David once told me that I used to exclusively take cold showers. I can't imagine why, now, when I had unlimited hot water in End, but he said that I took cold ones because they made me feel awake, alert, alive.

But as I step out from the spacious shower (that is separate from the hot tub-sized bath), freezing water clinging to me like liquid glass and skin chilled nearly to freezer burn, I don't feel alive. I feel empty. Dull. Dead, like a dust-coated stainless steel tap in a long-since abandoned building.

I glance at the mirror and the person that stares back doesn't look much better. A smattering of freckles stands out from my pale brown skin and lighter brown curls hang limply around my forehead, all of which accentuate the shadows under eyes that are dark and haunted like an empty museum (back when museums were still physical locations).

Distantly, I reach up and trace the skin under my eyes. Back in END, they were sagging crescents of darkness, but here they are just simple shadows. Now that I am not on high-grade PowDown patches, my skin isn't so pale, the shadows not so deep, my energy and appetite returned. It's...a freedom, a relief to feel alive, like myself again, and at the same time, I want high-powered PowDown patches again.

If they are on, I am safe, the building is safe, everyone is safe from my powers. If they are on, people stop looking at me like I am an electricity bomb ready to explode at any moment—at least, not as much. If they are on, it means I don't have to fight for myself alone. Edison and David and everyone else are there to fill in where I can't, advocating for me and my cases, helping me take one step at a time to a future not locked in boxes.

If I have them on, I am in End, but my body suffers. But without them...I am here, trapped in a secret base somewhere far away, with only regular PowDown patches—too weak to stop anything but a small burst from me—and Deception. Wraith. The others lurking down here.

And I...I feel awake in a way I haven't in weeks.

The Parasite's powers—my powers—pulse at the base of my neck and whisper and wind around my bones as a patient storm, sliding against invisible barriers, crackling with energy. The subtle fog around my thoughts is clear, my mind on its feet, and my stomach rumbles on regular times. And blanking the tower...releasing the waiting winter storm and feeling its strength, its power, its hunger, I feel awake, alive, like everything before was a dream and this is reality.

My hands outstretched, fingers spread, and a thrill of release tingling through my body, rubble at my feet. Why is that the moment I feel most awake? Why isn't it when I am joking and laughing with David, or snuggling Skittles, or just hanging out with Edison with snacks and thoughts of the day?

I close my eyes, holding the image of the tower's rubble in my mind, bracing for the feeling of exhilaration to wash over me, a perfectly circular ball of ice lodged in my throat. But it doesn't come. As much as it is burned into my mind, I feel nothing but dullness. Ache. A growing pulse of prickly frost at the nape of my neck.

Dr. Egret says that the Parasite is both a gift and a curse, but right now, all I see is the curse, the burden, the doom it brings.

In a few years, maybe even less, it will grow too big, too greedy, and either starve me out of my own body or crowd me out. In the meantime, it gives me this accursed power that destroyed me, my life, my memories. This power that Deception hungers for, the power that made her kidnap me, the/this power that she wants to use as the pristine white scepter with which she will rule the world with.

This power with which I destroyed everything around me—buildings, people, relationships, myself—leaving nothing behind but a blank slate. A legacy of destruction. A life so ruined I will die before I even finish rebuilding the scaffolding.

And there is so little I can do to fix anything and that makes me want to scream into the void and never come back, fade into the static humming in my mind and never return, and, in the not-so-dark corner of myself, tear the world down with me like an exploding star.

After all, why should I try to rebuild when all I have are scraps? If I am so far gone, why should I use the last of my time building back? If I am at the bottom of the ocean, how can anyone expect me to reach the edge of space before I die?

I can't do it, not in this place of villains and lies. Not without Edison or David or everyone else in END. Not without someone to help me. And it— it makes— it's just—

That tower today, as it folded and crumbled and reverted like I never can, as it crashed to the ground with a magnificent roar, as the burn in my heart, my neck, my hands fell silent— That made me understand the allure. It's the power amongst the chaos of the maelstrom. The power not strong enough to save me, but still strong enough to change the world. The power to do something worthwhile with what I have left in my life.

And that feeling, out of everything I did in END, all the stories Edison and David told me about my old self, all the games we played together, all the time with Skittles and gardening, felt the most like me.

A hand seizes my heart and squeezes until I shove myself off the sink and trot out to my room, pacing restlessly around the holoTV, the couches, the bed, the bookcases, everything, until I can breathe again. Until I can uncurl my fingers from my hair. Until I can swallow the terrified scream lodged in my throat.

Why is it, in destruction, I find myself? Am I a villain, at heart? Am I someone who loves destruction more than rebuilding? At one point, I loved destruction. At one point I did it. With Deception, as Blank Slate, that was me.

You were meant to unmake what is to be remade. Is it really true? Was that all I was? Is that all I am now?

A hot-iron shiver jolts down my back and claws through my skin, leaving me feeling like it doesn't quite fit. "Stop," I whisper through my teeth locked together with purple chains, gripping the back of the couch as hard as I can. "Stop it."

But I can't. My mind is a storm of static and violet fog that grows claws, teeth, hands that tear and grab and drown out everything else. Deception might be right. Everything I've known as true these past months might be a lie again. And who's fault would it be? Mine. Deception's. Edison's. Everyone's and no one's and—

Jerking away from the couch, I practically run to the door and palm it open, walking so quickly down the hall I hardly see the doors blur past. I have to stop thinking. I have to stop thinking about this or I will go crazy or insane or—

"She controls everyone eventually."

"We're trying to help you. Please..."

"Aww, Elias. Let's go be geeks together like we used to, okay?"

"We were together for— four years."

"...for Elias, formally known as Blank Slate..."

The memories vanish and I snap back into the world, awareness hitting me so abruptly it takes a couple of blinks to catch up. I am standing in the hall, one foot raised and both hands locked in my hair. Not five strides from me is Wraith, leaning against the wall with her ankles crossed, staring at the hologram her holowatch is projecting with an unreadable expression. The hologram is a news report from the heroes. About End, about me.

And Edison stands front and center.

"...despite the confusion on the matter," Edison is saying, expression serious and shoulders straight, the perfect picture of a hero, "we believe Elias is not an accomplice to Vanish, and seek to rescue, not recapture him. Elias was a willing participant in RESTORE's rehabilitation program, and his departure was unwilling. As his Guardian, I can say with certainty that he did not want to leave and that he was making good progress in the rehabilitation program."

A spark burns in my throat. Edison is still advocating for me. Still, even when I am not there to be a ghost to his past. Still, even when...the rest of the world thinks I...went here willingly.

"...Elias suffers from memory loss, and as such, he is not the same person we saw in Blank Slate's campaign. We are doing everything in our power to bring him back and give him the proper chance we offer all Villains, no matter how big or small."

Edison grasps my hand, leaning forward, both brother and hero reflecting on his face. "We'll give you as many chances as you need." I curl my fingers into tight fists.

The news reporter asks something that I don't catch and Edison lifts his chin slightly, determination flashing in his eyes. "My team and I have hunted Blank Slate once before. We can and will do it again."

"If anyone can do it, it's the Storm Cell team," the news reporter agrees. After a quick summary to the audience, she turns to Edison. "Is there anything else you want to say before we end?"

Edison dips his head, somehow straightening even more, and looks the camera directly in the eye. "Elias," he says, and my lungs freeze, "if you are watching this, not everything is lost. We will find you. We will bring you home. I promise."

The news shifts to an interlude ad, a swath of noise and color that doesn't reach my senses. Edison's image lingers in my mind, eyes fixed on mine. "Not everything is lost," he says again and again. "We will find you. I promise." His voice reverberates through my bones and fills the empty chasm in my chest, chasing away the fog of my thoughts and the tightening static of panic.

Not everything is lost. At the phrase, it is as if my vision clears from a purple darkness and everything makes sense again. Not everything in my life is rubble, shambles, scraps I cannot rebuild with.

I still have Edison, my brother, David, my friend, even Skittles, a creature of love and whiskers. I still have me, all the pieces of him from before and all the pieces I am making now. It's small, so terribly small, but they're something.

Edison isn't a lie. End isn't a lie. I have to remember that.

Movement flickers and I blink, finding Wraith staring at me in the absence of the news holo, a single eyebrow arched. My stomach drops into an infinite abyss. Shoot, Megabytes! She's caught me listening!

Wraith clears her throat, crossing her arms as she takes a long look at me. "Your brother must really care about you," she finally says.

I wince, shoving my hands into my pockets and taking a small step back, skin prickling with the heat of embarrassment. How long have I been staring off into space? "Yeah. He...does. A lot." As soon as it's out of my mouth, I inwardly slap my forehead. Aaaand now she knows for sure that Edison is my brother.

Wraith gives me a dry look, plucking the cigarette out of her mouth and blowing out a small cloud of smoke. "Lucky, that." Her gaze falls to the cigarette as she twirls it around her fingers, the shadow from her hood cutting angles out of her face. "In this day and age, it's rare to find a brother so dedicated."

"Really?"

"Of course." She leans back from the cloud of smoke, lip curled. "With the way the world divides everyone into rigid categories and forces lies down our throats, what would you expect?"

I frown, thoughts freezing, and I peer through them to the boxes they are filtering through. Boxes, labels, categories, all neatly filtering the world...and harming it in some ways. "Oh." My gaze drops, and my thoughts unfreeze, falling in a brief, fumbled jumble. "I'm sorry," tumbles past my lips, a reflexive phrase to fill the silence as my brain reboots.

Wraith scoffs, the sound gritty and almost painful-sounding. "Don't be." Her lip curls like a bitter rind. "You've got it better than the rest of us."

A spark jumps in my chest and I snap my gaze back to her. "What? How?" How is this, being here, kidnapped away from the only place I had an inkling of a chance at rebuilding my life better?

With an elegant shrug and a crude twist to her mouth, Wraith drops her attention to fiddling with the strap of her holowatch. "Mm, lots of ways." With a deft flick of her fingers, she tosses something at me and plucks out the cigarette from her lips. "Starting with this."

On reflex, I catch it. It's...her holowatch, unlocked, open, free to use. What? "Why did you...?"

She waves my question away with a fingerless gloved hand, voice rough with more than smoke and gaze averted. "Go look up your brother; that kind of relationship is too precious to lose." She shoots me a warning look. "Just don't do anything rash. It's monitored. And give it back when you're done." Turning her back, she starts down the hall.

I stare after her, thoughts pounding, until she rounds a corner, the weight of the holowatch resting in my palm like a precious, fragile egg. My chest is heavy and full, and my pulse rings in my ears, so loud it almost hurts.

She's...giving me a holowatch? Her holowatch? That's most likely not as monitored as mine, which means... I don't know what, exactly, but it's big. Maybe she has her location on, maybe I can get a message to the heroes, or maybe, at the very least, I can see more news articles from Edison.

A lump forms in my throat and I close my fingers around the holowatch, kicking my legs into motion towards my room. It's a chance to do something big, maybe even get out, and I need it. I need to get out of here before I break.

The look in Wraith's eyes flashes past in my mind, the way her voice faltered, the loathing boiling under the surface as she spoke of Deception dragging everyone back, and I clench my jaw tighter, holding my hand closer to my body.

Maybe I am not the only one who needs to get out of here before I break. Maybe...Wraith needs an out. Maybe she wants one, too, and helping me is her way of doing just that.