Angelos.

The man sets his elbow on my shoulder and hands me a glass coke bottle. I wiggle the cap, the face of it dented and the corners stretched out. When I touch it, it pops off. It's been jimmied open. Probably spiked.

Well, great. I could've used a Coke. I hold the bottle at my side and try to smile politely, but it doesn't come. I'm scowling at the man as he guides me through the back of his store, my good eye searching for something to focus on. The room is small and crumbly, built of cinder block and pasted in globs of gray paint. With what little I can see in the dark, I find a flashing red exit sign and race toward it. The man tugs on my shirt to keep me from splitting.

"Easy," he says, "tell me about yourself."

I level my breathing as he leads me out a door and rush out my words. "Sixteen. Big Star Wars fan. Wanna get a doctorate in medicine." My biological parents are supervillains and Syndicate kidnapped my best friend. "How about you?"

He chuckles. A single bar of fluorescent light hums above my head as I push the door open and a spiral of stairs plunges below my feet. The place smells damp and musty, like an antique shop if said antique shop had been doused in acid rain. The floor creaks under my toes, sending my thoughts back to Death Tower. I shake my head. It's still crazy to think that night led to all this, still blows my mind in every possible way and angle.

The man takes a swig of his Coke. My fingers clench around mine. "I'm just a stranger." He glances at me from the corner of his eye and drops his voice. His tone is deep and menacing. "How about I ask the questions?"

I feel myself stiffen, but I try to stay polite. "Fine by me."

Silence falls between us, only pierced by the creeeaaak of each stair as we take the flight. I try to match the man's careful, measured steps. If I died here, falling down the stairs, that would be the dumbest death in the history of dumb deaths after all I've been through. But I wouldn't be surprised if I somehow did. Fate does seem to want me dead, after all.

"A doctorate?" the man asks finally.

I shrug. "I want to be a doctor. I mean, I might take biochem, and if I do, I want to get a doctorate in that, so I can still be a doctor. Plus, education is neat."

"You're into science?"

"Yeah, a little." And for a second, I crack a smile, though it feels wrong to do when Gats is gone. I do like science, even if this genetics stuff leaves me with a bad flavor in my mouth. I haven't had time to think about it at all, my life in the state it is, but I used to love looking at the stars. I had a giant telescope perched outside on the balcony before Gats convinced me it was lame. Maybe I'll take up an astronomy course. I still have so many options and such a long life ahead of me, at least, I did before the dumb supervillain element entered my life. I feel a twinge in my chest. Maybe I won't have to choose between biochem, astronomy, or medicine because  I'll never go to college. Maybe I won't escape this place. Maybe I'll never grow up. 

I bite the inside of my cheek. I never wanted this, I—

"Kid!" the man shouts, a fraction of a second too late. My foot misses the next step. I take a tumble. My head hits the edge of a stair, sending a jolt through my skull. I gasp and my wings tear free and snap open. They jerk up, pulling me back before I hit another step. My heart nearly bursts through my rib cage. The man pounds down and snatches my collar. "Look where you're going next time!" He slaps me, a burst of black and purple spiraling behind my good eye. I rub the side of my head and let the sting of the slap sink.

"Sorry," I say.

"Do you want to get yourself killed?"

"It won't happen again." I feel myself blush. Maybe I haven't grown up all that much because even with everything's that's happened, I'm still the same darn rebellious kid the grown-ups yell at.

He tugs me further, his elbow resting softly on my wing. I wince, the veins there nearly crushed. So many stairs. I wonder if this place has an elevator.

"Where are we goi—"

"I thought I asked the questions."

"Sir." I take in a sour breath. "I have no idea who you are, where I am, or how I got here. Except for I kind of know the last part. I was brought here tied up on the floor of a car. No disrespect intended, but please, I need some kind of information."

He laughs softly. "Not my specialty. We don't talk very much here."

I glower at my socks, still shaky and gasping for breath. My wings fold neatly behind my back, sandwiching my loaned shirt to my shoulders. "At least tell me where I am." There's another second of silence. He shoves me down the last step, toward another humming exit sign. I whip around and slam my back against the door. "I won't move until you do." Negotiation: just another skill I need some work on.

A long pause. A smile. "We call this place, well, we don't call this place anything. Just an abandoned mall. Between the superheroes in Starlight and the police down in Newport, it's a nice crossroads for a... market."

"An illegal black market." I grip the door handle so hard my elbows shake.

The man's eyes light up and he smirks. "'Illegal' is a subjective term."

No, I think, it really isn't, but I step aside and the man swings the door open, beckoning me to follow him with a wave of his finger. I follow along, my thoughts fleeting and inconsequential compared to my flood of feelings.

Sore feet. Tired eyes. Throbbing shoulders.

I think of phoning home to tell my guardians not to worry, but the thought slips back into the churn pretty quick as I step through the door and into a deeper layer of dark. I lace my fingers behind my head and try not to upchuck whatever food's still left in my stomach. The stench here, urine and must and vomit, is so strong I feel a punch in my gut.

Over time, my body has become more perceptive of pain, feeling, anything that tangles up the senses. My good eye, as sharp as it's become, takes in everything. The unflinching dark, the strip of meager white light that coats my brow in a film of sweat, and cages. I flinch. They're everywhere. Rows and rows of gray, rusty kennels with bars that gleam. Animals hiss and howl and bark. A weird sound leaves my throat. A squeak? A scream?

A basement. The dark. Caged animals. I don't like this. I don't like this at all.

A slimy substance oozes through my socks and squishes between my toes. My gut twists. If I'd eaten lunch earlier, I'd really be vomiting my guts out now.

Only one animal is free, a walking puff of white that looks like a cloud. She purrs and rubs up against my leg, sticking fluffs of her fur on to my jeans and into the stuffy air. The man trots on ahead, never paying even a glance at the animals whining, barking, and howling for his attention. "Come on," he says.

I am brave, I tell myself, I can do this.

I take another step. The cat looks up. Blue eyes, white fur. I feel a stab in my chest, and my life, I decide, is a string of ugly coincidences. "Hey, cat. What are you up to?" I pat her on the head. At the touch, she glares and hisses.

I'm not great with animals. Heaven's cats hate me, have hated me since she first got them, and all the claw marks on my arms prove it. 

The cat weaves away. I slog forward, the man grumbling angrily under his breath. I could run, I think, my heart pounding in my chest. I could run, and maybe I could make it. I need to go home. This is too risky, even if it is to deal with my powers and get more information on Gatsby. I can't do anything to save him as a prisoner and I definitely can't do anything to save him if I'm dead.

Something whimpers, a shiny black nose poking between the bars by my feet.

I look into the kennel. Yellow eyes glint back.

Wolf.

I nearly jump. Sure, he's not an especially mean-looking one, big-eyed and whimpering like he is, but he's a massive animal, all fluff, with a tail that whips back and forth. Staring at him, he almost passes for a dog, but he's two or three times bigger than any I've ever seen. 

The wolf pokes his snout further through the bars, his dirty gray coat shining in the harsh light. He looks cramped in there, in that little cage. He flicks an ear at me and sighs as if to say, 'aren't humans the worst?'

They are, Mr. Wolf, they are.

"Hey, hey, big guy." My voice comes out soft, quieter than I've talked to anyone before. I walk toward him with baby steps; he seems nice enough, but I don't want to be his meal. He whines a little louder, sticking up a paw. I feel a pang. Poor fellow. 

"Fibbs!" the man calls. I ignore him. There are animals here in cages. Why?

"You look like you need a hug, huh," I say to the wolf, kneeling at the base of his cage. I stick my hand through the bars for a handshake, like a businessman. "Angelos M. Fibbs. Keep a secret, the 'M' isn't for Michael." I glance side to side. "It's for Monsoon. Tell Heaven or Gats and I'll never hear the end of it for days." And when I say it, I feel a lump in my throat. I want my friends to make fun of my silly middle name. I want them to be okay.

The wolf looks at my hand and sniffs it tentatively. I hold my breath. He nudges my fingers with his nose as if sealing a pact with me. Another smile creeps across my face. I stick my other hand through the bars and pet his thick, silver fur. He rolls on his side, barking, lapping up the attention as if he hasn't been looked at for days. So, I talk to him, ask him questions, and he listens. "My best friends are in trouble..." I start, rambling. I talk for a while, mostly in word-vomit. "...so, I end up here. Do you think I should run? I should be looking for Gatsby, but how much can I really do? I screwed it all up and ended here, anyway. It was my dumb search for information at the mall that led Poison to me. Heaven's the superhero, not me. Maybe I should just stop meddling and—"

"Angelos!" I don't notice the man until he looms over me. He slams his hand down on my shoulder and I flinch. The wolf pokes my pocket, snuffling as if searching for food. "Leave the projects alone!"

Projects. My functions stop. Brain numbs. Every thought blue-screens and leaves me choking in a slick puddle of freezing sweat. Projects. "Y-you're experimenting on these animals?" Words. They tumble out and I can't hold them back. Experiments. These animals are being played with, used. Like me.

The wolf glances at me, locks eyes, and I feel a twinge in my stomach. I wonder if he understands who I am and what we are. Part of me thinks he does.

"I'm not." The man pats me on the head in what feels like an awkward attempt at comfort. I've never been patted before. I see why the Larries hate me. "That one, she's called Project Beauty. 'Cause they tore out all the beast."

He—she—the wolf, plops her snout on my shoulder. I poke her. She doesn't look up. I poke her harder. She yelps and whimpers with her back to the cage wall. I grab her head and pet her furiously to make up for it. She looks away nervously.

The twinge turns into a bolt. "You made her this way? Unable to defend herself?" The way my personality shifts in a way I can't control. I feel something hot crawling under my skin, oozing in my veins. My aura is a patchy thing, unpredictable, but that eerie feeling of heat, the feeling my own skin will cook me to a crisp... I drag my fingers through the wolf's fur and pat her cold nose, trying to ease my breathing into its usual steady cycle. "Project." The word feels jarring and foreign in my mouth. "Experiment like—"

"Like you."

I whip around. Poison has a way of hiding perfectly in sight. He's just across the hall, leaned up against one of the cages. He has a smudge of a bruise on the side of his face, yellowish in color, but it seems to melt before my eyes. At the sight of him, all the aches feel fresh. My stomach, my ribs, my face, I could cow. He beat me half to death in broad daylight. My own flesh and blood. I face him blankly.

He smirks. Saunters up. Part of me wants to run, part of me wants to fight. He strung me up. He brought me here. Part of me says to get away before he breaks my bones and the other part says to break his.

Split. A perfect split. My entire body breaks in tremors as if two entirely different people are clawing to escape the bone and sinew and gristle they're trapped beneath. The wolf licks the side of my face and I scratch her between the ears. Poison sweeps his hand to the cages in a grandiose gesture that doesn't fit the slim, white-haired teen. For a second, I wonder if there's a mafia boss trapped in that body. The man chuckles wryly and slinks away, drifting into the dark like a blot of ink. The tail of his black shirt almost disappears.

"What are you—"

"Can't help you now, son," he calls over his shoulder. A shaky sigh leaves my throat. Of course, he can't. There's no way he could, Poison as prolific and powerful as he seems to be. Though the man probably wouldn't help, even if he could. He's probably just bummed that Poison's the one who gets to shred me. The wolf noses my neck.

Poison smiles a predator's smile. My body tenses up. Do I lunge while I have the advantage, or do I run and hope he doesn't catch me? My chin bounces while I work out the stakes in my head. I don't want to be beaten again. He's stronger than he looks, and he's a ground fighter. In martial arts class, Cliff destroyed me in every ground match I fought, and in every true fight I've been in, the moment I hit the ground I'm a shoe-in for second place. This is a losing fight.

Poison points at me, chuckles. His bright blue eyes gleam with a wicked light. He looks feral.

The wolf nudges me again. I pat her ear and she shies back. "It's funny." He cocks his head. "The harder and faster you fly away from me, the sooner you end up back in my hand. You're like a boomerang."

The words take a few moments to register, and when they do, I huff. Not only is he right, but his metaphors are better mine. "What do you want?" My fists curl, fingers brushing up against the Coke bottle. I am a boomerang, I think, and I'll keep ending up back in his hand until I break the cycle.

I need my powers. I need to control my telekinesis, but I don't want to play with it here, with all these animals near that could get hurt if I bring the ceiling crashing down. The wolf whines. Poison's heeled boots make little clicks on the floor. "I want you to stay put," he says coolly. "Just stay put." He holds a cord taut between his hands. "And I won't hurt you again. We'll pretend this whole escapade never happened."

I rise. "Where's Ceres?"

I think I see a flash of a frown on his pale face. "Taken care of," he answers cryptically. Ceres. His one friend. He shakes his head and strides toward me, briskly. Run, run, run... screams every muscle, every thought in my head.

But I stand my ground. Maybe it's the broken part of me, the dark side. But I have to face him.  I'll leave here walking with information. He won't make me run. I'm tired of running. "I'm giving you a chance to leave, brother." Brother. It feels strange to say. I used to call Gats my brother to make him squirm at all the sugar-sweet sentimentality, but this is different. Poison's supposed to be my big brother, and he hates me. Wishes I was dead, I'm sure. I point back to the wolf and return to a crouch. "And I'm taking her home, by the way. Does she have a name? And not a project name, just a name-name."

His fists shake. "It's a project. It doesn't have a name. It's just a dumb experiment."

My fingers find the cage's latch. "I'm calling her Kepler then, like Johannes Kepler." I glance back at him, letting him know I registered the insult and that I don't care. Our eyes meet, his brilliant blue and flashing, mine probably as dull and unreadable as a single black eye can get. "If you want to fight me, fight me, but Kepler and I are going home." I have no idea how Juniper and Storm will react to me stealing a wolf nor do I know how to take care of one, but those thoughts can wait.

The door squeaks open. Kepler looks up to me, expectantly, her head at a tilt. Her yellow eyes almost glow. She's kind of skinny. "Hey, Kepler, hey. You don't happen to like Quarter Pounders by any chance?"

Her tail wags. I grin. From the corner of my eye, Poison lunges. He approaches on my right, my blind side. Dirty fighter. "You're just a project." His voice quakes. "You aren't my brother and you aren't my father's son. This is where you belong." He motions toward the cage as he swings. I duck the blow. My jaw clenches, and here, the last of my patience snaps. I may be an experiment, but I'm human. I'm not meant to be locked up and I won't let him do that to me.

 I pat the side of Kepler's snout and lunge for Poison's neck.