes’ forgiveness in order to get back to Gehenna-Altaris. And then he’ll banish me from his legions for failing!

And then what will I do with my life?

“Please!” Rena threw herself to the ground, prostrating herself in front of the calm admin. “I don’t want to be sent away!”

“I’m sorry. You have to. This is for the best.”

“Please-”

“I’m sorry, Rena.” Anders stood up. “Samus has been harvested already, so there’s no reason for you to stay.”

“Samus-”

Rena's chest constricted tightly, flattening her on the ground.

Samus- Samus- Samus-

God, Samus, I can’t breathe...

16

MONDAY, DAY 7

Miranda had seen at least five different birds fly around by the time that he and Anders stepped onto one of the paved paths leading through the gardens. The day was colder than he had expected. Gray clouds had moved in front of the sun, but they held no rain.

The trees swayed softly above their heads as Anders’ arm brushed by Miranda. His hands were open wide, almost expecting Miranda to take one, but the androgyne silently turned down the offer.

“Miranda?”

Miranda stopped on the path a few feet ahead of Anders. “Yes?”

“I was wondering...” Anders nervously folded his hands together. “Are you feeling ready to begin helping with work? I’d like to get you into training by the end of the week. Nothing too challenging at first. Maybe some planning, some light decisions-”

“Anders-”

“Giles could really use someone to help him transport-”

“Anders!” Miranda barked, immediately feeling guilt. Anders winced at the sharp sound. Miranda lowered his voice to a soft whisper.

“I appreciate the offer, but... I really don't feel like this is the best place for me.”

“What do you mean?” His voice was quiet as well, but a slight waver poisoned it, making Anders ashamed for being such a wimp.

“I mean that I don't want to spend my days in a sterile environment, shadowing you while you work on the latest and greatest things.” Miranda took a step back away from Anders, keeping his voice soft so that he wouldn't be perceived as hostile. “I feel like you’re forcing me into a life that I don't want to be in.”

Anders stepped forward, immediately taking one of Miranda’s hands. Miranda’s eyes opened wide as Anders slipped a tiny object into Miranda’s hand.

Miranda withdrew his hand and looked at the object. It was a light blue pill.

“What-” Miranda looked back to Anders. “Is this supposed to suppress my free will? I didn't know you were this blatantly lazy, Anders. At least make a big dramatic speech beforehand.”

Anders sighed, rolling his eyes. “No, Miranda, I’m not trying to suppress your free will.”

“Then what is this all about?”

“For all my prowess,” Anders explained to the frustrated Miranda, “I still haven't been able to successfully create a brain from scratch. Stimulate it? Yes, but it's never actually functioned. So I had to use bits and pieces of the brains of donors who showed exceptional skills during their lifetimes.”

Miranda clenched his jaw, still holding the blue pill in his palm.

“For someone whose consciousness was pulled out of multiple people, you’re much higher functioning than my colleagues feared. They thought you'd be a vegetable if the pieces didn't even know how to communicate to each other, much less form bonds.”

“So what's the pill for?”

“To help with the bonding between the brain segments. Maybe that will help you get out of your hazy daze. Then you can decide where you want to go.”

Miranda’s eyebrows wrinkled. So I’m suddenly not sane enough to make my own decisions now that I show some dissent?

Miranda didn't get to finish his thought as Giles came up to them then, stealing the attention of the two.

“Anders.” Giles took a deep breath, wiping sweat off of his forehead. He appeared to have run the entire distance between the Institute and where they now stood on the path. “The remaining subjects from the riot have been harvested. There are only a few left from Bes’ shipment that were left alone.”

“Wait...” Anders looked up at the trees directly above him. One of the branches was swaying precariously, threatening to fall. “There were only a few subjects that participated in the riots. Why did you harvest the rest?”

“Erratic brain waves. They were plotting to kill other staff. We didn't want another riot.”

Giles glanced at his watch and left suddenly without a word. Once he rounded the corner, Miranda shrugged his shoulders, turning back to Anders.

“There was a riot? Why?”

“I wish I knew.” He sighed. “They probably had a plan. I didn't push hard enough to get any actual answers. Harvesting was the kindest thing we could do- maybe now they'll actually be useful to more refined organisms.”

Miranda shuddered at the insensitive way Anders referred to the subjects. They may have been deplorable, but they were people too, cursed to a subhuman existence and given no chance of ascending to anything other than incubators of tissue.

At least, that was how Miranda saw it.

Miranda lifted the pill up to his eyes, observing the intricate swirls of blue on its surface.

“And what happens if I do something that the people here deem wrong? Am I going to be harvested-”

“Miranda.” Anders laid a hand on Miranda’s shoulder, sensing a fit of shuddering coming on. “You're not malevolent. You've got a good heart. And I’d protect you. You’re valuable, remember?”

Miranda suppressed a gasp. “But what happens when you're not around?”

“Then..." He paused for a moment. "Lainey will intervene. You can trust her with anything.”

Miranda closed his eyes before he lifted the pill to his mouth, swallowing it in one gulp.

“Then I sure hope that I can trust you as well.”

17

MONDAY, DAY 7

The metal door of the truck trailer rattled as the cargo truck drove down the dirt road. There were a few slits for ventilation by Rena’s cage, allowing her to peer out into the desert-like expanse outside.

Rena, you had one chance, and you blew it.

Somewhere behind her, a stunted albino tiger yawned. It had gone to sleep a good half hour before, along with the other animals in the trailer. Some of them, Rena had only ever seen in a zoo behind a thick layer of glass. They weren't nearly as endearing up close- a feces-riddled stench came from the tiger, and the chickens bought as fodder for the larger animals reeked of rotten eggs.

I've got no choice.

Rena bowed her head. Bes, are you somewhere out there? I don't want to live out the rest of my body’s life as a wild animal. I’ll gladly take the humiliation of being exorcised over having to kill myself.

That wouldn’t work, you idiot, a foreign voice spat back at her.

Rena looked back in front of her. Appearing out of a cloud of smoke which had filtered in through the vent was Bes. His face was cold and stony, his intent clear.

“Rena.” The name felt gritty on his voice. “You managed to escape the slaughter.”

“Slaughter is what you wanted us to do, though. At least-” Rena clenched her fists, struggling for words. “At least they numbed the pain before ripping my friends apart.”

“But that doesn't matter now. They’re in the soul recycling center as we speak. I've failed to keep them away from the fate that they left Earth behind to escape. And you know what that means?”

“What?”

Bes didn't reply. He closed his eyes instead, throwing a veil of darkness over Rena’s eyes. A jittering passed through her bones, and then the floor underneath her feet melted to the soft grass of the backyard of the mansion.

“Rena.”

Bes threw off the veil, and Rena found herself free of the cage, sitting underneath a tree. He extended his hand to her forehead, dragging a ragged fingernail across her forehead as she stared ahead.

Rena forgot to wince from the scratch his nail had left behind as Bes' eyes dug into her.

“You are formally banished from the Liberation Front.”

“Do I have to leave immediately?” she squeaked, withering under the stony glare.

“What do you think?” Bes retreated his hand and took a few steps back. “Run. Run as far as you can- to the ends of the earth, even. Because when I’m done with this revolution, I’m going to hunt down every single defect and destroy their soul and their backups. Yours included.”

Rena blinked once, absorbing what Bes had just told her before standing up. On two shaky legs, she leaned against the tree to regain her balance.

“Catch me if you can.”

And she took off across the yard, bounding away from the mansion with light steps and a heavy heart.

Leaves crunched under Rena’s feet as she struggled to pace herself in her wild jog. It had started out as a freedom sprint, the possibilities of her newly found freedom unfolding around her. But then the image of Bes closing in on her and destroying her soul weighed in, and she almost collapsed.

That was an hour ago, and now she darted haphazardly among the trees of the forest. Her feet stung from stepping on sharp twigs, and she could almost swear that there was a patch of sap dried on her left ankle, but at least she had managed a distance that her seventh grade gym teacher would be proud of.

Rena slowed down to a pace at the edge of a clearing. She collapsed under a tree right on its edge, wedging herself in between two large and twisted roots. Her lungs burned as she placed a hand on her heaving chest.

God, I wish that Bes had taught me how to assume a more human form.

Rena looked around her. Her purple skin wasn’t entirely unpleasant with the red and yellow leaves falling from the trees. The weather must be wonky here, Rena rationalized. It was almost as if the seasons had sped up, skipping large swathes of summer.

There was a shimmering to her right. She turned her pounding head to the source of the noise, where a small swirling portal of sorts had formed. It looked just large enough for a body to pop through if it stood shock straight like a pencil.

I don’t think that would be a good idea.

On the contrary, it would be a wonderful idea. The chance that Bes is there is practically zero.

And, I mean, I have nothing to lose.

Rena dragged herself to a standing position and wobbled her way over to the portal, which had now grown to the diameter of a hula hoop. Taking a deep breath, she jumped in, immediately vaporizing into a fine mist.

Her vision turned black for a few moments before the scene opened to a playground meant for preschoolers. It was raining softly, more than a drizzle but not so much as to pose a threat of flooding the pea rock area.

I recognize this playground.

Rena’s mist settled on the top of a slide as a memory surfaced. She was about thirteen or fourteen years old, and her cousins were even younger still. They stood at the top of the slide tower with a plastic toy car large enough for a child to sit in. They'd shoved a plastic yellow chair into the driver's seat and pushed it down the slanted rock climbing slope. It was a car crash test, they claimed when her mother had come stomping out of the church and demanded that they cease immediately.

It was to protect the preschool who owned the toys, her mother had explained. Rena hadn’t thought that the preschool needed protection, being that they were religion-based and could just pray that none of their cheap donated baby toys would break from a fall of only a few feet.

Unless they were lying about something.

Rena heard a soft rustling on the playground level under her. She descended through the warped wooden planks and noticed a dark-haired boy about her age sprawled out inside of a plastic tunnel. He was shallowly breathing, and a small amount of gold dust had been sprinkled onto both of his closed eyelids.

He was just exorcised?

And why here, of all places?

Was Bes trying to send a message?

Rena floated closer to the body, sighing in relief when she merged with his body and gained ownership of it. She opened her eyes, clenching and unclenching her hands to make sure that his body worked.

Whoever you were, thank you for making yourself cute before you settled onto your deathbed. Or death tunnel.

Rena groaned as she squeezed her way out of the tunnel, thanking whoever the boy was for not allowing himself to be obese. Once she was free of the tunnel, she exited the playground and followed the trail leading to the front of the church.

What day is it again? Tuesday? She looked down at the waterproof watch on her wrist. Monday. I would be in worship practice right now.

Except I don’t think you could worship your old god after quite literally being to hell and back.

Rena rounded the trail corner, finding a lady with what Rena liked to call the “gardening aesthetic” banging on the doors. Approaching her, Rena heard her swear multiple times under her breath, something she had never heard any of the churchgoers do.

“Damn door won’t open. They probably gave me the wrong key. Blasted malarkeys couldn’t keep their pieces of metal straight.”

“Excuse me, ma’am-”

The woman twirled around, her skirt momentarily billowing out. Her eyes narrowed.

“What are you doing in the rain all alone?”

“I-” Rena found her voice a bit too low for her liking, but she continued. “I’m lost. I have no idea where I am.”

The woman’s face softened. Rena bit her lip upon recognizing her as LaJean, the woman she had helped for a day back when she and Samhain were on the run.

Samhain...

“You’re lost?” LaJean smiled, retrieving some car keys from her purse and abandoning her business at the door for the parking lot.

Rena followed her to an aging red truck. “Where are we going?” she asked as LaJean unlocked the driver’s door and stepped inside.

“To my house.” LaJean unlocked the passenger door and invited Rena inside. She sat down and instinctively buckled her seatbelt, allowing the cracked and faded leather of her seat to soothe her. “I could use an extra hand around to help. I’ve got some big preparations to make.”

18

TUESDAY, DAY 8

Is Rena coming back here to kill me as I sit here alone?

I don’t think you need to be so paranoid, Anders.

Anders swished his feet in the pond. It was early morning before first shift. He’d snuck out of the private suite, only acknowledged by a few overnight guards as he slipped into the gardens.

Maybe I should have some guards with me right now. They’d keep me safe.

From what? Birds singing and mating? Rena’s two hundred miles from here. On foot, it would take at least a day’s worth of running. You’d have plenty of time to prepare for one lone freak.

And besides, Rena has no idea where you are.

Anders shivered in the cold morning air. He pulled his jacket closer to his body. The sun was just barely beginning to peek out of the top of the tree line.

I wonder what Miranda’s doing?

Somewhere up the trail, a pair of feet pounded towards Anders. He turned his head to the right to find Miranda running towards him.

Miranda reached Anders and plopped down beside him, crossing his legs. His hair was untangled and unbrushed- he’d probably just rolled straight out of bed.

Miranda caught his breath before whispering a good morning to Anders. They exchanged a few trivialities before Miranda looked Anders in the eye.

“Anders, what exactly did you expect when you made me?”

Anders, thrown off-guard, diverted his eyes to the pond. A few lethargic fish brushed past his ankles. “I, umm... I guess I expected you to be more subservient. I really wanted someone up to my speed that I could share the role of administrator with, and-”

“Anders?” Miranda’s face flushed- with embarrassment or the cold of the morning, he couldn’t tell. His eyes studied his friend’s face. “Is there really a PR stunt going on? I haven’t seen a single camera go off. And I don’t want to be the representative for a whole group of people.”

Anders sighed. “No, nothing was officially planned.”

“And here I was, thinking that I’d have to be some sort of celebrity-”

"That didn't mean that I wasn't intending to make a plan eventually. I just hadn't gotten around to it." Anders' jaw tensed. "There have been a lot of... reporters I've had to fend off the past few days. Staff gossip like hell, even with the silence clause in their contracts-"

"I would think that kind of work would be beneath an administrator."

Anders turned his face away, trying to hide his frustration. He’d had a glorious future in his mind- a charismatic and outgoing personality at his side, making the Institute the shining light on the hill that it hadn’t been yet in all of its years.

Instead, he’d gotten a dazed book-loving recluse who thought he was doing his job wrong.

Miranda shifted uneasily in his place, sensing Anders was upset. “You’re a nice enough friend. And I’d like to remain friends. But you need to back up with trying to control every single aspect of my life and let me make my own decisions.”

“But-”

“I’m equal to you, remember?” Miranda placed a hand on Anders’ shoulder. “I want to live my own life before I’m too old to do anything. I’ve already missed out on a childhood. Please just let me handle myself.”

“Miranda...” Anders turned back to his partner. His eyes had darkened. “I spent a lot of time designing you.”

“So?”

“I made it so that you and others like you would age at a much slower rate. You can expect to live at least two hundred years, if not indefinitely.”

“So why are you so desperate to be my romantic partner, then? You’d die in seventy years or so, and I’d be left with the emotional damage for eternity.”

“I’m trying to reach something along those lines for humans,” he continued, ignoring Miranda’s comments. “Obviously, it’s not perfect yet. But you’re valuable, see? It makes sense that you should want somewhere safe to be until you gained a bearing on the world. It’s dangerous out there, Miranda.”

“Is that why you recluse yourself here so much? Don’t you have any friends who pine for your attention?”

Now it was Anders’ turn to blush. “I have a few friends-”

“Then how come I never see you talking to them?”

“Because work comes first. I perfect this, and I’ll have all of eternity to go out with my friends and have fun.” Anders pulled his legs from the pond, resting his feet on the large rocks making up its border. “You know what, Miranda, I’ll make a deal with you since you seem so hellbent on not being here.”

“Are you going to send me off too like you did with Rena?”

“No, because I care about you too much.” Anders sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. “You cooperate with Giles and me and anything the Institute wants you to do. In return, I’ll start looking for a nice place away from here where we can live. Understood?”

“Sure.” Miranda stood up. “I’m going to go eat breakfast now. Hopefully I won’t be mobbed this time.”

19

TUESDAY, DAY 8

The rest of the day was largely uneventful. Anders walked the equivalent of a few laps around the Institute, doing whatever it was that he’d become the admin to do- checking up on the various projects taking place, popping into rooms every so often, and giving a little tidbit of advice here and there. He explained to one of the younger staff members, who was in the middle of helping with the preparations for a reparative surgery on an injured subject, why they shouldn't be sticking the handles of tools up their noses. Even if it was for a funny photo, the ensuing bacterial infection that the subject would suffer from wasn't worth the extra three likes on whatever pithy social media the kids used those days.

One project in particular held Anders’ focus for the majority of the day. Three years back, before the Institute had reformed and far before Anders had assumed his role, all of its resources had been pooled towards one goal- to make humans fly. It had worked, but the fact that they required children kidnapped from their homes and schools frightened the population who would have otherwise accepted the possibility of soaring in the skies like their favorite birds. The program had crashed, and the affected children had gone into hiding.

But now that Anders was administrator and the Institute had changed its ways, people in the Soona Brisian government far above Anders’ head had decided that it was time to reinstate the project.

And, by God, they were going to make sure it worked this time.

“Anders?”

The tall man turned around at the mouth of the hallway. It didn't matter which hallway; he was going to the third floor to compose himself before the shift change. All roads led to Rome in their time. All hallways led to the upper floors.

“Yes, Austin?”

Austin stopped a few feet away from him, holding a clipboard with a few hastily scribbled notes. “Alley requests permission to obtain a few egg samples from Miranda for the reproductive bank. They won’t be shared with any fertility centers, in case you're worried.”

“Why don't you ask Miranda himself?”

Austin gave Anders a confused look. “I don't understand, sir. Miranda is legally considered property of the Institute. Therefore the decision would be yours to make.”

“Well, my decision is that you should ask Miranda.”

“Okay...” Austin dragged out his voice as his eyes traveled to the next note. “Giles wants to remind you that you have an important meeting to go to Thursday morning, first thing. He also said that maybe you shouldn't get so tangled-”

Austin abruptly stopped. His face was already beginning to blush. “Giles has an awfully colorful vocabulary when he wants to.”

Anders made a mental note to chastise him later.

“Is there anything else you need?”

Austin absentmindedly tapped his pencil on the edge of the clipboard. “Are you going to call a pod or carpool?”

“I think I’ll call a pod this time. Thank you, Austin.”

Anders waved the young man off, releasing him to his work.

A few hours later, Miranda was wandering aimlessly through the hallways of the third floor. A few shifts’ worth of staff were sleeping in their pods, but Miranda’s feet made no sound on the floor as he walked.

How much involvement will Anders expect out of me in the future?

Miranda’s left forearm ached. He kept it close to his side as he walked. A few hours ago, Miranda had been led into a room by an aging assistant and given a dose of hormones. The assistant’s face was old and decrepit, and miniscule flakes of skin rustled on her lips as she murmured about getting an egg sample.

Sure, they had asked Miranda about it beforehand, but they hadn't given him much of a choice.

Or any choice at all, really, now that he thought about it.

Feeling vertigo creeping up on him, he leaned against a wall, sliding to the floor. It took him a moment before he realized that he was only a few feet away from the doors of the private suite.

Footsteps echoed. Miranda turned around to find Anders running towards him, papers in his arms and a bandage on his forearm.

“Miranda!” Anders stopped beside Miranda, sliding down and sitting beside him. “Are you okay? You look a little woozy.”

Miranda rubbed the side of his face. “I'm fine-”

“Do you need me to help you inside the room?”

“No, Anders, I’m just fine.” Miranda pushed himself up, wobbling for a moment. “I’m not a wimp.”

Anders stood up as well, keeping the stack of papers in his arms. “I was just wondering if you needed any new clothes. You and I might be moving out soon. Your white shift is of good quality, yes, but you can't just wear that your entire life.”

Miranda snuck a glance behind Anders. Nobody else was in the hallway. “Where are you getting the clothes from, Anders? Does someone go shopping for you?”

“No, actually.” He glanced at his watch. “My mother owns a clothing shop that employs disadvantaged people. Sometimes they're also convicts or teenagers trying to save up money so that they can escape up north.” Anders sighed. “I came across a few of them once.”

Miranda perked up. “What happened?”

Anders shook his head. “That’s a story for another time.” He laid a hand on the disappointed Miranda’s shoulder. “I've got a few people scouring the city for houses. They've found a few already. You might do well with at least one new outfit.”

Miranda looked down. “I’ll consider it.”

The walkie-talkie on Anders’ belt buzzed. Through the static, Giles’ voice rang clear. They needed a decision about the papers- what papers?, Miranda thought- and Anders winked before heading off.

Miranda shook his head, standing back up. It’s probably more paperwork. More of the usual.

I hate usual.

20

THURSDAY, DAY 10

The meeting was dry, just as Anders had expected. The previous few gatherings had been about financial troubles in the the other cities that the Soona Brisian government had at least some sway over- Milagri and Wychester- and while Anders had a few ideas about how to gain revenue without taxing the citizens to death, he kept his mouth shut and his eyes half open.

No need to make the people in power with more seniority than him even more resentful of his quickly-gained success.

Anders’ eyes flew back into focus suddenly. Amane’s fingers were a few inches from his face, snapping to bring him back to reality.

“Anders, I know you can’t drink anything of value, but maybe you could order some water or something? You keep drifting away from conversation.”

“Sorry.”

Anders focused back on his friends Amane and Ambrose, both seated to his right. He’d been invited to a bar, and although he had an alcohol sensitivity and thus couldn't indulge himself in any of the city’s specialties, it was worth looking like a third wheel to a freakish couple to see Amane and Ambrose slowly becoming tipsier as the evening waned on. They were a funny sort of duo, the two, one scrawny redhead and a heavily built man with a hearty laugh who could have been a lumberjack had he wanted to spend his days in nothing but trees.

“So, Anders?” Ambrose reached around Amane and laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Whatever happened at that meeting? You keep making us plan around everything you do.”

“It was during normal work hours. You should have known not to schedule something at that time.” Anders shrugged Ambrose’s meaty hand off. “It doesn't matter, anyways. It was boring as hell.”

Ambrose slumped with disappointment, stirring his drink.

Amane perked up. “Hey, Anders, why’ve you spent so much time holed up in your laboratory recently? This is the first time in a while that we’ve all gone out as friends.”

“It’s not a laboratory,” Anders corrected between clenched teeth. It was a common mistake for Amane to make, but Anders would have at least expected Amane to have picked up on the error after the fifth time. Or maybe the tenth. He had lost track. “It’s a research facility. We don't have racks upon racks of test tubes lining the walls. That’s second era stuff.”

“That doesn't answer my question though.” Amane wiggled his eyebrows.

Anders opened his mouth to speak, but Ambrose interrupted him. “Anders! Is it true that you’ve found a woman?”

Anders winced. The bartender showed up then, delivering a slender lemon drop to Amane. He downed half of it before diverting his eyes to the ceiling, not paying attention when Ambrose slid his phone (with a low-quality picture of Miranda pulled up) in front of him.

“He’s not a woman.” Anders slid Ambrose’s phone back to him, seeing that Amane was actively trying to ignore the two.

“Nonsense.” Amane snuck a glance at the photo before Ambrose could put his phone away. A wry smile crossed his face. “Stick some tits on him and he could easily pass as a woman. He’s still got a bit of a baby face-”

Ambrose slapped Amane across the face, forcing him to acknowledge his existence. “Not Anders, you dunce!”

“I meant Miranda,” Amane clarified, rubbing the back of his neck. He kept his eyes low, unsure of whether his behavior was due to the drink already reaching his brain or if he had convinced even himself with his acting. “But Anders, are you really seriously dating a woman?”

“When’s the wedding?” Ambrose blurted out, disturbing a few other people in the bar seated close to them. They rolled their eyes but made no intention of moving.

Anders waved over the bartender and politely asked for a cup of water. He bit his lip, hesitating before answering. “I’m not pursuing a romantic relationship with Miranda right now. I’d like to not intrude on his personal boundaries. He has enough of an issue trusting me as is.”

Amane’s mood lifted a bit. He took another sip of the lemon drop, grimacing as one of the crystallized candy bits broke off and slid down his throat. “Well... take good care of him, Anders. You know to call me if you've got any... needs.”

“Are you okay, Amane?”

Amane's wiped his eyes, which were beginning to glisten. “I’m fine. Don't mind me. Just being an overly emotional pussy again.”

“Ah, is widdle Amane crying again?”

“Shut the hell up, Ambrose.” Tears were threatening to spill from Amane’s eyes, but the characteristic devil’s smile that Anders had come to love was wide across Amane’s face. “Or I’m gonna make you cry from places in your body you didn't even know exist.”

“Like my cock?” Ambrose snorted. Amane only ever threatened him in jest. “Go have another fling with Anders. I’m sure he would enjoy that. It would certainly help him in not seducing his lady friend.”

Anders’ hands flew to his face, smothering a giggle as Amane’s face turned a bright red. His phone rang then, and he took a deep breath to calm himself before answering it.

“Hello?” Anders internally swore, hoping that whoever had called him could hear him over Ambrose’s booming laughs.

“That’s funny, Anders. You usually bother to check the contact name before you answer.” There was an undercurrent of panic in Giles’ voice. “I need you to come back immediately.”

“Why?”

Giles' voice cracked. “We should have put down the rest of the subjects- but it’s too late now, I guess-”

“Giles, what’s wrong?”

“Miranda’s been attacked.”

Anders’ face fell, and Ambrose shut up. “I’ll be there immediately.”

“What happened?” Amane tucked his hands into his pockets. “She hasn't broken up with you, has she?”

“Miranda’s been hurt. I need to go.”

Anders left fifteen dollars by Amane, taking the most direct route around the countless tables in the bar and running out to the parking lot. His heart threatened to pound its way out of his chest as he slipped into the dingy borrowed red truck and started the engine.

21

THURSDAY, DAY 10

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Anders closed his eyes. He had spent the past half an hour in a harried state: he’d almost been pulled over multiple times by a police officer, who merely waved him off upon seeing his ID and suggested that he take a pod next time. The Institute was locked when he arrived, and he had accidentally left his keys in the red truck he’d borrowed from an employee, so Giles had allowed him inside after he’d pounded on the front doors.

But all that was shoved to the back of his mind as he focused on one thing- Miranda was lying in the same bed that he himself had been in only a little while ago, sedated and, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world.

“Anders?”

Anders opened his eyes to find Alley standing on the other side of the bed. She was a darker-skinned and less slender version of Lainey, almost. He found it hard to believe that the two were half-sisters.

But none of that was relevant right now.

“Yes, Alley?”

“How are you feeling? Do you need anything to calm down?”

He relaxed his shaking hands, shoving them into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He calmly waved her suggestion away, pretending not to wince when she checked the IV in Miranda’s left arm.

Miranda’s face was the calmest that he’d seen him in a long time, although since it was from sedation, Anders couldn't say that it counted. A few red scratches were emblazoned on Miranda's neck- not deep enough to scar, but definitely enough to have drawn blood.

Anders shuddered.

“Alley?” Anders shook his head, trying to dispel the image of a helpless Miranda from his mind. “What exactly happened? Giles didn't tell me.”

“Well...” She tapped her pen on her clipboard. “We had one last subject from the rebellious shipment. She was a little scrawny girl named Chire, I believe. Miranda was trying to get a mop for the cleaning crew when Chire broke out of her cage and decided to make a run for it.”

“Why wasn't the bastard harvested before this?”

“I don't know.” She threw a hand up in the air, sighing. “I wish I could tell you, Anders. Probably because she was so skinny that she was in danger of dying from malnourishment? You'll have to ask them.”

Anders looked down at his feet and shook his head. “How bad is the damage?”

Alley’s eyes flickered to the bottom of her clipboard. “A few shallow stab wounds inflicted by fingernails in the abdomen. Relatively minimal damage. I expect a full recovery.” Alley looked Anders in the eye. "Judging from the looks of you, maybe a few days before Miranda's back in action."

“Good.” Anders looked back up. “I should get Miranda out of the Institute as soon as possible.”

Alley sputtered, choking down a laugh. "Jeezum, Anders. Don't you think that's going a bit overboard?"

Anders waved Alley away, refusing to answer her. Confused, she left, slipping through the privacy curtain to check on the others in the recovery suite.

Anders remained for fifteen more minutes, hoping that Miranda would wake up. The sedative wasn't designed to last longer than necessary to stabilize him, but Miranda remained asleep.

Anders stood up, preparing to leave.

“Anders?”

The sheets rustled as Anders turned around. Miranda’s eyes were half-open, pupils dilated different amounts.

“Miranda?” Anders turned back to his stool, taking a seat. “Are you okay?”

“I-” Miranda coughed. Thin strands of blood stained the thin sheet draped over him. "What's going on-"

"You got assaulted, from the looks of it." Anders glanced out the crack in the privacy curtain, hoping Alley couldn't hear him over the wails of the other subjects she was tending to. "I'm sorry. I should have been there-"

"No, you shouldn't have." Miranda reached his arms out, feebly pushing on the rails of the bed to try to sit up, but he only rose an inch and then fell back down into the bed. "Now I feel even more useless."

Anders wrung his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry-"

"Stop. Stop apologizing." Miranda closed his eyes, his lips pursed. His face looked even more pale in the yellow light. "How's the house buying going?"

"I've settled on a small blue house on Delaine Street. It's not too far from here. I'm going to rent it at first, and if-"

"If I keep up my good behavior, then you'll buy it, Yeah, yeah." Miranda waved him off. "Why did you have to wake me up, Anders? I feel like crap. I thought I was going to die. Let me sleep."

"Alright... sorry..."

Anders, confused, slipped out of Miranda's partition in the recovery suite. Alley was at the end of the row of beds, helping one of her assistants hold down the limbs of a flailing little girl with dingy white wings. Alley crooned softly, trying to get the girl to calm down, but all to no avail.

Strong and tawny wings, hovering in the sky...

22

FRIDAY, DAY 11

A young set of knuckles knocked on the front doors to a dark-painted house. The paint around the door was cracked and faded- for a Gehennan mansion, it was painfully undermaintained.

But Bes wouldn't have it any other way.

Chire’s frilly pink dress fluttered in the wind as footsteps ran down a staircase from inside. It felt great to be away from the ugly body she had inhabited on earth and back somewhere closer to heaven.

“Hello?” A young boy opened the door. His eyes widened as he recognized Chire. “Please come in!”

“Of course.”

Chire demurely diverted her eyes as she stepped into the mansion. As she passed through the halls leading to the expansive living room on the main floor, several soldiers called out her name, waving to her and warmly welcoming her back home.

“Chire!” Bes lifted his eyes. He had fallen asleep in a luxuriously upholstered recliner. The fire in the fireplace- the sky had chosen to make the land cold that day- glinted in his eyes. “You're home.”

“Well, obviously.” Chire dipped her head and did a curtesy. “I take it that you've done well in my absence.”

“It could have gone a lot better.” Bes closed his eyes and rubbed his eyebrows. “What were you thinking, Chire? Going out of your way to hurt an innocent person?”

Flustered, she answered, “I was trying to cause emotional damage to Anders-”

His voice spiked. “There are better ways of doing that. Messing with one of his pet projects-”

“-is exactly what I was trying to do. Miranda isn't a person. He has no soul. He’s a puppet made by Anders to fulfill his own power fantasies.”

Bes grunted. “In that case, you would do better trying to control Miranda rather than hurt him.”

“I've already tried possessing him-”

“Then try something else!” Bes opened his eyes, pulsating red. There was venom in his voice as he spoke. “Go to your room, Chire. Come up with a better plan while I work to reverse the effects of your actions.”

Chire huffed as she blew past Bes, heading down the hallways to her own room, nestled deep in the heart of the mansion. Full of pastels and soft objects, she was reminded of the little girl she had been back at home, sent back to her safest place after one too many imagined infractions. She shut the door immediately after entering, flopping down on her bed and clutching one of the stuffed animals that she’d brought from home in her arms.

Home.

She sat up, letting her eyes wander around the room. There was a menacing black dog- a Doberman, perhaps?- napping on a pink plush rug at the foot of her bed, undisturbed by her sudden entrance. She scratched his neck, eliciting a low-pitched growl of affection in his sleep.

“Oh, Almira.” Chire’s other hand fiddled with a pink chunky bracelet that she’d left on the side table the day she started her last mission. “Did you miss me terribly? Did Bes treat you well?”

Almira opened his eyes. They were a milky sort of white, clashing with the red heart-shaped patch over one of his ears. He was a well-proportioned dog, raised by Chire from the time he was merely a puppy.

Her parents had insisted that receiving a hellhound for her birthday would throw her world into chaos, being that she was supposed to be a Mithral, a being of benevolence.

Maybe her parents weren’t entirely wrong.

23

MONDAY, DAY 14

The dingy red truck made a sputtering sound as it came to a stop at an intersection. Anders tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for it to be his turn to make a right turn onto the highway. The headlights were almost broken, but the turn lights still functioned.

“I was expecting the city to be more technological,” Miranda admitted, shivering in the chilly early morning air. His stomach still ached- he had made astonishing healing progress over the past few days, but he still had stitches. “When was the last time these roads were paved?”

“Miranda, we’re smack dab in the middle of road maintenance season.” Anders pointed to a road sign advertising construction that would commence in August. “They just haven't gotten to here yet.”

Miranda rested his head on his shoulder seatbelt. The truck itself needed more work than the roads, but Anders had borrowed it from Lainey, and she couldn't afford to fix it at the moment. Besides, it might endear them to the neighbors.

Miranda coughed, drawing Anders out of his reverie. He had already turned onto the highway, doing ten miles under the speed limit. The exit that he needed to take was nowhere in sight.

“Anders, have you ever killed anybody?”

Anders released a half-hearted laugh as he turned onto the right lane. He didn't want to be trapped by the delivery truck ten meters behind him.

What the hell am I supposed to tell him?

“On the job, I mean,” Miranda clarified, sitting up straight. “Gone out of your way to cause some subject’s death, or had to personally put someone down, or caused a work accident...”

Anders released a deep breath, taking the exit that he had been searching for. “There was one time I accidentally killed a teenage girl. Some demon possessed me- Bes, I think his name was- and I ended up murdering her. Her girlfriend then turned on me before I could explain my loss of control, which is why I wasn't able to be there when you first woke up.”

Miranda was silent for a moment, trying to process what he'd just heard, before he laughed and rolled his eyes. “You've got to be joking, Anders. That would have left evidence. You'd be rotting in jail right now while they decided whether or not to give you the death sentence.”

“The DNA of multiple people were found at the site before the police could secure it," Anders explained as Miranda's face fell. "I wasn't conscious at the time of the investigation due to heart surgery, so I couldn't give my side of the story. Giles and Lainey got me off on a special plea with the city government. It’s not something I want to revisit.”

Miranda glanced over at his friend. Anders' cheeks were tinged red.

Anders slowed the truck down, coming to a complicated intersection. Five minutes later, they were bumping along an empty residential road, houses evoking some unbased feeling of nostalgia in Miranda.

He parked a few feet away from a driveway leading to a small blue house. In the front yard, the real estate sign had no indication that it had been claimed, still giving off the impression that there was nobody interested in it.

Anders and Miranda left the truck and approached the house, trying to ignore the dead leaves from the previous autumn crunching and snapping beneath their feet. Anders pulled out a key when they reached the front door, allowing them inside.

Miranda took a look around. Two staircases immediately greeted them- one going downstairs to a living room and one upstairs, which diverged left to a living room and kitchen and right to the bedroom hallway.

This is perfect, he thought as he took his shoes off on the welcome mat, feeling the soft carpet of the stairs beneath his feet. Nice and cozy.

Miranda turned back around, facing Anders, who was still standing in the open doorway. “Why’s it so big for just the two of us?”

Anders shrugged. “Family events, having guests over, plenty of space to move around. Things that we couldn't do easily in a tiny apartment.”

“Yeah, we’ll definitely need a lot of space.” He waited a moment, allowing worry to crease Anders’ eyebrows before giggling. “Are you okay? You look a bit antsy to leave.”

“We don't have a bed or anything here, Miranda. There isn't much we can do. I just wanted to show you the house.”

Miranda’s smile faded. “Does that mean we have to go back to the Institute?”

“No. I’m not taking you back there if I can avoid it. For now, we have a hotel room to stay in.” Anders reached forward and took Miranda’s hand, waiting for him to put his shoes back on before leading him out of the house and locking the door back up. “Maybe we can stay overnight later this week.”

Anders started the truck up again, wiping his forehead as they drove away. Miranda stared out the window as they rolled down the street.

Someday, this will be my street, these my neighbors, this place a home for my memories.

24

TUESDAY, DAY 15

A pile of leaves fallen early had scattered on the driveway by the time that Anders and Miranda returned the following day. The neighbors had left a note on the front door sometime in their absence, inviting them to the neighborhood and asking when they could come over for a cup of tea or some other pleasantry.

The note now lay on the kitchen table, which the previous owners hadn't brought with them. A box of dishes sat on top, opened and half-empty and depleting more and more as Anders retrieved the aging plates. They were from his mother, but space constraints in the Institute had prevented him from moving them out of the private storage facility at the edge of town until now.

“Don’t you have any friends other than me, Anders?” Miranda wondered aloud, transferring a clean plate from the sink to the drying rack. “It seems like you spend all your time around me. You must be kind of lonely.”

“I have a few friends.” He handed a cup to Miranda, chipped from the time he bit it as a child. “Amane and Ambrose. They're a bit louder and rowdier than I like, but they seem to tolerate me, so we’re friends.”

“How come you don't spend more time with them, then? I bet they miss you.”

“I actually was last week, but then you got attacked, and it's no fun hanging out when Giles won't tell you whether or not your friend’s on the line, and-”

“Stop.”

Anders’ face was a bright red as Miranda turned around.

“It’s not your fault that I got attacked. Stop blaming yourself.”

“I-" Anders glanced behind him. "I have to go.”

Anders abandoned the kitchen, rushing into the master bedroom and slamming the door behind him. The room was bare except for red sheets draped over the windows, serving as curtains that fluttered in the light breeze.

The door squeaked as it opened. “Are you okay?”

The man kept his eyes diverted away from Miranda’s concerned face. “I haven't been feeling right recently.”

“Aren’t there drugs for that?”

“Why does everybody want to drug me?” Anders shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I swear. Do you want to help me set up the bedroom?”

“I thought you wanted me on dish duty. Besides, there really isn't a point. We won't be staying here overnight anyways.”

“There’s no reason why we can't.”

Miranda’s face lit up before snatching the moving truck keys from Anders’ belt. Flustered, Anders turned around, watching his friend dash out the door and head for the back of the moving truck, unlocking it before throwing the door open and disappearing inside. He returned a few minutes later with a bundle of bed sheets, throwing them onto the floor beside where Anders stood.

“Aren't you going to help me?”

“In a minute.” Anders pressed his hands together. “I was wondering..." He took a deep breath. "If you wanted to go on a date.”

Miranda’s ecstatic expression faded away into confusion, and Anders clarified, “A platonic one. I'm not trying to get in your pants. I should have said an outing.” Anders’ face flushed.

“Sure. I'd love to.” Miranda warily backed out of the door, heading back to the moving van.

Anders waited until Miranda was out of the room before turning to the nearest wall and slamming his head into it. His forehead burned with pain. He released a gasp, balling his fists.

“God! Pull yourself together, Anders! When did you become so soft and sappy and beta? You're supposed to be the darling of Soona Bris, the proud and pompous prick that everyone hates but looks up to anyways!”

That’s called love, Anders, corrosive love that burns down all borders.

“I don’t want to be in love with Miranda. I want to be in love with myself and focus solely on my work like in the good old days.”

It's time you sucked it up and realized that you can't put your feelings on a shelf forever. You're a human, Anders, not a robot. Maybe you should go back to working at the hospital, where you can practice caring more.

“You and I both know that would drive me crazy.”

“Anders? Are you okay? You're talking to the wall.”

Anders opened his eyes, relaxing his hands. Miranda had hauled a mattress all the way up the steps and was standing with it under his arm in the doorway.

“I haven't been okay a single day of my life. Let me help you with that mattress.”

25

WEDNESDAY, DAY 16

The park was calm and still as Miranda wandered his way through the trails, eventually coming to a stop at the circle of concrete benches surrounding a water fountain. The concrete was smooth to his fingers, he found when he sat down. This could be a city that he could get used to.

But since he had been in the Institute for the two weeks (and possibly longer) that he had been in existence, he didn't really have anything to compare it to. There could be literal heaven on earth somewhere, making this serene place look like a dump, and he wouldn't know.

A couple of young children- about five or six, Miranda guessed- tore through the park, light up shoes casting little sparkles on the blades of grass still wet from dew. It had rained that morning, softly waking the two friends up from their slumber on a mattress on the floor. It was still raining when Anders had left for work, leaving the day open for Miranda until he came back.

Miranda ran his fingers over the teardrop pendant hanging from the string around his neck. Anders had given it to him before he had left for work, explaining that there was a tiny GPS tracker embedded inside. It was more to assuage Anders’ fears of Miranda getting lost than to help the androgyne get home, but as long as he made it home unharmed at the end of the day, the exact wording didn't really matter.

Of course, he had Anders’ phone number as well, but that wouldn't be as useful with the lack of payphones in Soona Bris.

“Hello!” A thin, tired looking woman sat down beside Miranda on the bench. Her black hair looked like brittle straw. “I don't think I've ever seen you here before.”

“That's because I've never been here before.”

“That's alright. This is a nice place. I've written my fair share of books here.” She held out her hand, pale in the soft morning light. “What's your name?”

“Miranda Loyalis Shew,” he responded blankly, unsure of what to do.

“Ah.” She closed her eyes. The name brought pleasure to her, although Miranda couldn't for the life of him tell why. She drew her hand back. “So you're with Anders. Mucho gusto. I can tell that we're going to be seeing each other a lot from now on.”

Miranda shivered. I should have brought a coat with me.

“Who are you, exactly?”

“You can call me Claude.” She pulled her own jacket closer to her. Miranda tried his best to hide his jealousy. “Anders is at work, I take it.”

Miranda nervously shifted in his seat. “I should get going now.”

“Wait!” Claude stood up, fiddling furiously with her pockets. She produced a small thick folded card from one of them, handing it to Miranda. “You should take this with you.”

Miranda gingerly took it, studying the sticker used to affix it shut. “What is it, exactly?”

“It’s a welcome guide from your neighbors and their neighbors and their neighbors...” She trailed off. “Most of them were a bit too timid to present it to you at home. Anders has taken almost an urban legend quality in this little part of the city.”

Miranda's eyebrows furrowed as he stashed the letter in the pocket of his jeans. “What do you mean?”

“Stories about him creating all these freaks of life, building an army, preparing to take over Soona Bris...” Her hand waved. “Most of the stories are just that- works of fiction, speculation. But every so often, we get someone who has claimed to have seen things from the Institute. Like my friend LaJean.”

Miranda shook his head. “Anders isn't building an army.”

“I know. But it's fun to pretend. Some people get off on the paranoia and panic.” Claude sat down again, taking a deep breath. Her eyes fluttered wide with interest. “Is he keeping you captive? Being abusive?”

“What- no, he's not being abusive! Anders is a loving friend.” Miranda stood up. “I'm going home now.”

Claude smiled and waved her fingers. “I'll see you later, Miranda.”

26

WEDNESDAY, DAY 16

Miranda rested his head in Anders' lap as he turned the page of his book. Lainey had offered to give them the spare mini TV that she had lying around in her basement, but neither of them had any real interest in listening to the same old triad of voices drone on all day.

“We had a guest at the Institute today,” Anders whispered, unsure if Miranda had drifted off to sleep. “The hospital sent him over. He was complaining of being possessed by a demon and left with a ringing pain in his chest.”

“Like you?” Miranda murmured, his eyes half-open.

“I had a heart replacement because I was shot. He didn't have any external damage, but he kept clawing at his chest, claiming that there was still a spirit moving inside of him, trying to make him-” Anders coughed. “He kept contorting his limbs like a puppet, so we put him under to see if that would do any good. All the lights went out in that particular room, and the backup generator refused to work, so we had to wait a few more hours to do anything more.”

“I see-”

A thunk sounded from downstairs, followed by a crash. Miranda's eyes flew open. Anders immediately bookmarked his page and set the book down on the cushion next to him.

“I’m going to go check it out,” Miranda said, getting up out of his seat. “Wait here.”

“Miranda-” Anders reached for Miranda’s hand, but he missed. “You just got over some nasty wounds-”

Miranda ignored him as he went downstairs. His feet softly padded down the steps. The rustling continued as he stepped into the downstairs living room, taking care to keep the door open behind him just in case.

Taking a deep breath, he swung open the laundry room door to find a stark-black twisted figure hunched over the power meter, clutching a jewel in his hand. Miranda jumped back, ignoring the burning in his chest as he backed up to the foot of the stairs.

“Who are you?” Miranda yelled, prompting Anders to come racing down the steps as well. “What do you want?”

The figure made no move to follow Miranda or respond, instead choosing to stare at him with glowing red eyes. After Anders had arrived right behind Miranda on the staircase, the figure took one tentative step forward, holding the crystal out. Behind Miranda, Anders tensed, ready to jump ahead in case the thing decided to come closer.

“Miranda,” Anders whispered, trying not to get the attention of the invader. He was practically pressed right up against his partner, but now was not the time for childish thoughts. “Get behind me. I'm calling the police.”

“I don't think the police are going to answer to this,” Miranda responded under his breath. The figure took one more step forward, crossing the threshold of the doorway.

“What do you want?” Miranda's voice wavered.

“I want to talk to Anders in private.” Its voice was gravelly, like it had spent too many days chain-smoking but retained none of the smell.

“I'm going to call the police if you don't leave right now,” Anders responded, holding his phone up so the figure could see. “You have ten seconds to leave.”

“Alright, Anders,” it hissed. “I’ll leave. But I'll be back to see you very soon. Count on it.”

And with that, it disappeared into smoke. The crystal dropped onto the carpet, tinkling as it rolled into the laundry room.

“Well then...” Anders wiped his forehead, allowing Miranda to go back upstairs. He followed him, flopping back onto the couch.

“Anders, is there something you need to tell me?”

“Mental illness runs in my family, but you saw the creature too, so that's not it.”

Miranda slipped into the kitchen, retrieving a wet hand towel for his friend. “Anders, you made me. You could have passed it on to me as well.”

“That's not how hallucinations work.” Anders gratefully took the wet hand towel and set it over his forehead, letting the cold water chill the pounding behind his eyes. “We should get a security system set up here as soon as possible. I'm calling Lainey.”

27

THURSDAY, DAY 17

The faint laughing of children echoed in the distance as a highschooler stepped onto the basketball court. Leaves fell around the court, but none dared to touch the greentop marked with years’ worth of games.

“Ophelia.”

The highschooler turned her head, brushing her bouncing curls out of her eyes. There was nobody around her, as far as she could see, but it was possible that someone had learned how to make themselves invisible from one of the skill dealers that shadowed around the school.

“Who’s there?” she called out. “Calum, that better not be you again. I've had enough of you masking your voice. You're going to get yourself in trouble with the Spirit Police.”

“It's not Calum.”

A tallish man stepped out from behind one of the trees bordering the basketball court. His coat flapped around his slender body in the wind.

“Who are you?” Ophelia slipped a hand inside of her coat, prepared to call for the regular police force. “I’m pretty sure you're trespassing.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” The man cracked a smile. His teeth were like fragments of coal. “I've come to strike a deal with you.”

Ophelia pulled a ruler-length silver rod out of her pants pocket- she'd received it only a few days ago as a birthday present along with private lessons. They were supposed to be better than what the school could ever give her, anyways, accentuated by the fact that all the class instructor had to lend out for practice were cracked wooden dowels.

“Step any closer and I’ll unleash a nuliĝi on you.”

“Been practicing your sorcas sento, have you?” The man took a few steps forward. Ophelia backed away at the same pace until they were at opposite ends of the court. “Or did you just receive a stelo? You're not going to make me vanish with that toy. You're insane.”

Ophelia kept her stelo in her hands. “I'll repeat the question again. Who are you? What do you want?”

“I want you to come with me.”

“I'm not that idiotic.”

“Fine. My name is Bes. I'm looking for someone interested in the business of murder.”

“Well, I'm not interested.” Ophelia shifted her feet, getting ready to bolt from the basketball court. “Maybe go ask one of the thugs that roam around the school after hours. Nobody would care if the Spirit Police scooped them up.”

“You misunderstand me, Ophelia.” Bes dug his hand in his coat pocket, retrieving a plastic diamond the size of a tea candle. “The murder of humans. The beings that enslave us, force us to do-”

Ophelia turned around. “You revolutionaries aren't slick. Just a bunch of angst-filled bubbles looking for something to be mad at. If you hate it here so much, hitch a ride on a rocket to the next dimension like everybody else does.”

Bes jolted over to Ophelia’s side. He wrapped his arms around her body, pressing a hand to her mouth and forcing her to the ground. She flailed her arms, trying to pry off his hand, but to no avail.

“You will come with me, Ophelia,” he whispered in her ear. “Or I’ll frame you for the revolution, and instead of the thugs that you so despise having a meeting with the Spirit Police, it'll be you. Understand?”

Ophelia slowly nodded. Her eyes darted wildly about, trying to remember the self-defense classes that she had taken a few years ago back when she thought she wanted to work in Human Affairs. What angle was she supposed to kick her leg at? Would her leg even kick after being twisted at such an unnatural angle by Bes?

“There's a man who stands in the way of completing the outermost circle of Amistad. You start your internship at the soul reassignment center tomorrow, correct?”

“Yes, but-”

Bes squeezed Ophelia harder, eliciting grunts of pain. “I want you to track him down. His name is Anders Shew. Possess him using the emergency portal in the back room of the soul backup room and bring him to the water fountain near his residence at midnight tonight.”

“What are you going to do?”

“That is none of your business-”

“Excuse me, but it's all my business-”

Bes shoved his knee between Ophelia’s legs, making her scream for a moment before he disappeared into thin air. Ophelia shakily got up off the ground, brushed herself off, and found her stelo, which had been knocked a meter away.

A spot on her right arm pulsed with pain. She looked at it for a few seconds before the bruise Bes left came into sight.

“Asshole. Now I've got to go to the main office again.”

28

THURSDAY, DAY 17

Ophelia took a right into the main office at the front of the school. The hallways were empty, seeing as the buses, which brought the vast majority of the students to the building, were still running their routes. A few other students had walked to school, but they were holed up in their various rooms, either making up on missed work or paying penitence for breaking some rule or another.

Ophelia sat down on a chair right beside the door, waiting for the office worker to return to her post. The office was clean and sightly, a stark contrast to some of the darker corners of the building.

“Hello, Ophelia.” The receptionist came back from the back rooms with a manila folder under her arm. “It's been a long time since I saw you in here. Usually you bring that cute boy in with you.”

“What, Calum?” Ophelia stood up, showing respect. “He's been lying low for a while. He said to tell you to maybe tone down the apple perfume. It's almost obnoxious.”

“What-” The receptionist sat down in her seat behind the desk. “Ophelia! The nerve-”

She raised her hands. “Don't shoot the messenger. Calum’s a bit of a coward for not wanting to say it to your face. Not my fault.”

Flustered, the woman opened the folder, arranging the papers inside. “What do you want, Ophelia? Why are you in here?”

“I was assaulted on school grounds, and I'd like to make a police report, but the station is a few blocks away and I don't want to be caught late when the busses arrive.”

The woman’s eyes flickered back to Ophelia at the mention of assault. She beckoned silently for the girl to follow her into one of the back rooms, empty but for a table and two rolling office chairs. The receptionist made a call on her phone, leaving when the principal entered the room and sat across from Ophelia.

“So, Ophelia Linfiniti...” The principal tapped his fingers on the wooden surface of the table. “You were assaulted, you say?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What happened, exactly?”

“I was waiting in the basketball court for one of my friends to show up for an early game when a stranger trespassed on school property and accosted me. When I refused to come any closer so we could talk, he forced me to the ground and coerced me into being one of his culprits in plotting a murder of a human.”

“A human?” Her eyes shone with interest. The principal leaned closer. “That's a serious crime, you know. Can you describe the person?”

“I... not really. His name was Bes-”

“Bes Tavikka,” the principal hissed under her breath. “I want you to come back to this office after school. If Bes wants something with you, then it's not safe to be wandering about. You need to be monitored until we can bring him in.”

“But my freedom-”

“-sometimes needs to be compromised so that you can remain alive,” the principal shot back, leaving the room without explanation. Ophelia remained in her seat for a few more minutes, then left for her first hour class when she realized that the principal wasn't coming back.

Live at school, my ass. I didn't even bring a change of clothes; swimming is on B days.

Maybe the police would bring you some clothes and other junk of yours while they were investigating? Or maybe she meant to say that you'd live at the police station after school hours.

That sounds slightly better.

Bes paced his room with his arms crossed, huffing as he turned around each time. There was a storm brewing behind his eyebrows, threatening to overflow if his servant didn't return in time with the person he'd requested a private audience with.

His door flew open, and one of his more senior officers threw a struggling young man in. His face was contorted and scarred.

Bes stood still. “Travis, I told you to leave him unharmed.”

“I'm sorry, sir. I couldn't resist.” Travis broke a crooked smile before shoving the prisoner to the ground. He laughed as he strode away.

Bes looked down at the prisoner. There was blood dribbling from his lips- Bes would have to call up one of the servants later to scrub it all out.

“Do you know why you are here?”

The prisoner furiously shook his head, trying not to make eye contact.

“You're here because you blew our cover while impersonating me. The young girl you decided to threaten has no doubt gone to the police by now. You've made not only yourself but this entire revolution into a laughingstock, and now I'll have to spend countless hours undoing all that damage.” Bes took a deep breath. “Do you know what I do to people like you who act with reckless abandon?”

The prisoner’s eyes widened. “No- no, please, anything-”

“I'll have mercy on you. I doubt the Spirit Police will be kinder.”

Bes called up another one of his subjects, an older woman past menopause, and instructed her to dump him in the desert that surrounded their lush circle of land. The Spirit Police would recycle his soul accordingly. Maybe he would have sympathy for humans after being torn up into a hundred different shards and thrown about the planet, screaming every day for the rest of time for his soul to be rejoined.

29

THURSDAY, DAY 17

Miranda studied his face in the mirror. Anders had said he would be home in five minutes, and Miranda didn't want to look like a wreck when he showed up. He'd armed himself with a hairbrush and was now making his way through all the snarls in his long brown hair.

Miranda winced as he hit a knot. Maybe I should start doing this every day so that I wouldn't be in such a frantic.

But then you'd be in here all day.

The front door knocked. Miranda squealed as he pulled through the knot, tugging on his hair. He rubbed his scalp, dispelling the pain before throwing the brush back into the drawer and darting out of the bathroom.

“I'm coming!”

Miranda flew down the staircase, his skirt billowing out behind him. He opened the door to find Anders standing on the front steps with a bouquet of red roses in his hands.

“Hello, love.” Anders blushed and rubbed the collar of his freshly ironed shirt, concealing a smile. “Are you ready to go?”

Miranda giggled at the absurd sight, taking the bouquet. “I’m ready.”

Anders took Miranda’s hand and led him out of the house, locking the door behind them. In the driveway stood a shiny black car, waiting for them to climb in.

Confusion crossed Miranda’s face. “I thought you didn’t have a car?”

“Exactly.” Anders threw Miranda a smile. “I borrowed it.”

***

The restaurant was nice and quiet save for the low rumble of conversation and the clatter of silverware on plates. Miranda's eyes darted wildly around the place as they stepped into the waiting area- the entire place was decadent, like something you'd expect in a five-star hotel or a mansion belonging to a billionaire with an inherited fortune.

“Anders?” Miranda whispered as he saw a hostess approaching them. “How can you afford to go to this place?”

“A professional acquaintance owed me a favor.” Anders’ eyes flickered to the hostess, who had a towel flung over one arm. “A table for two, please.”

The hostess bowed. “Yes, sir.”

The hostess took one long glare at Anders and then led the two to a quiet corner. The kitchen door was close by, and so many sweet smells waved out of the crack in the opening that Miranda’s nose hurt from trying to process them all.

“Can I interest you in the wine selection today?” the hostess asked, warily eyeing Miranda rubbing his nose.

“No thank you.” Anders waved off the hostess, who flitted back to the front to help a severely more extravagant and wealthy couple. He turned back to Miranda, who was now sitting on his hands. “You look off. Is something wrong?”

“No, Anders.” Miranda's gaze was fixed on the ceiling, trying to follow the intricate design of swirls and lines carved into the lamp shade hanging a few feet above their heads. “I'm really just not used to any of this.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Anders leaned in close. “I'm really not used to it either.”

“What do you mean?” Miranda made eye contact. “It was your idea to come here. Haven't you been living in wealth your entire life?”

“No.” Anders sat back up straight. “My father was the mayor of Soona Bris when I was young, and even then, we didn't have all the wealth that the people here have. We lived within our means- they were just a bit higher than those of, say, our new neighbors now. But then my father got assassinated, and my mother and I had to change our last names and move to the fringes of the city.”

“Don't you have any siblings?”

“I was an only child, as far as I know. If I had any other siblings, I never saw them.” Anders rubbed his eyebrows, closing his eyes for a moment. “Maybe my mother let some of her friends adopt them so that they wouldn't be targeted either. I don't know why my father was killed. I don't remember much from that time, honestly.”

“Oh.” Miranda looked down. “On a different note, whatever happened to the egg collection project? It’s been about a week.”

“They already got them from you.”

“No, they said that they only gave me hormones.”

“They lied, probably.” Anders scratched his head. “I've been thinking that maybe it's time to move on from the Institute. I can feel the atmosphere changing, like-”

Miranda took Anders’ hand underneath the table, intertwining their fingers. Flustered, Anders pulled away and stood up, disturbing the waiter who had come with menus for the two of them.

“Is there a problem here?” the waiter asked, laying the menus on the table.

“No, sir, none at all.” Anders slowly sat back down, feeling his cheeks burn.

“Can I interest you in any drinks?” the waiter said, unnerved.

“Two waters, please.” Anders rubbed his eyes. The scowling waiter disappeared to some other table. “I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me recently. I've gone soft, I think.”

“Anders, you're just fine-”

“No, Miranda, I'm not fine.” He placed his hands on the table. “I've been admin of the Institute for a year. Even when I started, I didn't have much respect, but ever since you gained sentience, the staff have gotten more and more resentful of me. I think it's because I've gotten a bit soft.”

“You're not soft, though.”

“Compared to the person I was a year ago or, hell, a month ago? I'm as soft as a freshly baked cookie straight out of the oven. Administration requires someone pompous and proud with a disregard for human life. And while I don't care for the most part about the various donated embryos, I’m not so singleminded as to dedicate myself entirely to research.”

“So step down then. Get work at the hospital or somewhere else where you can be brilliant without so many necks breathing down your shoulder.”

“So what will you have?” The waiter had returned, holding a notepad in his hands and ready to write.

“Oh!” Startled, Miranda skimmed the menu, quickly ordering the first thing he could find that looked fairly tasty. Anders ordered the same, and the waiter winked before prancing off to the kitchen.

“So, as I was saying...” Anders cleared his throat. “It's not as easy as just resigning. There would be a power void, and I'd be required to stay there for weeks, if not months, rustling through applications and hand-picking my successor. Then I'd have to train them...” Anders trailed off. “Some days I fantasize about disappearing. Just up and leaving with a new identity and making a new life somewhere else.” He sighed. “But they'd notice, wouldn't they? I'd be followed, no matter how far I tried to run. And I'd have to take you with me.”

Anders’ breath rattled. Miranda stretched his arm forward to lay a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm his friend down.

“We'll figure all that out a different day, okay? Just try to relax. We're here to have fun.”

30

FRIDAY, DAY 18

Anders wiped cold sweat off of his forehead as he woke up in the middle of the night- the room was pitch black. The curtains swayed gently in the nighttime. He shot his arms out in front of him, but Miranda was absent, and only ruffled sheets stood in his place.

No big deal. He probably just went to the bathroom.

Anders rolled over, curling in on himself, and attempted to go back to sleep. But none of the grogginess that usually accompanied waking up was there- his mind was fully awake, begging him to get out of bed and begin his daily activities.

Something clanked downstairs. Anders sat straight up.

The downstairs bathroom? Was the upstairs one broken?

Anders slipped out of bed and groped around in the darkness until he could find his stash of clothes. He pulled on a shirt, hoping that it was enough to cover his boxers as he opened the bedroom door and fumbled for the hallway lights.

He flicked the master switch, and all the lights in the house came on. The rustling downstairs grew louder, and as he stepped downstairs, a black figure pushed him over.

“What the hell-”

The figure kicked him down the staircase. Anders tumbled head over heels down the carpeted stairs, eventually coming to rest at the edge of the downstairs living room, still void of any furniture. Maybe that would have been a good thing- Anders didn't need to knock into any armchairs in his descent.

Anders rubbed his eyes, jumping back onto his feet. The black figure had a death grip on a black body-sized bag- too oblong to be taking out the trash.

Miranda?

“Stop!” Anders yelled, racing up the short staircase. The intruder- robber? kidnapper?- immediately pulled out a stunner, not hesitating to unload the highest safety setting into Anders’ chest.

Anders stiffened, dropping to the floor immediately. Not unlike when he had been shot, a scream ripped out of his chest, burning his throat raw in a matter of seconds. When the intruder threw the door open, it smacked Anders head, sending his vision spinning.

His limbs failed to obey him as the intruder took one last masked look at the incapacitated man before dragging the bag through the door. The thief took off, closing the door and leaving Anders crumpled on the welcome mat.

It was only half an hour spent on the floor, said his watch charging on the nightstand after Anders dragged his aching limbs back to the vacant bedroom. It had felt like a lifetime. Control had come back to his limbs gradually- first his fingers twitched, then he could raise his arms, then he could weakly kick enough to propel himself up the stairs one at a time. The stunners that the Institute issued were clearly different- you got shocked for a few seconds and then fell unconscious. Nothing like this.

Anders weakly curled his fingers around his phone. His fingers trembled as he typed in his password, messing it up the first few times before he got it right. 911 wasn't hard to type, being that the dial buttons were larger.

“Please state your emergency and location.”

“I need the police. There's been a kidnapping.” Anders coughed like he was about to hack up a lung. “My partner. I'm on 5602 Delaine Street.”

“Anders Shew?”

“That would be me.” Anders’ voice cracked. “Please just send someone immediately-”

“Are you in any imminent danger?”

“The kidnapper already left. I got shocked pretty badly. Didn't look like a regulated model.”

“We'll send an ambulance to bring you to the hospital. Can you walk?”

His toes twitched. “Not well.”

“Stay where you are. Help is on the way.”

31

FRIDAY, DAY 18

Miranda squinted into the purple blindfold covering his eyes. From what he could feel, he was perched on top of a rickety wooden chair, threatening to fall apart at any moment and leave him in a pile of wooden splinters.

“Hello? Is anybody there?”

The basement merely echoed his words. The room wasn't particularly large from what he could gauge.

Avoiding the panic blossoming in his chest, Miranda slowly rocked the chair back and forth, trying to gauge his surroundings- as well as he could with his legs bound to the chair legs, anyways. There was definitely a concrete floor beneath him, and from the sounds of the washing machine somewhere to his right, he was in somebody's basement.

But it wasn't his own, he knew for sure.

“Can you smile for the camera?”

He scowled. The voice in front of him was gritty. “Who are you-”

There was a click a few feet away, and then footsteps approached him. A pair of slender hands removed the blindfold from his eyes, exposing an unfinished basement filled with knitting and scrapbooking supplies.

Funny. He had been expecting a solitary confinement cell or a sex dungeon setup, not a grandmother’s paradise.

“Welcome to my house, Miranda.” A thin woman with jet-black hair stood in front of him with a basic gray camera in her hands- definitely not Claude, but bearing some resemblance to her, sticking at the edge of Miranda’s memory. “My name’s LaJean. We’ll be spending a lot of time together from now on.”

“Where's Anders-”

“Sshhh, don't yell. You'll wake up Pyrena.”

Miranda raised his voice. “Where is Anders?”

And who is Pyrena?

Do I even care? Maybe this is all an elaborate prank. Or maybe an experiment.

“Hopefully at the Institute. I would hate for him to still be collapsed inside of his house or dead. A distressed boyfriend always makes for a higher ransom.”

Nope, this is definitely a kidnapping.

“Why, you-”

Miranda attempted to scoot his chair forward. Instead of inching towards LaJean, he instead tumbled over. His face smacked hard against the concrete. Pain exploded in his head. His forehead threatened to split, but all his brain bits seemed to be intact.

He released a cry of pain as he turned over to his side, trying to push the chair anywhere other than directly over him. A splinter dug into his upper right arm, and he could feel a drop of blood slowly rolling down his elbow.

“Don't hurt yourself,” LaJean taunted in her sickly sweet voice above Miranda. “Damaged merchandise doesn't sell.”

LaJean set Miranda’s chair upright before pulling it into a side room. He pulled the splinter out from Miranda’s arm, ignoring his yelp.

He left and locked the door behind him. “Claude will be back in a few hours. I'm sure she'll want to say hello.”

32

FRIDAY, DAY 18

The laptop slowly hummed as Anders perused his overflowing inbox of emails. He'd pulled his old laptop out of the bottom drawer of his dresser. It had taken several hours to even charge to a usable state, speaking to how long it had been since he last used it, and another hour yet to update system software.

Most of the emails flooding his inbox were spam and newsletters that he thought he had unsubscribed from years ago. Maybe he was an adventurer, cutting with a machete through the dense jungle of scam pharmaceuticals from Canada wanting to sell him sex pills in order to get to the grand prize- an email from his mother, delivered five minutes ago with a subject in all caps.

Anders! My precious baby boy! (He rolled his eyes at this.) are you okay? I read the news. You better be okay, because my sisters are coming into town in a week and want to see you, kisses and hugs, your mother.

Anders typed a quick but polite reply and pressed the send button, swiping the entire conversation away into the tangled mess that was his priority folder. More sex pill ads stared at him. Amane would probably appreciate the extra help. Maybe he should forward one to him.

Almost as if on cue, his phone rang. An up-close shot of Amane’s nose, an ugly selfie that he had taken several years back for his contact picture and never bothered to update, filled the screen until he swiped it away.

“Hello?” Anders almost fumbled the phone, but he managed to keep it close to his ear. “Amane, what do you want?”

“Oh, good, so you're not dead.” Heavy breathing filled the other end of the line. Anders could almost smell the alcohol waving off Amane’s lips through the phone. “Goddamn amber alert woke me up in the middle of the night. I thought there was a tornado siren going off. You coulda triggered me.”

“Don't blame me for your phone knocking up against your nightstand on vibrate.”

“Yeah. Really could've used the vibration somewhere else other than in my ear.” Amane gulped. Anders could almost hear Amane’s eyebrows wiggling on the other side of the phone. “So Miranda’s missing. That really blows. I was hoping we could get acquainted. You know anything?”

“I'm trying to look.”

“Then look at yourself, Anders. Ya ain't the goddamn police.” Amane’s voice cracked as his accent came out. “Let ‘em do their work. Like I gotta do my work now. See ya’round.”

Amane hung up. Anders tossed his phone back to its place on the bed. Amane was never that much of a help with serious topics, anyways.

His laptop dinged. An email appeared at the top of his screen. It was from one of those temporary email address sites- no chance of getting a reply back if it was anything of substance.

He opened it. The screen immediately filled with a grainy picture of Miranda tied to a chair, some mixture of confusion and anger on his face.

Oh, how the scratches on his legs shone.

Anders jolted, shoving the laptop away from him. It landed on the floor, tumbling closed. It wasn't so old as to break, but when Anders leaned over the bed and retrieved it, the screen was scrambled for a few seconds before returning to the picture of Miranda.

Got your girlfriend, the email text read. $20,000 in an envelope tucked in the alcove in the huge painted rock in front of Wychester Pavilion. You have two weeks. I'll give him significantly less time conscious each day until you do.

Anders reached for his phone. The police were on speed dial. For once in his life, the number came in handy.

33

SUNDAY, DAY 20

The next few days passed in a blur for Anders- agitated day blended into sleepless night, always bent over his laptop, always searching for more information that the kidnapper could have passed onto him. Once or twice, he received a blurry picture of what could have been Miranda lying on the floor covered in blood, but half an hour in the forensics lab of the police station proved it to be a composite of images scraped off of social media.

Someone was trying to scare Anders. But why?

Lainey faithfully brought him food, getting out of his way when he asked who was dealing with the admin issues. Giles brought him updates occasionally, always insisting that he leave his room, that he rest his eyes for a few minutes or for a few hours or hell, even days. Giles didn't particularly care for how long, just that Anders did something other than stare at a screen.

***

Miranda’s head lolled against his shoulder. It had been at least a few days since he had actually seen LaJean. One of her cohorts had forcibly fed him like a prisoner baby, allowed him to relieve himself in a portable john, and then abandoned him again for the silence of the empty room.

That was yesterday.

His head lolled against his shoulder. His stomach gnawed at his insides. His toes just barely brushed against the floor- how cold the floor was, even to his lethargic and no doubt colder body.

The doorknob turned. Miranda opened his eyes halfway, not bothering to lift his head- but whoever had invaded his room set their delivery down and lifted his head for him.

LaJean must have sent someone new to check on him- he was a fairly cute boy, about sixteen.

The boy’s dark eyebrows arched as he examined Miranda’s face. “You know, for the amount of money she's asking for you, I would have expected her to treat you better. But maybe I shouldn't be surprised. She drives everything with reckless abandon.”

Miranda managed a halfhearted grunt as the boy pulled away and opened his delivery box. It was a small box filled with pills of various sizes and colors and some kind of blue mashed potatoes.

“What's the matter? Don't you talk?”

“Not to strangers.”

“Well, my name’s Rena.” He retrieved a small bottle filled with blue pills. “Do you know why you're here? Did anybody close to you have some beef with LaJean? I've never seen her this unhinged before.” He laughed. “But I haven't been with her long, so what do I know?”

“Not anything that I know of,” Miranda whispered. “I wouldn't be surprised if Anders had a lot of enemies, but-”

“Anders?” Rena dropped the bottle. It rattled at the bottom of the box. Under his breath, he swore, turning away back to the open door of the room.

Miranda lifted his head. “What's wrong?”

Rena turned back to Miranda. “Anders Shew?”

“Who else?”

“That sick bastard.” Rena clenched his fists. “He murdered my girlfriend. LaJean should have kidnapped him instead.”

Miranda’s eyes flashed. “He mentioned being possessed and accidentally killing someone once-”

“No, it was on purpose-”

“It was an accident!” Miranda closed his mouth, suddenly aware that the door was open and that anybody standing by the staircase upstairs could hear them. He turned back to Rena, confused. “Wait, you were there?”

Rena closed the door, locking it on the other side and storing the key in his pocket. “The gunshot woke me up. I found Samhain lying in a pool of her own blood, just moments away from death, so I killed Anders as retribution.”

“But he said that it was a girl who killed him.”

“Life is strange.” Rena blinked. “I really shouldn't be telling you this.”

“I'm all tied up.” Miranda clenched and unclenched his fists, showing how powerless he was. “There's nothing I can do with the information. I'm a captive audience.”

“Well, if you insist...” Rena sat down on the floor. “I tried to kill myself shortly after. This demon named Bes made me part of his army instead, and then I got expelled because I failed to assassinate Anders.”

“Oh! And then he condemned several subjects to organ harvesting-”

“And my friend was one of them.” Rena wiped his eyes. “How do you live with such a soulless bastard? Or maybe soulless isn't the right word. He's got a soul, definitely, and Bes wants it for his revolution.”

Miranda coughed. “He's not soulless- he's definitely off, but his heart is in the right place-”

“-but Bes took that for his revolution too.” Rena scratched his forehead. “Wait, you said that Anders got possessed, right?”

“Yeah. I think his name was Bes? Is he the same one that hired you?”

Rena rubbed his chin. “But why would Bes possess Anders if he couldn't use that to make him kill himself? Unless he was banking on throwing me into an unbridled rage-”

“And then he killed this Samhain-”

“In order to make me kill Anders in return.” Rena looked up at Miranda. “Bes got Anders’ heart, but not his soul. But why would LaJean kidnap you?”

“Maybe they’re working together? Maybe they want to force Anders to overreact to get me back and then kill him that way?”

“Which means...” Rena stood up. “I've got to get you out of this place as soon as possible.”

“Rena!” LaJean called down from the top of the staircase. “It's time for dinner! Did you give Miranda his pills yet?”

“No, not yet,” he yelled in response. Rena picked up the bottle of pills he had dropped and studied the label. “Sedatives. I don't think I want to be giving you these. We've got to come up with a plan to get out of here, Miranda. Maybe I could snatch a key from LaJean?” He turned around, picking up the box and abandoning the room. “I'll see what I can do.”

34

SUNDAY, DAY 20

Anders’ laptop screen flickered for a few moments before shutting down. The battery had run dry, even with the solar panel constantly charging it from the bedroom window. What had been his only link into the outside world was now a lifeless piece of plastic and metal resting on the top sheet of his bed.

Anders groaned as he leaned over, collapsing into the sheets. His eyes burned from strain- how long had he been poring over emails? Hours? Days? Weeks?

Months?

How long ago had Miranda been kidnapped, anyways? Had he even been kidnapped? Or had he just... disappeared?

His bedroom door opened. Anders didn't bother to open his eyes- but Lainey shook his shoulder, calling his name over and over until he did.

“Anders!” Lainey pulled him to his feet, then slipped her arm under his rear end. With a yelp of surprise, she hoisted his skinny frame over her shoulder and carried him bride-style out of the private suite.

“What are you doing?” Anders feebly waved his arms, trying to get free of Lainey. “Where are you taking me?”

“I'm intervening. We haven't seen you downstairs at all in the past few days. You need to relax.”

“I was relaxing!”

“You were in a catatonic state.” Lainey entered the elevator. The doors closed behind her. The wallscreens glowed to life, showing virtual post-it notes that the employees had left. “Do you see these? The staff are worried about you. We don't want you to die.”

Anders’ eyes flickered around the elevator walls. His stomach lurched as the elevator drifted downwards. The younger guards had left inside jokes and crude drawings, but every few notes, a poorly worded note of encouragement directed towards Anders broke through the clutter.

Maybe his staff didn't hate him as much as he had thought.

“You’re hurting my shoulder.” Lainey set Anders down. He moved to stand up, but Lainey immediately scooped him up in her arms.

“What are you doing?” His brown eyes lolled shut. “I'm so tired...”

The elevator doors opened silently. Lainey stayed quiet as she moved through the halls. A few of the people standing around snickered as the two passed by, but they fell silent again when Lainey glared at them.

Anders opened his eyes as they passed into a small dark room. A sleeping pod was positioned in the center, status lights fading in and out and waiting for its next user.

“You're going to make me sleep?” Anders murmured as Lainey set him down to unlock the top door.

“Newer model. It nourishes you while you're sleeping. You've been losing a lot of nutrients. You feel lighter, like you’ve lost weight, and not in a good way.”

Anders groaned as Lainey finally unlatched the door. It swung open. He feebly batted at Lainey’s face, trying to shoo her away as she picked him up, but she ignored him and laid him softly into the sleeping pod.

“You're going to sleep for a full day. I'm not going to let my boss waste away on my watch. Besides, maybe now you won't wreck yourself into oblivion worrying about Miranda.”

“Have they found him yet?” Anders croaked from the pod’s interior.

“Not yet. They may have found a lead.” Lainey rubbed her forehead, placing her hand on the door latch. Anders’ eyes widened. “I was hoping that you'd have snapped out of your stupor by now so I could show you. I'm sorry.”

Before Anders’ muddled mind could form a reply, she shut the pod door and latched it. Anders feebly kicked against the plastic curve, but as the lights slowly pulsed in and out, deeper this time, his attempts grew weaker and weaker until his eyes finally shut.

35

MONDAY, DAY 21

Miranda’s eyes traced the crack along the floor for the seventh time since waking up. He would have thought that, after being there for three days, they'd untie him and let him sleep on the floor.

But Miranda was wrong, as usual. The ropes still chafed his arms. He was at the mercy of Rena, who usually came down within an hour of him waking up. Miranda didn't know if it was just the effects of being alone for long stretches of time or if it was the medication Rena forcefed him under LaJean’s orders, but he felt dislocated from time itself.

Summer was a weird time in Soona Bris.

Miranda took a deep breath and tried to wriggle out of his ropes again. They'd gotten a bit looser over the days, but he wasn't sure if that was because they'd genuinely loosened or if he was wasting away while LaJean sat back and awaited Anders’ ransom.

Would Anders even pay the ransom? How much was LaJean demanding, anyways?

“Miranda.”

He looked up. An inky black cloud had materialized in front of him, hanging only a few feet away from the chair.

“Who are you?” Miranda croaked, his threat parched and dry. “Am I hallucinating?”

“No, I can assure you that I’m real.”

I shouldn't have expected him to say anything different.

“Who are you?” he repeated.

“I'm Bes.”

“You-” Miranda squirmed in his chair, but to no avail. “You possessed Anders, and now you're going to possess me?”

“Goodness, no.” Bes cackled. “That would be too easy. And besides, where would I go? How would I get out? LaJean has too many weapons. I would be immobilized in a matter of moments.” He paused. “I want to make a deal with you.”

Miranda shook his head. “I'm not accepting.”

“You haven't even heard the terms yet.” The inky cloud condensed into the form of a tall, stocky man. “I know you want to escape this place. I could have you out of here in a matter of minutes. I even brought my gold powder.”

“And then what? I get to go back to Anders?”

“Wrong again. You'd come to Gehenna-Altaris with me and join my legion. You could get your revenge on Anders and the Institute and LaJean and everybody else who wants to keep you locked up and at their mercy.”

Miranda closed his eyes. Without hesitation, he answered, “No.”

“You have so much potential, Miranda, and you want to throw it all away?”

“I'd just be trading one captor for another.” Miranda twisted his body. With a dozen contortions, he managed to turn his chair around, turning his back to Bes. “Go away. I'll think of something on my own.”

“You and I both know that it's never as easy as that.” Bes snickered as he floated around to face Miranda again. “Besides, you didn't even get to try out the style...”

Bes touched his fingers to Miranda’s right hand. The androgyne gasped as an icy sensation shot up his arm. The skin of his hand slowly blackened, hardening to leather and beginning to sprout claws.

As the obsidian slowly traveled up his arm, Miranda squeezed his eyes shut. “What are you doing? Make it stop-!”

“Alright.”

Bes withdrew his hand. The icy sensation ceased. The illusion disappeared, leaving Miranda's hand the way it had previously been, splotched tan and red skin as it was.

“Just an idea for next time,” Miranda spat, “when you want someone to join your revolution party or whatever you think it is, maybe don't mess with their head?”

“Anders has messed far more with your mind than I ever have. Do you really think you like him? Love him?”

Miranda looked Bes straight in the eye. “Yes. I do.”

Bes snuck a look at his watch. “I will be back, Miranda.”

Bes turned his coat, and then he was gone.

36

MONDAY, DAY 21

The world spun around Anders as he dared to open his eyes. His dream, where he had been paints being splattered onto a canvas by an aging painter, ceased. The lid of his sleeping pod slowly came into view, obscured by the haze in his vision.

Why am I in here? I never use the sleeping pods.

Anders pushed on the lid. It opened slowly with a click, letting him crawl out of the tiny space with shaky legs. He felt his way around the sleeping room, finding the door and opening it to find-

There was a puddle of blood standing at his feet.

Anders’ hand flew to his mouth. He jumped over the puddle and turned his head to find that there were droplets splattered all down the hallway.

How the hell did the cleaning crews miss this?

Anders fumbled for the phone on his belt before realizing that he had neither his phone nor his belt. He turned around, away from the splatters, and ran down to where he knew the overnight shift would be hanging out. They never did their jobs properly, gathering in one place instead of spreading out and actively patrolling the corridors.

The security system could only do so much.

“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” one of the guards, donning a bulletproof vest, chuckled as Anders skidded into the room. “Those are some nice pajamas you've got there. Really glad that you're the one running the Institute, Anders.”

Anders realized that he was still wearing the water-soaked nightshirt and boxers that he had been in when Lainey had plucked him from his room. “Really glad that you're patrolling the place like we paid you to do. There's blood spattered all along the corridor.”

The guard leaned back in his chair. His friends, who were also relaxing in the office and wearing the same as their friend, snorted. “Not my fault that the janitors forgot to clean. They've been doing a better job than you recently.”

Anders took in a sharp breath before lurching for the guard’s sleeve. He pulled the man closer to him, giving him a long glare. He dragged him into the hallway and gestured towards the blood stains.

“Does this look like a simple janitor mishap?”

“No...” The guard spun around, stunner in hand, calling his friends. “Looks like a subject mishap. I wonder why the security system didn't go off. Come on, boys! We’re going to go find it.”

They began casually marching through the hallway until their leader, the guard Anders had accosted, stopped him. “You can't come with us. It's a security measure. I don't think...” He fought down a snicker as he stared at Anders’ pajamas. “...that you're adequately clothed.”

Adamant, Anders insisted, “I'm coming with you.”

“No, you're not.” The guards moved to block Anders’ path. “One of us will escort you back to the private suite, where you can go the hell back to sleep.”

“As your administrator, I order you to allow me to tag along.”

“Fine.” The guard wiped his forehead with his free hand. “Come on, boys. We've got work to do.”

Fifteen minutes of walking later, and they still hadn't found the source of the splotches of blood. They were growing bigger, the guard observed, which meant that the source had slowed down as it walked that portion. Blood loss had probably made the victim dizzy.

The front guard halted, making the rest of the guards bump into each other as they stopped. Anders, at the end, struggled to see over the freakishly tall guards- seven feet of bones and muscles blocked his way, so he crouched down, trying to see through the forest of their legs.

The front guard stooped down to where a small pool of blood had leaked out of a closed closet. The path ended there.

He pulled his stunner off of his belt, where he'd stashed it during the march. “You ready, boys?”

“Ready,” they echoed, pulling their stunners off as well.

“Then it's showtime!”

The guard kicked open the door, ready to fight, but Giles’ arm flopped out of the opening.

Anders recoiled as he caught a glimpse of the patchwork skin, turning around so that he didn't have to see the astonished guards dragging his loyal assistant’s corpse into the open hallway. Giles’ eyes were whited out and blank as he stared up at the ceiling. His body was already dead and cold by the time the guards had found him. There was a large slash across his chest.

“What...” The lead guard lost his words as he closed Giles’ eyes, feeling a shudder creep down his spine. “How did this happen?”

“There’s something in his hand,” another guard pointed out, breaking away from formation and stooping over the body. He forcefully uncurled the fingers on Giles’ right hand to find a single piece of paper with the word “degrade” scrawled on it in blue ink.

“This isn't good.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” the other guard retorted. His eyes were wide- nobody else had been in the closet with Giles, and the perpetrator would have left some blood behind. And why did the trail begin at the room Anders had been forced into by Lainey?

The lead guard stood up, pulling his phone out of the pocket inside of his bulletproof vest. “I'm calling the police. This is too big for us.”

37

TUESDAY, DAY 22

Miranda opened his eyes to find a wide expanse of mottled hues of gray passing over him. He panicked for a moment, realizing that the chair had fallen away from him- had Bes taken him away from Earth? Had he been exorcised and sent on a one-way trip to hell?

Maybe everything Bes had said was a big show and this was the real hell, Miranda condemned to be alone forever.

Maybe this was purgatory- but Miranda hadn't been alive long enough to commit any major sins. And besides, he wasn't religious.

Miranda sat up. There was bleached sand underneath him- he could drag his fingers through the soft particles, but none of them attempted to dig their way into his clothes, which were clean and ethereal, almost floating on his skinny frame.

“Miranda...” a voice echoed in the distance. Did he recognize-

“Anders!”

Miranda struggled to his feet, dashing in the direction the voice came from, but it had echoed around the expanse so many times that he wasn't sure what direction that was anymore. He covered his eyes with his hands, frustration eliciting tears until the voice echoed again.

“Miranda...”

Sure of where it came from- a little to his left- Miranda turned, only to almost bump into his partner. He looked pale, almost ghostly like the clouds above their heads.

“What happened to you?” Miranda whispered. “What happened to me? What's going on?”

Anders reached out a hand to touch Miranda’s shoulder. Miranda moved away just before his fingers could touch. Anders' eyes flickered.

“I'm not quite sure where we are,” Anders said, his voice hollow. “I have the feeling I've been here before. You, though... I'm not so sure.”

Miranda looked around him. With the exception of them, the clouds, and the sand underneath their bare feet, the expanse was completely empty horizon to horizon. “Are we dead?”

“No. That much I’m sure of.” Anders’ eyes darkened. “Giles is dead, though. Something murdered him. The police haven't told me anything yet.”

Miranda’s breath caught in his throat. “How do I know that I'm not dreaming?”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Just imagine a tornado rolling against the expanse. Or any natural disaster you have a deep-seated fear of, really. It's helped me many times.”

Miranda pictured a tornado ripping through the sands, picking the both of them up and setting them down in civilization- the exact place didn't matter- but nothing happened. They continued to stand, alone in whatever place they had ended up.

“I don't think I'm dreaming, Anders.”

“Good.” Anders took Miranda’s hands in his own, clasping them. “I need you to tell me where you are.”

“I don't know where I am- we've already established that-”

“Not that. Where your body currently is. We've connected somehow. Lainey says that she has a lead, but it'll be quite a few hours before she wakes up, and even then, she'll have to deal with...” He bit his lip. “Giles.”

“Oh, that.” Miranda closed his eyes. The darkness behind his eyelids was easier on them than the ghostly figure of Anders. “I'm in the basement of LaJean’s house, tied to a chair.”

“Who is- wait, Claude’s friend?”

“I think so.”

“I knew it. The rabbit hole deepens still.” Anders let go of Miranda’s hands. Miranda opened his eyes to see him deep in thought, muttering obscenities. “I don't think the police will believe me, but it's worth a shot. LaJean and I have been in hot water before.”

“LaJean has this assistant person- I'm not quite sure what he is, really- named Rena. He says that he's really the soul of the person who killed you?”

Anders’ eyes narrowed in confusion. “Argentina?”

“I don't think he mentioned that name.” Miranda folded his hands. “Anders, I sure hope that you really were innocent of Samhain’s murder, because I defended you.”

Anders shuddered. “Please don't remind me.”

Suddenly, the wind picked up around them. Particles of sand flew in little rivulets, pooling at the two people’s feet.

“Miranda!” Anders took Miranda’s shoulders. His eyes were wide. “I don't want to lose you again. Are you trying to escape? What are your plans? When are you-”

“Shush.” Miranda placed a finger on Anders’ lips. Anders’ eyes softened at the touch- Miranda just then realized how big they were, like a little child's. “I love you, okay? I'll be coming home soon. Go to the police. They'll help you.”

“You love-” Anders sputtered, but the sand choked his voice out, soon blinding Miranda’s vision past a few inches.

Miranda shook his head, opening his eyes. The weight in his bones had returned along with the chair and ropes that bound him to it. The chair squeaked- he was trembling.

“Damn,” Rena whispered. The room was pitch black with the exception of his flashlight, pointed at Miranda’s feet. “I've seen some bad experiences with astral projection in my time, but that one takes the cake for sure. See anything cool? Paris, perhaps? I've always wanted to go to Paris, but French was never my strong suit-”

“I saw Anders,” Miranda croaked before clearing his throat. “I told him my location. He said he was going to go to the police.”

“The police?” Rena swallowed. “That really throws a wrench in our escape plans.”

Miranda tried to still his trembling. “How?”

“I don't think LaJean is going to let the police waltz into her house and take you away. She's psychotic, Miranda. She'd kill us long before they got here and bury us in the gardens. She's got a few deep holes to fill, you know.”

Miranda slowed his breath. The stairs creaked- his heart raced, thinking that LaJean would be coming down their stairs at any moment to put them six feet underground, but Rena shook his head.

“Not right now. Neither LaJean nor her current boy toy- he showed up a few hours ago, they've been making noise all night- knows that you leaked our location. But we've got to move fast.”

“Doesn't she have a security system?” Miranda asked as Rena stooped down, ready to start untying the ropes.

“I just disarmed it before I came down here. Turns out that LaJean forgot to change it from the default password. But we've got to move quickly before they get the notice.”

38

TUESDAY, DAY 22

Rena worked deftly and quickly, wedging his fingers in the knots that LaJean had no doubt tied and loosening the ropes enough to allow Miranda to climb out. Miranda immediately collapsed to the ground, trying to catch his displaced breath before slowly stretching his limbs.

“Come on,” Rena whispered. “We've got to move. There's no time to fall asleep on the ground.”

“I'm so sore...” Miranda moaned. He grunted as he pushed himself up, leaning against the wall. “Where are we going?”

“I haven't figured that out yet.”

Rena offered Miranda a shoulder and helped him up the staircase. It creaked a few times, and Rena winced at the noise. Once they had gotten upstairs, Miranda pushed himself off Rena, and he half-walked half-limped through the hallway leading to the living room. There were security cameras, sure, but their usually red lights were now an eerie green.

They were disarmed, Rena had said. Miranda sure hoped that he wasn't lying.

Once they had arrived at the front door, Rena held his breath and unlocked the deadbolt. A small light in the corner of the room flashed, but no sounds were made as the two slipped through the front door.

“What was that light?” Miranda whispered, shivering in the nighttime air.

“Probably a camera snapshot.” Rena tugged on Miranda’s arm- he had frozen in place on the front step. “Come on. We've got to go now.”

Miranda shook his head before stepping off of the front porch. They walked for a few paces before breaking into a full-on run- the sun was nowhere close to coming out, so the street was almost pitch black as their feet pounded across the pavement.

They'd gotten about halfway down the street when a shrill voice squawked after them.

“And where do you think you're going?”

Miranda made it to the street corner before running out of breath. Leaning on the street light and ignoring the soreness of his bare feet, he looked over his shoulder to find Claude advancing on them, waving what he guessed to be one of LaJean’s stun guns in his hand- the orange and yellow plastic glowed eerily in the street light, almost as if it had come from a completely different world.

“Miranda!” Rena yelled. He’d taken a right and was farther up the road. “What are you doing?”

Miranda snapped out of his stupor and followed Rena, but Claude advanced on him. Instead of shocking him, which Miranda had been bracing himself for- how did one brace themselves for something that they'd never experienced before?- Claude leaped for him, dragging the both of them down. Miranda's head smacked against the pavement, sending his vision spinning.

“What the hell?” Miranda yelped, his arms flailing, trying to get the wispy woman off of him.

“Where are you going?” Claude growled, shoving the stunner against Miranda’s temple. “Did you really think escape would be that easy?”

Miranda, instead of responding, knocked his forehead into hers. His vision swam for a moment as Claude jerked back, losing grip of her stunner and sending it into the grass.

As Claude lurched for her stunner, Miranda slipped out from underneath him and stumbled to his feet. He took off running towards Rena, who was frozen at the nearby intersection-

A red truck ripped through the road. Miranda dug his bare feet into the dirt, keeping him from flying into the street.

He had been only a few steps away from death, he realized with a shudder.

Hearing the irregular scuffle of Claude’s footsteps behind him, Miranda jumped into the street once the truck had turned, coughing from the exhaust smoke left behind but not daring to stop, not wanting to come into contact with Claude’s stunner, not wanting to feel electricity slipping among his veins-

The truck passed behind him again just as his legs gave out. He collapsed into the grass of a stranger’s front yard. Miranda’s face was full of dirt and grass, but he didn't bother to lift it. He didn't want to give Claude the pleasure of relishing in his pain when she stunned him and dragged him back to LaJean.

Why was there so much screeching?

“Miranda.”

Miranda rolled over. Framed by the tree branches far above his head, Rena leaned over him. Drops of sweat glistened on his forehead.

“Am I dead yet, Rena?” Miranda whispered. The sky was just beginning to brighten- stuck somewhere in the twilight, he very well could have been stuck between the world of the living and the dead.

“No.” Rena glanced somewhere behind Miranda. “Claude might be, though.”

“Claude-”

Miranda struggled to sit up, but a pain shot through his left leg, forcing him to the ground again. He looked back at the street that he had just crossed as well as he could. Claude was sprawled over in front of the truck, LaJean bent over and desperately quibbling with whatever emergency responders had been unfortunate enough to be on the line with her.

“What do we do, Rena?”

“Well, I don't know about you, but LaJean’ll probably try to take custody of me. I don't have any papers that would connect me to her. I would suggest we run for the police.”

“How?”

Rena jerked her head. In the distance, police sirens wailed. Claude emitted a groan as LaJean, still on the phone, tried her best to stop the bleeding from Claude’s hip.

“Or the police can run to us.”

39

TUESDAY, DAY 22

Miranda and Rena were held up at the street corner for a while as the police asked them questions- who they were, what they were doing there at the street corner at such an early time in the morning, what involvement they had in the car crash- and then, when the harrowed officer who looked like he'd rather sleep determined he had gathered enough information, he invited them into the back seats of the police car.

“Are we being arrested?” Miranda asked as Rena ducked his head to fit through the door. His leg still ached, so he limped to the car, leaning against the door.

“No, but I'd rather that you be safe just in case...” The officer looked over his shoulder at the dark houses of the neighborhood. “In case there were other people involved as well.”

The car ride to the police station was long. Miranda gazed out of his window the whole time. Through the tiny wires crisscrossing the window, he could see the lights of the city slowly turning on in houses, street corners darkening as the sun slowly peeked out from behind the tree line. Rena tapped his fingers on his knees, impatient to arrive.

When they got there, the police officer, still quite tired, led them to a door leading to the locked portion of the station. A sign hung by the door, alerting visitors taking tours that they would not be allowed beyond the door under threat of immediate arrest for trespassing.

“I thought you said you weren't going to arrest us?” Miranda said.

“I'm not. I just... I don't want any of the suspects being hurt on my watch.”

He guided them inside, immediately taking a left into the nearest room. It was small, about the size of the waiting room at the front of the station, and it held two aging couches desperately in need of replacement.

“Sorry about the accommodations. Officer Valenti will be with you shortly.” He gestured to the far wall. “There's a phone in case you need to call anybody personally.”

“Thanks,” Rena whispered, but he was immediately dragged back into the hallway by the officer. He shooed the man’s hands away. “What are you doing? I'm with Miranda!”

“He's right,” Miranda whispered, still facing the door.

“You're not the kidnapped one,” the officer growled. “We've got a different place for you.” He gripped Rena’s arm, dragging him away down the hallway.

Miranda shivered before turning back to the room. The door closed behind the officer. He flinched at the sight of the security camera in the corner before remembering that the police weren’t out to get him and LaJean had no access to the camera. The large red phone, gutted from an old phone booth and cartoonish against the plain gray of the walls, shone in the lights.

Did Anders still carry his phone with him?

Miranda crossed the room and clutched the phone in his hands, letting the wire drop down to the floor. His fingers trembled as he punched in the number that Anders had given him- what, only six days ago?

Had all of this only happened in six days?

The phone rung, and he pressed it harder against his sore ear. The faint voice of “please hang up” squeaked, almost inaudible, before the call connected.

“Hello?”

Relief at hearing Anders’ voice flooded Miranda. He struggled to keep his eyes clear as he whispered, “It’s me. I'm safe.”

“I know. I'm heading towards the station as fast as I can. I'm almost out of gas.” He giggled. “If I can't make it, I'm going to turn myself in for having broken headlights and make the police bring me there.”

“Please don't. Just go to the gas station.”

“Fine.” He sighed. “There's one near the highway exit. I'm going to go there and then straight to the police station, you hear me? I've had enough of this LaJean nonsense.”

“What's your problem with her, anyways?” Miranda could hear a car horn blaring through the other end of the phone.

Anders swore under his breath. “False accusations of rape and falsifying documents to try to get me banned from college. I'm sorry you had to get mixed up in this.”

“It- it’s not your fault. Are you almost there?”

He sighed. “I'm almost to the exit.” He paused. “I'm on the exit now. I love y-”

The phone erupted in static. Miranda hung up and tried dialing Anders again, thinking that maybe the phone had just spontaneously disconnected or that there was some sort of time limit on that particular phone, but it just went to Anders’ voicemail.

Maybe his phone died?

Again.

Then again, he always leaves the house with his phone fully charged. Maybe he accidentally hung up?

And again.

Did something happen while he was driving? A minor bump scare him?

And again.

Don't think about the worst case scenario, Miranda.

His heart was thumping so loudly that he didn't hear the door open.

“Miranda Shew?” Officer Valenti said, her accent thick and syrupy. Her face was cold. “We have some things we need to discuss.”

40

TUESDAY, DAY 22

Officer Valenti was a sort of hawkish person, like the Institute had messed with her genes in the old days when that was permissible and made her part bird. She moved silently to the closer of the two couches in the room. Miranda, remembering the first encounter he had with Anders, instinctively sat down on the opposite one.

“So, Miranda,” Officer Valenti sighed. Her eyes were fixed somewhere on his forehead- staring right through him, Miranda thought. “By now, I'm sure that you’re aware that these aren't normal procedures for a recovered kidnapped person.”

“I'll admit,” he said with quivering lips, “I was a bit concerned when I wasn't taken to the hospital first thing.”

Valenti’s eyes remained unwavering. “Do you need medical attention?”

“My leg-” Miranda stretched it out and pulled up his stained pant leg. His unwashed smell hit him full force, and he had to keep himself from crying. “It got pretty banged up.” He looked back up at Valenti. “Where is Anders?”

Valenti’s eyes moved for a split second to Miranda’s leg before returning to their original position. “All I see is a bruise. Not worth the time out of the investigation.”

Miranda's voice cracked. “Not worth the time-”

Valenti waved her hand to dismiss him as her walkie-talkie crackled to life.

“E to A, over.”

Valenti picked up the device. “A here. Over.”

“We've got a serious vehicle accident here at the N-Arbour gas station. The driver seems to be- holy hell-” the voice picked off for few seconds as Miranda leaned forward. “Is that Anders Shew?”

Miranda froze.

“Miranda, are you alright?” Valenti asked.

Miranda’s eyes unfocused, like he was staring at something that Valenti couldn't see, and then he bolted from the room. Pushing past the confused Valenti, he flew to the locked separating him from the public section of the station, yanking on the handle with all of the force of his body weight.

“Miranda!” Valenti yelled behind him, running out of the room just as the handle gave way. Miranda burst through the doorway, running through the main area and into the police station lobby. There were countless faces that he recognized from the Institute- Lainey, Austin, the people who had mobbed him during one of his first breakfasts... even Jacob was there, legs crossed and one arm thrown over the shoulder of a stuttering colleague.

And all of them were either sobbing, spaced out, or frantically talking to their parents and friends, arranging accommodations.

“What happened to Anders?” Miranda yelled, gaining everybody’s attention instantly. His eyes were misting over, making it hard to identify the people in front of him, and his heartbeat thumped in his ears. “Since you all seem to know something I don't!”

“Miranda,” Lainey crooned softly. She stood up, taking the arm of the panicking androgyne and leading him into the bathroom. She locked the door behind her. “I-”

“Spit it out!” Miranda shrieked. His vision blurred- the pink and purple tiles of the bathroom seemed to be a million miles away. His head could have been a balloon for how light it felt.

Lainey, noticing Miranda was hyperventilating, settled a hand on his shoulder.

“Anders is dead.”

Miranda froze again for a few seconds, his eyes wide, before slowly collapsing to his knees. He buried his face in his hands, trying to keep his conflicting emotions from arising. A sob burned in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it.

Was he supposed to be overjoyed that the person who had been keeping him tied to the Institute was gone and he now had complete dominion over himself?

Sorrowful because his only true friend in the minuscule portion of the world that he inhabited was gone?

Emotionless, because that was the only thing that an artificially created human being could ever feel, anyways?

Lainey knelt down beside the trembling Miranda, wrapping her arms around him. His breath was heaving. “I'm so sorry.”

“How?” Miranda screamed to the ceiling. “How did this happen?”

“We don't know every exact detail,” Lainey admitted. “There was a gunshot to the head. The police are trying to get the security footage from the gas station right now.”

“Didn't anybody see it happen?”

“We don't know right now.” Lainey winced as Miranda threw his head back and released a wail of anguish. “We need to get you out of here.”

“But don't the police need me for the-”

“It's not safe for you here anymore, and I've got orders.”

Lainey pulled out her phone, keeping one arm around Miranda, who sobbed furiously into the fabric of her shoulder. She dialed the last number on her list. It only rang once before the person on the other side of the line picked up.

“Lainey,” the gravelly voice said. “I take it that the kill switch has been activated?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Kill switch?” Miranda whispered. His eyes stung.

“Very unfortunate,” the voice said. “You have my condolences.” A cough. “I want you to bring Miranda to my house within two hours. We've got a lot of preparation to do. I don't want any more dead bodies on my hands.”

“What's going on?” Miranda asked, his voice warbling. “What are you two planning?”

“We've known this was going to happen for a while,” Lainey explained, ending the call. “There was nothing we could have done to keep Anders from being killed.”

“Yes, you could have!” His eyes burned. At that moment, there was nothing else that Miranda would have liked to do more than curl up and sob for a week.

“Like what? Keeping him in a suspended animation chamber his entire life?” Lainey stood up, leaving Miranda on the floor. “There are bigger forces at play here than just the Institute, Miranda. There's a war going on behind your own back, and we need to get you somewhere safe.”

“What does Anders have to do with any of this war nonsense?” Miranda asked, refusing to get up off the ground.

“I'll tell you everything.” Lainey offered her hand to Miranda. “But you have to come with me now.”

41

TUESDAY, DAY 22

Lainey took the back roads away from the police station. For all her talk about wanting to preserve Miranda’s life, her driving didn't seem to reflect that- she sped through gravel roads and abandoned dirt paths wide enough for her truck to fit through. It wasn't her truck, exactly; she'd borrowed it from a friend who understood she needed to leave without knowing why Lainey was taking off suddenly with the person the police needed most.

The rest of the world thought that Soona Bris and its Institute were hell in terms of the supposed crime rate, so what difference did one more crime make?

Lainey turned onto a paved road, rows of trees bordering the road on both sides. There was a faint tingle in the back of Miranda’s mind, like he had been here once a long time ago and an old and tattered piece of a memory was surfacing. But he had no childhood to fall back on, and so the tingle remained unanswered.

Lainey had brought them to a white-painted house. The paint was cracked and peeling, Miranda noticed as Lainey barged into the house without even a knock- the doorbell was broken, as evidenced by the sticky note affixed next to it saying so.

“Miranda.” Lainey turned around, stopping the androgyne from stepping into the house. “When we get inside, I need you to go immediately downstairs. I've got some planning and discussion that I need to do-”

“And what?” Miranda crossed his arms. His eyes were sore; he had no more tears to shed. “Am I just going to be changing captors?” He snuck a look at the open staircase door leading into the basement. The floors were carpeted. “At least my cage will be easier on my feet.”

“No, Miranda. This isn't your final destination.” Lainey took off her shoes, sliding them into a drawer by the front door. “This is just a waiting stop. You'll be here for a night or two as we make plans. Three nights would be the absolute limit.”

“Why?”

“We’ll tell you tomorrow.” Lainey stepped aside, allowing Miranda in while blocking his way to the upstairs staircase. “The room on the right at the far end of the living room is yours until we leave. Please make yourself comfortable. Ring the bell above your bed if you need anything.”

***

Miranda rubbed his sore eyes, wincing as another pulse of pain came. He was kneeling in front of an old TV in the downstairs living room. It was pitch black outside, and whoever owned this house had disabled all the lights in the basement from a control in their room, so all Miranda had left to do was pore over their collection of home videos and hope that he wasn't intruding on the owner’s privacy.

The screen faded to the blue of the VCR’s waiting screen. Miranda had laughed when he had found the aging piece of equipment in the drawer the TV was sitting on top of- tapes and discs, for the most part, had become obsolete, replaced by streaming content or whatever a paired phone could conjure. Although Anders hadn’t watched TV-

Anders.

Anders is gone.

Miranda’s eyes throbbed with tears he immediately blinked back. He stuck his hand in the box of home video tapes and pulled out a small one with “S.H. 7-1-2016”. It was significantly newer than the others in the box- Miranda hoped that the owner had a digital backup of all of these, because the oldest ones were cracked and looked like they could fall apart at any moment. He slid the tape in, eyes fixed on the dim screen as the blue vanished.

Why did the owner have a tape of a funeral?

The camera slowly panned across the crowd of adults and children alike, all gathered around the closed casket in mourning. That was good, Miranda thought. He didn't need to see any corpses.

I won't be around for Anders’ funeral, will I?

Miranda fought back another dry heave as he pressed his arms against his stomach. The camera view changed. This time, the scene was of a peaceful flower garden, circular paved walkways dividing the patches of blooms of every shade and hue of the rainbow.

A dark fog passed in front of the television. Miranda's hands ached before something clicked in his mind.

Bes was back!

“Begone-” Miranda began to yell, but the fog condensed in one portion to a hand and clamped over Miranda’s mouth.

“Sshhh. You'll make the adults upstairs freak out. They're already walking a thin line.”

“Rena?” Miranda's eyes widened.

“Sure, if you prefer calling me by that.” Rena removed her hand from Miranda’s face and sat beside him. While she was still a fog and Miranda could put his hand through her if he liked, her smoky form was considerably more human. “What are you watching?”

“Something about a funeral. I'm not sure.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. I'm bored. The owner doesn't have any books down here, and I'm not allowed upstairs until Lainey says so, and I can't sleep.” Miranda took a deep breath, trying to fight off hyperventilation. "Rena, Anders is gone..."

Rena soundlessly turned her head to the TV. There was a seventeen-year-old girl with puffy red eyes standing by the forefront flower clump with two small urns in her arms.

“Wait...” Rena’s eyes narrowed before she gasped. “Lucia!”

“Lucia? Who's that?”

“My friend.” Rena’s hands flew to her eyes. “That- that's me in one of those urns- she had to scatter my ashes with Samhain’s-" Rena's voice cracked as she turned away from the TV. "She thinks I'm dead-”

“So I see you've found my tapes.”

42

WEDNESDAY, DAY 23

They both turned to the source of the low voice. A middle-aged man with gray speckled hairs among black stood at the foot of the staircase. The corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile.

“I'm sorry,” Miranda quickly said, ejecting the cassette and stashing it into the box. The TV screen returned to blue. “Was I not supposed to be looking in there?”

“No, I intended for you to find those. While Anders fed your brain a lot of information about the world while you were in the tank so that you wouldn't have the mental state of a young child, it was far from a comprehensive education.” He rested his hands on his hips. “Fine choice, by the way. I suppose it gives me an excuse to cut out the pleasantries and get to the real reason you're here.”

While he had been talking, Rena had grown increasingly confused. The man’s face- it looked so much like- no, he couldn't have possibly aged that much in so short a time-

“Dad?” Rena whimpered.

The man’s eyes widened. His eyes flew to where Rena’s smoky form was situated. It was his turn to be surprised- he'd have recognized that voice anywhere.

“Argentina?”

“Dad!” Rena shot up, ready to hug him until she realized that he wouldn't be able to since she didn't have a solid form. She floated back down. “What happened?”

He sighed. “It's a long story. Your mother and I moved here after we found you at the side of the road.” He took in a sharp breath, wincing at the memory. “Come upstairs. Both of you. We have some things we need to discuss.”

“So what's going on?” Rena asked, folding her hands on the dining room table. It was a weird sensation- she didn't have an actual body, and she was sure that the others could see right through her with little difficulty, and yet they were acting as if she had an actual body and was just having yet another chat with them.

Until the man’s eyebrows wrinkled.

“I'm afraid that, after today, we are going our separate ways.” He closed his eyes, giving Miranda and Rena a few seconds to protest before cutting right back in. “Lainey is going back to the Institute. The next seventeen years are going to be a bit of a challenge for her with Anders’ absence and thus the power void to deal with.”

“Why seventeen?” Miranda asked, noticing Lainey’s feigned expression of excitement.

The man sighed again. “Miranda, it seems that the Institute, with the egg sample they obtained and the mandatory sperm sample from Anders, have created viable embryos without either of your authorization.”

“What?” Miranda pushed himself away from the table, indignant. “I thought he said-”

The man gestured for Miranda to sit down again. “It was a classified project by a small group of staff that went over Anders’ head quite often without his knowing. We only know because they accidentally let slip to Lainey.”

“I don't know what they're planning to do with the children,” Lainey added.

“But what about me?” Miranda butted in. “Lainey made all this big deal about how I'm apparently no longer safe and need to be taken somewhere else. Where am I going?”

“West Virginia,” Lainey answered without delay. “Near the edge of the National Radio Quiet Zone, to be exact. News travels much slower there than it does here- barely any internet, texting... any kind of wireless communication is banned or highly discouraged. Even microwaves are regulated.”

“What's stopping Bes from finding me? That's who I'm really hiding from, isn't it?”

“Bes can't track you down,” Rena interjected. “You don't have a soul. There would be no method of finding you, like vibrations and silver strings, that he could use.”

Miranda closed his eyes and bit his lip. “So I guess no afterlife for me, then? I'll never see Anders-” His breath caught, and his face contorted, but no sob arose. “I'll never see him again.”

“I'm sorry.” The man laid a hand on Miranda’s shoulder. Miranda shrugged it off. “This transition is hard on all of us.”

“Some more than others.” Miranda opened his eyes. “Alright. Fine. So I have no soul and need to disappear. How the hell am I supposed to get to West Virginia?”

“You'll take an airplane to an airport somewhere in the state; we don't know exactly where for your safety in case you get caught. Our contact, who will be waiting for you- you'll be given their photo and description in a sealed envelope when you get on the plane-”

“Where do I go?” Rena blurted.

The man glowered at her. “As I was saying, the contact will be waiting for you, Miranda. They'll take you to your new residence and keep tabs on you until all this hot mess is over. Then, hopefully, you can come back.”

“And how long is that going to take?”

“We guess anywhere from fifteen to twenty years.”

Miranda sighed, resting his head on the table. “It doesn't look like I've got much of a choice, do I? Bossed around by strangers again.”

The man rolled his eyes. “I want you to go to sleep, Miranda. I will call you up for breakfast and final goodbyes.” He turned to Rena. “Daughter, I've got a special job for you.”

“What?” Rena whispered as Miranda slogged his way down the stairs.

“It sounds simple, but it's really not. I can't help you because I'm an earthling, but I'll do my best.” He took a deep breath. “Bes is seeking the hearts and souls of three people in accordance with an ancient prophecy called the Scribulajxo that he claims to have unearthed as a child and that the Gehennan-Altarians have taken to heart. The man who would be god, the one who would seek god, and the one birthed from god.” He let a laugh escape his lips. “Anders is obviously dead, and since his body will decay long before the rest of the mission is fulfilled, we can't do anything about that. We don't know who the one who would seek god would be, but if Anders is the god in all this, then we're guessing it's someone at the Institute who would have been kissing up to him.”

“And the one birthed from god? Is it one of the children that those staff fathered from the sperm-”

“Extremely likely.” The man sighed. “I want you to keep as many of those pairs of souls and hearts as you can from Bes. Even one will stop him from achieving his revolution. Without those, everything he tries to accomplish will be in vain.”

“But it'll be sixteen years until the next piece comes along for sure!” Rena threw her hands up in the air. “Do I just wait? Sit around and do nothing? Go possess someone’s housepet until they decide to put me down?”

“I still can't get used to the fact that my beloved daughter is a spirit,” he whispered, not completely listening. “And a demon at that. Oh, if only your mother could see you. She still clings to the old Catholic Church, you know.” His eyes went distant. “I've seen too much for my old body. Done too much. I should have been nicer to Samhain. At least you, you get some sort of chance to make sure you pass away into whatever lies next with no regrets...”

“Dad, are you okay?”

“I'm going to be recycled when I die,” he responded, still drifting off. “My memories and psyche and everything that makes me who I am will be sucked away and stored somewhere.” He chuckled. “Maybe they'll reincarnate me some day if they don't have enough souls to go around.”

“Dad!”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He straightened up in his chair. “There's this water fountain near Miranda’s old residence. I'll give you the address when you leave. Inside is an old pocket of time- one of the last ones in the world. Celebrities use them all the time in order to stay young- if they sleep inside for twelve hours and be out in the normal world for the other twelve, then they age two times slower.”

“And what does this have to do with me? I'm a Mithrae. I don't age unless I want to.”

“Time pockets have two uses. On humans, they can delay the inevitability of aging. On a spirit, however... they can go into a deep sleep. They can pass through time either way- forwards, backwards- without any waiting period that they can feel. You might find it useful...”

“Dad? Are you crying?”

Instead of answering, he wiped his tears away with his shirt sleeve. “I'm just a useless earthling rebel, and you're a full-fledged Mithrae...” He sucked in a breath. “You've grown so much, Argentina. It's only been little over a month since your mother last sent you out for groceries. I should have told you more often that I love you.”

Something creaked in the bedroom at the end of the hallway leading from the dining room. Worry crossed the man’s face, and he slipped the paper with the address to Rena. “Go now. Before your mother sees you. And if you find Samhain’s backup or any piece of her soul, ask her to forgive me.”

43

THURSDAY, DAY 24

“I found it, I found it, I found it…!”

A little girl galloped around the square of benches surrounding one of the airport’s support pillars. When her mother, whose face was buried in her phone, failed to give her attention, she pulled on her braids and wailed.

“Mommy!”

Her frazzled mother, slim and petite like the oak saplings right outside the airport terminal window, huffed as she closed the lid of her laptop. It was sleek, overpriced, and probably just as overloaded as the senses of its owner.

“What did you find, Amelie?”

“What? Nothing. I found nothing!” She bounced her way over to her mother, who slipped her laptop into its protective case in her bag. “A big old pile of absolutely nothing!”

“That’s wonderful,” her mother groaned. She rolled her eyes at Miranda, who was silently observing the whole situation. She didn’t bother to disguise her disdain as she shifted to the other end of the bench that the two shared. “You be careful that you don’t tear that dress with the way you’re running about. I didn’t spend twelve hours sewing that perfectly for you to tear it just before our big trip.”

“So you’re going somewhere too?” Miranda said. He laid his hands in his lap, trying to seem non-threatening. “Where are you going?”

“That’s none of your business, ma’am. Come on, Amelie.”

The mother leaned over and snatched her young daughter’s hand. Taking one last glance at Miranda and rolling her eyes, she quickly paced away, almost dragging her daughter with her. The airport around Miranda faded back into a dull roar, terminals dinging and people chattering away as normal.

A person in a dark jacket slid next to Miranda. Their hood concealed their face, but they had no issue seeing Miranda’s.

“Show me your ID card,” the voice in the hood said.

Miranda, unsure of what to do, slowly reached for the small drawstring bag that Lainey had given him and pulled out the wallet. In the screen pocket was the government-issued ID that Lainey had given to Miranda mere hours before his departure.

Miranda was smiling in the picture. He didn't remember taking it.

The person reached out one slender hand, fingers individually bandaged from first joint to knuckle, and pulled the wallet closer to them to get a better look at the bewildered picture on the ID.

“Yes,” they muttered. “It seems that we were fated to know each other, Miranda. What a pity that it had to be now.”

“Who are you?” Miranda whispered.

The contact waved their hand, dismissing the question. “Nobody important. Not right now, anyways. What's important is that you get onto the plane in time.”

“Lainey didn't give me a plane ticket,” Miranda admitted. “It's not like I can just walk up to someone and buy one. How am I supposed to get-”

“Follow me.”

The contact stood up. They waited until Miranda had done the same to begin weaving through the crowds- Miranda, with his drawstring bag slung over his shoulders, had trouble keeping up, bumping into disgruntled travelers frequently.

“Ouch!” one particularly grouchy balding boss man said after Miranda accidentally stepped on his toe. “Watch where you're walking, tranny!”

“I'm not-” Miranda protested, but the man had already blended into the crowd. Miranda searched over the tops of the crowd to find his contact turning the corner.

Picking up the pace, Miranda weaved his way through the mass of people. He turned the corner too, only to immediately bump into his contact leaning over a water fountain. Their hood jostled, and before they could readjust it to completely conceal their face, Miranda caught a glimpse of flawless dark skin.

“Who-”

The person, obviously flustered, stood up straight and adjusted their hood. “I, um... Follow me.”

“Who are you?” Miranda asked, reaching out his hand to touch the person’s hood.

They swatted Miranda’s hand away. “You can call me S. That’s all for now.”

S continued to rush through the airport, passing many terminals by before they reached the private plane loading area. Many small aircraft, from hobby planes to the biggest that regulations allowed private jets to be, stood in the area.

“Which one- hey!”

Instead of responding, S tugged on Miranda’s sleeve, leading him to a plain silver jet. There was one guard in a bulletproof vest waiting outside, ready to check bags and IDs.

“It's your faithful servant,” S said, bowing to the guard waiting outside the airplane. He was clearly bored, and his stunner hung on his belt, paint chipping from disuse.

“Don't call yourself my servant. That's such an archaic term, Sh-”

They cut him off, gesturing to Miranda. The sleeves of their jacket were far too long for their owner, and they flopped at the ends. “I've brought Miranda to you. Would you escort him onto the plane?”

The guard snorted. “Yeah, and who’s going to guard the entrance?”

“I will,” S offered in the same low voice that they had used when first speaking to Miranda.

“Sure, whatever.”

S moved to take the guard’s place beside the stairway to the jet. The summer heat, picking up as the morning progressed, didn't seem to bother them. The guard, on the other hand, had beads of sweat on his forehead as he led Miranda up the metal staircase into the interior of the jet.

“And just who do you think you are?” a shrill voice screeched as Miranda entered the luxurious space. There were two long plush benches stretching along the walls of the jet, ending near the front with a bathroom and a private room. And there, sprawled across the left wall bench, was an obviously pregnant woman with horrific lipstick smattered on her face.

“I- I'm Miranda,” Miranda stuttered, taking a seat as far away from the woman as possible. He ended up near the back of the private plane, perfectly positioned right by a window. “I assume we're going to the same place?”

The woman rolled her eyes, not bothering to get up. “Westerleyfield? I highly doubt that you, of all people, could afford to lodge there.”

Miranda opened his mouth to protest before remembering the meeting of the night before. If Miranda was being moved to protect his safety, then maybe telling every single stranger his identity wouldn't help him much.

Would he be receiving a new ID? His last name was the only thing that he still had from Anders, the only thing he could bring from home.

A rage flared up in Miranda suddenly. These adults- their secrets, their insistence that Miranda was a naïve child to be taken by the hand and guided through life- wouldn't even let him attend Anders’ funeral. They probably wouldn't even send him anything made from the ashes, or, hell, even some of the ashes themselves.

Did they really just expect Miranda to become an entirely new person? To forget who he was?

“Miranda,” S whispered. Miranda hadn't noticed them slide onto the bench right beside him. S’s skinny jeans were a bit tattered, but other than that, they looked like a tightly-wound person who could jitter out of existence at any moment. “There's a fire burning inside of you. What's the cause? Who heaped wood onto you?”

Miranda blushed. “You probably know already.”

“Oh, this?” S opened their bandaged hands. Inside them was a small crimson crystalline heart with a hole through the top for a string, no bigger than a quarter. “Rush delivery. Someone didn't want the golden boy of Soona Bris to be donated to science.”

Miranda snatched the heart away from S. He held it in his hands, cradled it, and then put the necklace on when a tinny voice came on overhead to announce that their specific private plane be leaving the airport in five minutes.

He would never be free from Anders, he realized. And from what he'd gleaned from eavesdropping on Rena, Anders wouldn't be free from Bes for a long, long time.

S, making sure to keep their hood angled as to conceal their face, moved to the front of the plane near the cockpit. Miranda’s fingers curled around the crystal heart, making a fist.

I'm ready, Lainey.

About The Author

VANE VANDER is an enigma whose various parts are scattered all over the various abandoned parts of the internet. She enjoys reliving the nostalgia of the Web 1.0 days and finding little ways to regain the little privacy she has left. The largest piece of what little psyche she has left was found at mayvaneday.art.

Copyright © 2017-2021 Vane Vander. See Copyright for copyright information.