"Hey, this isn't the hospital."

Dan glances at me as he maneuvers the hovercar into an underground parking lot. He turns to me, eyebrows lowered and mouth set into a serious line. "I haven't been honest with you, Denizen, and I'm sorry."

What? My stomach drops to my feet and I flick my gaze out the windows. Reserved for heroes, reads the holosign hovering at the edge of the parking spot. To its left is another holosign, this one reading Temporary Hero HQ with an arrow pointing down a hallway.

Frost settles into my bones and my heart freezes. "Dan, why are we at the heroes' headquarters?"

"Well..." He switches off the engine with a tap of his finger, furrowing his brow and brushing his hair away from his face, "...you see, my name isn't Dan. It's actually David, and I'm a hero."

Why is he telling me this? Dragging in a strangled breath, I shake my head, shifting in my seat so I face him. "Why are we at the heroes' headquarters?"

"I think you've been...messed with by Blank Slate."

"What?"

Dan raises a hand, palm facing me. "You've been exhibiting all the signs of the effects of Blank Slate's powers and, well, you helped us with our security systems so you may have enough valuable information that he attacked you."

My pulse thunders into my ears, ringing with static and the stab of ice from my power. He—knows? Is this it? Is it over already?

Fierce, burning cold jolts down my arms as my heart leaps into my mouth. It takes all my effort to force it down. No, calm down. Think. Dan—David—thinks I, my civilian alias, has been attacked by Blank Slate. He doesn't think I am Blank Slate.

It's not over. Not yet.

I close my eyes, breath rushing out all in a rush. I'm not caught. It's okay. Breathe. As the blood in my ears fades from a roar and the sharp bite of my power eases, a new thought arises.

I can use this. If David thinks I, Denizen, am a victim of Blank Slate, and if I don't mess up and give myself away, I can lead them off my trail and fish around for more information at the same time.

Sour laughter returns to my throat, fueled by fool's fire and a manic, unhinged amusement. Yes, pretending to be a clueless victim of my own alias is a great idea. It totally can't blow up in my face with a single, tiny slip. Oh no, not at all. Playing with this fire is completely safe.

Is this what villains feel like when they burn down buildings?

The laughter vanishes like a computer bug just before IT comes around. Probably. And if it is, I want nothing to do with it.

David's voice pierces through my thoughts, jerking me back to the real world. "...I know this is a lot to take in, but we will do our absolute best to take care of you and make this right."

I shake my head, resisting the urge to tear my hands through my hair. Get a grip, I tell myself. This is your best chance at turning this mess into something useful. And besides, I managed to hide my villain identity before just fine. This would be just the same, except on hardcore mode. Extreme hardcore.

"I don't know what to say." The words are strangled and watery, the last tendrils of the sour laughter causing its edges to shake. At least I don't have to fake shock. "This—hero all this time—are you sure it's because of Blank Slate?"

David's expression hardens, the spark in his eyes retreating into deep shadow. "I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I've seen his work before and this matches up too well not to be him."

"You have?" He's been on my case? Have I seen him on the field before? I glance over him again, but nothing has changed. He is no more familiar than a stranger.

He nods. "I'm Formic. I was there with my team when..." The shadows on his face seem to darken and the razor hints of anger glint through them.

Prickles cascade down my back. He was there. He saw what I did, whatever it was. Questions build up in my throat, clambering to be asked, but my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I don't dare ask them. Not right now, when he looks like he wants to wring my—Blank Slate's—neck.

Clearing his throat, the shadows return to normal and the anger vanishes, leaving no trace as he offers a small smile. "No matter. We will make sure he won't touch you again."

I match it with a shaky half smile of my own, my fingers tingling as they go numb. "What happens now?"

"We go inside and present your case to the rest of Storm Cell. Then we'll make a plan, implement it, and you'll be able to go home."

That doesn't sound too bad. "Alright." We exit the hovercar and follow the stark blue strips of light leading towards a glass door shimmering with the never-ending wave of West Quarter's heroes not too far away.

David presses a hand to the door and, as it slides open, he guides me through a sleek white foyer decorated with royal blue furniture and pale blue stripes on the walls, nodding at the receptionist as we pass.

In the adjacent hall, there are two high-class Leapers set into the wall. Walking over to the control panel, David taps his holowatch on it. "Tenth floor for two." It beeps and the Up-Leaper on the right opens with a whoosh, the roar of its air current obliterating the background ambience.

Without hesitation, he walks through the forcefield and leaps into the chute. The anti-gravity flicks on, and he shoots upwards so fast he seems to vanish.

I raise my eyebrows. It is so quick, it's almost like he teleported. I know Leapers were built for extremely fast travel between floors, but somehow I still hadn't expected them to be that fast. The Up-Leaper beeps again, so I pass through the forcefield and jump.

For a moment, air is the only thing blasting me upwards. Then weight disappears, my momentum multiples exponentially, and I am hurtling upwards at a speed far too fast for comfort. A yelp leaps into my mouth, forcing its way through my teeth, and dies as air blasts my body, killing my momentum and spitting me out of the Leaper.

I stumble forwards and a hand grabs my arm, steadying me. David grins, blue hair a wind-blown mess. "First time in a Leaper?"

Forcing my shaky legs to hold me, I pull away from him, pulse thundering in my ears. "Uh, yeah."

"Exhilarating, isn't it?" He chuckles and pats my back. "You'll get used to it after a while."

Is he suggesting that I am going to be coming back here? A stone settles in my stomach and I hunch my shoulders. I hope not.

David heads into the next room and I follow, feet dragging. It is a large semicircle, with tinted windows making up the far wall, a large oval holopit on the left and furniture on the right arranged to make the space feel open.

The holopit is lined with terminals and a few plush seats on the steps down to the main terminal which looks like it could project a hologram as big as the entire pit. As we enter, holograms scrolling with data, live feed, and much more flick on and orient to face David.

He passes them without even a glance and beelines to the other side of the room where tucked behind a couch, is what looks to be a temporary Teleporter, its base unbolted and stabilization straps still wrapped around it. Just in front of it are two couches, loosely arcing around the mouth of a small outcove in the wall whose mouth is blurred by a privacy field.

David uses his holowatch again to access the privacy shield and lower it. Two heroes, one dressed in pink and the other in red and navy, stand with their backs to us in front of a line of consoles, tapping and swiping items across holograms hovering over them.

The hero in pink, a woman, turns and waves a gloved hand. "Hey, Formic! You're back early. Something up?"

David shrugs out of his jacket and slings it over the couch just outside the outcove. "Yeah. Where's the rest of the team? I think I've got a lead."

The woman's—Galah, if I remember her name right from my brief googling session—smile dims, settling into a serious curve. "They're on a mission, but Aben can give them a heads-up."

Aben, the hero in red and navy, nods and starts tapping at his holowatch as Galah hops out of her chair and approaches. She glances at me, frowning a little, then at David with her eyebrows raised.

Putting a hand on my shoulder, David nods at her. "It's fine. He's the lead."

Lead. Outwardly, I offer a wavery smile. Inwardly, I cringe. I am both the lead and the end, and hearing one part spoken aloud makes everything seem frighteningly real.

"Oh!" Galah turns to me, her holomask projecting her eyes wide in an exaggerated cartoon style. "You—know something about him?"

My smile dies and I glance away to Aben, whose deep scowl is facing his holowatch, though I get the distinct impression it's directed at anything but. "I...well, not exactly." I don't remember my motives—my goals, my history—as Blank Slate, so technically I don't know him. Still, the words lie heavy on my tongue, feeling as obvious as the metaphorical elephant in the room.

"I suspect Denizen here is a victim of Blank Slate." David's voice takes on a darkened edge that is not quite emotionless enough to be called professional, and he squeezes my shoulder, his grip firm. I try not to wince.

Galah gasps, her friendliness disappearing as she tenses, holomask actually darkening to almost hide her eyes like a distraught cartoon character. "And you're still—"

"The others will finish up their mission and head over," Aben cuts in. He comes up beside the woman, sharply jerking his hand down.

They share a brief look before Aben fixes his attention on me, arms folded across his chest. "What do you have to do with Blank Slate? Tell us everything."

My intestines clench and pull tight, shortening my breath. Does he suspect me? No, he can't, not already. Still, his unwavering stare—accentuated by a pane of red glass wrapping around his eyes and head—bores through my thoughts, almost piercing the static behind them as if he knows it is there. "I don't—"

"He is not the enemy, Aben," David cuts in, the edge of warning cutting the tension in the air with the force of a knife. He seems to swell up, an air of warning about him.

Aben glares at him, then with another scowl, looks away, face hidden.

A tense few beats pass, thick with dark history shared between them. I swallow, eyes flickering between the three heroes, skin prickling and a nippy gust of frost sliding its way down to my fingers. Whatever they're not saying right now, it's big and most definitely something I do not want to mess with. They can keep their drama; I've got enough of my own.

With visible effort, David sighs out a long, measured breath and relaxes his posture, glancing at me with a hint of weariness. "Look." He takes another breath and flicks on an apologetic smile. "It's better if I explain, okay?"

Shoulders slumping, I let out a pent up sigh of my own and nod. That's a relief. I don't know what I'd have said, if I had to explain. It's all too complicated, incredibly complicated, to put into coherent sentences.

As David explains my situation, I allow myself to relax a little. This seems to be working, at least so far. Shifting, I turn my attention to the other heroes, taking the time to study them while they're not concentrating on me. Galah's outfit seems to prefer bright colors with pink as the centerpiece, judging by her bright pink shirt and pink-lined fingerless gloves, knee-high black boots, and gray mask.

Aben, on the other hand, is all dark colors with sharp, accenting red. He wears a navy full-body suit with red lines running up his legs and down his arms. Pieces of high-tech armor protect his knees, forearms, shoulders, and chest. His face is left mostly unconcealed, with the red wrap-around glasses and the faint blur around them the only obstructions to his features.

From his appearance, I guess he's the serious techy type, while Galah is the bright chatty type that's likely to be conversing about the weather while she puts a knife in you. My stomach clenches and I subtly lean further away from both of them. To escape my dark thoughts, I tune into the conversation.

"...what would Blank Slate want from him?" Aben taps his chin, a frown wrinkling his face. "Passwords? Information? His expertise?"

Galah snorts, putting her fists on her hips and tossing her head so some loose strands get out of her face. "Information, definitely. He probably wants to take down our system! He took our leader, and now he's going for our information!"

"But why?" David frowns and waves a hand at the room. "We're only one-fourth of the city. If our system goes down, all the rest of the heroes and maybe even some of Reoth's—the neighboring city—heroes will be swarming this place. Unless he's not working alone, that's instant arrest no matter how many tricks he has up his sleeve."

"Or he's mad and doesn't care," Galah interjects, sticking out her tongue.

Aben's frown turns to a scowl. "He doesn't attack like a madman, Galah. Unfortunately, he's got a good brain and knows how to use it."

With great effort, I suppress a sour snort. At least that's something: the heroes don't think I'm an idiot.

He shakes his head, movement sharp. "As far as we know, he wants something very specific. Before this incident, he interfered with everything hero-related and seemed to prefer going for few large and flashy hits, not many quiet ones. He wanted attention, and it had to do something with our system." He glances at me. "Since you set up our security, perhaps he thought you were the key."

You are trying to make yourself known to Deception so you can meet her again. She will accept you in every way. Something clicks into place and a shiver cascades down my spine. They're right. I was going for attention.

Somehow, the information doesn't comfort me. Who is Deception and why is she so important to me? She sounds like a villain. Maybe she was my partner in crime? But rule three said to work alone, no exceptions. Obviously there must be an acceptable exception. But why would I make it?

Making a mental note to google her later, I gather my thoughts to respond. "But why blank me?"

David shrugs, mouth twisted like he was tasting something sour. "That's the big question. Perhaps he used you to get the information he wanted—your password to your computer, maybe, or what kind of system you set up for us—and wiped you to cover his tracks."

"But why not steal his computer too?" Galah twirls a stick of neon pink light in between her fingers, flicks it into the air, catches it, and points it at me. "You still have your computer, right?"

Do I? I mean, I still have my laptop, but is that the computer they're talking about? Am I missing a computer? It looked like I only had a setup for a laptop, but I could be missing something.

Then again, why would I steal my own computer? It doesn't make sense, even if I'd known I'd be faking innocence to the heroes' faces. No, my laptop is probably the one they're talking about. I nod. "Yes."

Galah nods back and silence descends over us as everyone retreats into their own thoughts. The earlier tension seems to have faded as the heroes concentrate on the problem at hand, and for that, I'm grateful. It's one less thing I need to worry about and one less thing I have to tiptoe around. I place a hand over one side of my face and inhale deeply. The static grows loud in my ears, buzzing with the last dredges of adrenaline, and it hits me that I am exhausted.

My bones are soggy with weariness and my head is heavy from keeping alert and on guard all day. The edges of frost still tingle in my fingers like a constant trickle, but it's slow and weak compared to the fierce bite of this morning.

A break would be nice. Food would be great. But most of all, getting away from the prying eyes of heroes would be perfect.

Aben sighs, shaking his head with sharp frustration. "We are missing too many pieces to tell."

"Unfortunately so." David seems to pull pieces of himself back together until he's back to the nearly perpetually grinning self I recognise and nudges Aben's arm. "We'll figure it out and catch him. Trust me."

Mouth twisting, Aben looks up at him, eyes gleaming like a magical ember buried under the ashes, just waiting to jump out and start a vengeful fire. "The longer we're stumped, the more people he's going to hurt."

"It won't be long. We haven't told Citizen and Titular yet, and they always figure out something to do. With Denizen's help, we have a chance at catching him quickly. Right, Denizen?"

A grimace twitches at the corners of my mouth and I press my lips together to keep it in. "Uh yeah." Not if I can help it. "Where's the bathroom?"

"Oh, of course." David's smile is almost sad as he points to the way we came. "It's past the Leapers on the right. We'll wait for you to talk about what to do next."

"Okay. Thanks." I spin on my heel and hurry away, hunching my shoulders against the prickle of Aben's stare between my shoulder blades. As I brush past Galah, I catch some muttered words.

"He picked the right name alright. There isn't a smidgen of dirt or un-blanked clue on that slate of his."

An icy snake slithers down my spine and I quicken my pace. As I close myself into a stall, I can't help but wonder if my slate is really all that blank. My rules don't seem to match up to what I actually did, yet they were obviously quite important to me. How much of it is truth? How much is lies? How much is a twisted mess of belief in a lie-covered truth?

I don't know. I can't tell. I am staring at the same blank slate the heroes are, locked out of my own secrets. Perhaps my slate isn't blank at all. Perhaps, hidden beneath static and clean walls, are bloodied secrets and haunted, dark crevices. Perhaps it isn't meant to be remembered.

Even so, I am not going to sit still and leave it be. I have to find out. I have to know who I am, even if it is a villainous, cold-hearted murderer. If I don't—if I never find out who I am—then what is left in this world for me?

A cold glop of tar and a bit of a black hole drops in my stomach and I press a hand against the stall's wall to steady myself as the world threatens to spin. No, no. I can't go there. I can't dwell on the if I can'ts or what ifs.

Taking a few deep breaths, I straighten and comb my fingers through my curls. Focus. I will find out who I am. I will. This foolhardy plan of mine seems to be working; the heroes don't suspect me and it wasn't that hard to pretend. All I have to do is keep the illusion up and let them talk over me about Blank Slate. Soon enough they'll give me enough hints for me to piece together a key to my past.

It's only a matter of time, and time is all I have left.