I sat in my damp cell, my head against the cold, stone wall. My skin felt sticky with blood and pus, oozing from the wounds WAOIC had inflicted on me. In the pale light streaming from the dim light outside my cell, I could see that my hands had turned blue from the cold.

How long have I been here? How long are they going to keep me?

I had so many questions that repeated in my mind, like a neverending playlist. It was exasperating to be sitting there—so useless, so much time was being wasted. It felt wrong. It was wrong. I hadn't spent a day of my life in such a feeble, useless position.

The most human interaction—since meeting with the man on the cheap throne—was with a guard who had stopped by five times to feed me. I had made a mental note every time he arrived. I assumed that WAOIC wouldn't be feeding me three times a day, they probably didn't have the budget for it. Besides, it would give me a better sense of time. I anticipated that they fed me exactly twelve hours apart, once in the morning and once in the evening, meaning that I had spent two and a half days in prison.

Then again, I hadn't been eating the food that they had provided. I would have preferred one, decent meal everyday opposed to two mediocre ones. Some protein and Vitamin C would have been appreciated to prevent muscle atrophy and scurvy. But alas, they insisted on feeding me white bread, not even whole wheat bread. They didn't seem to have the slightest care for my physical well-being.

Of course, they probably were planning on disposing of me. In my boredom, I had calculated the probability of various ways that I left the prison—whether I be alive or dead.

Leaving by WAOIC killing me: thirty-percent chance. They likely were planning on starving me, beating me, and interrogating me to extract information, with the ultimate goal of killing me when I was no longer useful. However, there was no way for me to know how long they would hold out before disposing of me.

Dying of malnutrition and starvation: thirty-percent chance. Based on my current diet, this had a rather high probability. I could actually pass away before WAOIC found me useless. For some reason, I had the most peace about leaving the Earth in this manner. It was strangely satisfying to foil their plans.

Being rescued: five-percent probability. I wasn't trying to be pessimistic, but the chances of the IIA finding WAOIC headquarters and getting past security was on the lower side of the spectrum.

A door opened and slammed shut. I forced myself to remain still, to not perk up my head and see who had entered. Surely, I would know momentarily. If anything, it was likely the guard bringing my food.

Much to my surprise, the bearer of my meal was Agent Smog.

"Hello, Agent X," he said with a smirk.

"Ah, Smog. Are you bringing my second, bi-daily meal since your agency had another budget cut?"

His eyes flashed in annoyance. I wasn't remotely surprised by his visit, I had insulted WAOIC's low budget, and I had figured out my feeding schedule.

"You still don't know what time it is," he taunted in a sing-song voice.

"I'll know in a couple hours," I replied calmly. "It's just stats and probability."

"I'm glad you're just as sharp as normal," Smog said. "It must be the food. I notice that you have been gobbling down your daily rations. Perhaps we can put some of your wealth of knowledge to good use."

"If you want me to be of any use to you, I suggest you give me proper nourishment before atrophy sets in."

He grinned in a dangerous, malicious way. "Or, maybe we should just interrogate you now."

The plate of food clinked as he set in on the ground, just within my reach. I felt my empty stomach starting to rumble. To mute any sound that it might make, I sucked it in until I could feel the front of my belly pressed against the ribs on my back. I waited a moment. Smog didn't move, just stood there with his arms folded.

I didn't want him to prompt me to eat. And I couldn't stand it any longer. I stretched out my chained hand to grab the bread. My fingers slowly unfurled, bone by bone, creeping closer to the plate. Each movement sent an aching pain through the bones in my hand and wrist. I almost reached the bread when Smog snatched the plate from the ground.

"Uh, uh, uh," he chided. "Today, you must pay for your daily bread."

I chided myself for being so foolish. Of course he was here for a reason. He had been waiting for my moment of weakness, and I had fallen into his trap. Now, he knew that I was hungry, and he could use it against me.

Stay strong, Xara. You are an agent. You don't bend. You don't break. Always calm; always cool; always collected—emotionless.

I made eye-contact with him, defiant. He stared down at me like I was a child.

"Oh, poor Agent X. Don't you want to know what we want from you? Aren't you curious?"

Don't let him get to you. You are strong. You have always been strong. He can never get under my skin. He can never cause you to break. Always calm, always cool, always collected...

"Do you have a twin?"

I froze. What? I could have laughed at the absurd question. Was that all that they needed to know? I wanted to say, 'Um, no, of course not.'

But warning sirens went off in my brain. It's too simple. That can't possibly be all that they want to know. Is it somehow a trick? A trap?

"Ah, you are hesitating," Smog sang. "Come now, enough games and answer the question. Unless, of course, you don't want your daily rations."

"Are you joking?" I responded.

"Um, no?" he laughed. "What do you mean 'am I joking?' Quit stalling and answer the question. Do you have a twin?"

"No."

He cocked his head to one side as he considered my answer. For a moment, I thought that he was about to put my food down and leave. Please just go. I don't want to speak to anyone while I'm like this. I'm not thinking straight.

"Oh, but don't you?" he finally said. "You have a twin alright. Unless it's just a look-alike."

I sighed. What is he talking about? I don't have a twin, nor a look-alike. They're probably just vying for some other information.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. "The IIA has decided to replace you with...well...a look-alike. Now tell me, who is she?"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

Smog turned on his heels and placed my food outside of the cell. When he faced me again, he pulled a square paper from his back pocket.

My breath caught in my throat as I looked at the paper. It was a picture of Dari and Ty sitting at a table, eating croissants and pastries. My stomach nearly started to grumble again at the sight of food. But that wasn't what had caught my attention.

I was sitting right next to them.

"Who is she?" Smog demanded.

I didn't know what was going on. Was that taken recently? Was the picture photoshopped? But why would they want me to answer the question if it was photoshopped?

I decided that I would just be honest. "I don't know."

"Are you sure? Take a closer look."

I continued to inspect the picture. This was going to bother me until I figured out what was going on. I had never been informed of a sister, much less a twin. Such an idea was truly fascinating. I would have to ask when I was released from prison.

But the longer I stared, the more homesickness fluttered in my chest.

I wanted to go home. I wanted to be with my friends.

Xara, stay strong! They're trying to break you! Don't fall for it.

I needed to get Smog out of my cell as quickly as possible.

"I don't know," I repeated.

"What do you mean you don't know? You have to know! You are Agent X!" Smog paused. "Unless...you aren't important enough to them to be told that you have a sister. Perhaps having another girl in the family would have softened you. They wanted to be in complete control of you."

So that's their game. They're trying to weaken me. They want me to feel worthless, hopeless.

It won't work on me. I won't let it.

But then again, he seemed pretty desperate to get an answer from me. Perhaps there was an air of truth in the photo...

Or was it a complete phony?

I didn't know what their game was. I was too tired, too injured, and too hungry to try to figure it out. But I did know how to play a little game of my own.

"You think that I have a twin?" I asked.

Smog grinned. "We don't think. We know."

He seemed very certain. Whether it was fake confidence or real confidence, time would tell.

"In that case, how do you know that you captured the right Xara?"

Smog's smile dropped.

You didn't think of that one, did you?

Smog stared at me for a moment, crafting his response. His fingers twitched as he grappled with my question.

"We did a DNA test," he finally asserted.

Liar. I could tell he had just made it up on the spot. He had processed my challenge for longer than a computer in the 1990s. I was growing less and less impressed with this 'top agent' of WAOIC by the day.

"Did you?" I raised an eyebrow.

Smog forced a maniacal smirk. "Well, don't you worry your pretty little head, Agent X. For we can always kidnap your sister. We have agents who will hunt her down and imprison her and the rest of your precious members of Team Summit. And the six of you will never see the light of day ever again."

"Considering the under budget accommodations and the length of time that it took you to finally capture me, I find it difficult to believe that you could pull off such a stunt."

His cocky grin only widened. "Oh, dear one. How little you know."

"I suggest you save the baby talk for your toy poodle." Yes, in the IIA headquarters information file on Smog, it said that he owned a toy poodle. Unfortunately, my remarks were starting to lose their punch.

"Still feisty, aren't you?" Smog tsked. "Well don't worry. In a few more days, you'll be more broken down than your muscles."

He slammed the door of my cell shut. The keys clanged loudly against each other as he locked the cell door. He waved, like he was my friend and not an enemy, before stalking down the hallway. I listened as his footsteps faded.

I exhaled, feeling mildly victorious. I had rattled him. I could tell. He didn't know which Xara was which. But I couldn't help the sinking feeling in my stomach that soon, they would somehow collect a sample of DNA from me. Then they would know that I was the real Xara. My battle was not enough to win the war.

But this news...this news over my twin had perplexed. Based on his reaction, the photograph was not fabricated. It was real. There was another Agent X in the world. And she was with my crew.

So now only three questions remained: who was she, how did she become me, and whose side was she on?