Normal people go to hobbies, media, exercise, drinking, or socialization to distract themselves from their worries. I am not normal. I don't think I ever was.

So I find myself standing in front of the Don't Go There hall, leaning on the wall as a dizzy spell makes my head spin and preparing to step inside. Moving too fast makes me nauseous despite the fresh (normal grade) PowDown burning the nape of my neck, and hunger pangs twist my stomach, but I need to move. I need to do something other than stew on last night's conversation. And apparently moving means exploring the one place I was told not to go to.

Why am I like this? Answers bubble up, coated in sticky purple slime. I shove them down and push myself off the wall, stumbling into the hall. At first, it's just like all the others—curved like a tunnel, lined with doors, painted with red and black—but as I slink deeper, the scent of grease, oil, and machinery hits my nose.

On the left is a large door left askew, light, sound, and the grease smell pouring out of it. Cautiously, I approach, trying to breathe quietly. Did this lead to some sort of illegal gun or weapon factory? Or maybe an armory? Surely there'd be more security around that sort of thing.

I stop short, scanning the ceiling and walls for cameras to no avail. Unease curls like a restless mist and I frown, glancing over my shoulder. I shouldn't be doing this. I am captured by a villain, the villain of South Quarter, and the last thing I need is her ire. She could do anything to me and there's no one but myself to prevent her.

Anything like telling you the truth about your past? Cold tingles wash down my back and I square my shoulders against it, firmly pushing away the thought.

Maybe she might be the only one alive who knows what happened—really happened—to me between Ten School and the memory wipe, but I can't trust her to tell the truth, at least the full truth. There's just too many unknowns about her, too many facets to her face to be sure.

But she wouldn't do that to you, a thought murmurs, and whether it comes from my head or my heart, I can't tell. She proclaims to love you and that you loved her once. Why would she lie to you about your life? She cares about you; you've seen the look in her eyes.

Yes, the look in her eyes, those bottomless amethyst pits warmed with the honeyed affection of wine, and the shine of hurt and sorrow when I told her I don't remember her. A hand tightens around my lungs. She cares about you, the voice whispers, louder. She cares about you. Doesn't that make her trustwo—

I slam my hand on the door with a bang! ripping away from the incessant echo. Cold nips my fingers and, in a rush, the door crumples into sheets of metal with a terrific clatter. Behind it, elbow deep in the guts of some sort of bot and surrounded by other gutted or frighteningly sharp and pointy contraptions, is a girl smeared head to toe in thick, black grease.

Our eyes lock and all thoughts except terabytes drop to my feet.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY DOOR?" the girl roars, spinning towards me and drawing a gun faster than a blink.

Recoiling, I take a step back, hands in front of me. They're white as the hex code #ffffff. "I—"

"GET OUT!" The barrel of the gun swings up. BANG!

Instinctively, I drop and roll out of the doorway, the hiss of something whizzing past my ear sending my head spinning. Scrambling to my feet, I race down the hall and skid behind the consoles in the main room, ducking down beside the largest one.

With my back pressed to the console, I gasp in air against the pounding of my heart. A blizzard of static and icicles slams into my hands and stabs the back of my neck, leaving the rest of my body shaking from the force of impact.

That girl—she—she shot at me. I was just shot at. And I nearly got hit. I— I could've died or been injured and that would be very bad for escaping and— what did I just get myself into?

Tears spring forward as fast as the geyser of ice flows shooting through my arms and into my hands. I curl my fingers into tight fists, huffing sloppy, warm breaths in attempts to keep the cold at bay.

It doesn't work. Inch by inch, feeling goes out until my hands are shaking blocks of ice about to explode. Pressing my fist over my mouth, I pull my knees and rest my head on them, attempting to wrestle my power back into a tight, carefully guarded reservoir. It is as effective as grabbing fistfuls of whitewater rapids and pulling. Worse, the harder I try, the more freezing blasts hit my fingers and the PowDown patch digs burning grooves under my flesh.

I—I am losing it. It's going to slip past and the PowDown patch isn't enough and I am going to blank something and it might be myself or the building or someone else or—

"Elias, take a deep breath."

My lungs stutter and I hold the breath in between my teeth, screwing my eyes shut.

"Flex your fingers. Can you feel them?"

No, I can't. They're ice against my lips and leg, burning through my skin like a paper on fire.

"The winter is there, isn't it? It feels wild and out of control."

So out of control. I am on the verge of losing and blanking—

"But it isn't. Find the edges. Can you feel the edges? It starts in your fingers."

I can't feel my fingers, but I can feel the winter. Pushing against the storm, I reach out down my arms to the nebulous wall of white at the end of my wrists. It's an ocean, tossing and boiling like a pot full of popcorn kernels, expanding from horizon to— there. The edge of my hand presses against my cheek. I focus on it, tunneling all of my energy into the edge, and the ocean turns into a bay then a pool.

"Yes? Good. Now follow it up your arms. It's not a storm but a river. It flows past your shoulders, then to your neck. There's going to be burning; go under it to the source. Can you feel that? Good."

With a push, I dive into the pool, reaching for the bottom, past the burning wall of static and zero kelvin particles, and to the dazzling ball of ice behind it spewing liquid cold in all directions.

"Now put a dam in the mouth of the source."

Gathering every last scrap and stone I have inside, I slam down the strongest wall I can manage and hold. The ice slams into the edges, baying its fury and reaching tendrils over the stones. The wall holds, and holds, and holds some more as the ice builds up like water behind a dam, swelling for the top with everything it's got and...falls short.

It stops. The ice stops flowing. The burning starts to fizzle down. The winter howling in my ears falls to a low moan. The chill creeps back up my arms and settles into the base of my neck, throbbing a subdued protest. I suck in a shaky breath and slowly, carefully, as if opening them too fast would break my tenuous grip, open my eyes.

It's dim in the shadows of my arms and knees, rather low light from the consoles and self-brightening lights seeming bright in contrast. The smooth but warm fabric of my pants slides against my skin as I shift, loosening my shoulders and uncurling my fists.

I am in control. I have my power under control. I am not in danger.

Air rushes shakily through my lips as I uncurl and slump against the console, throwing my thanks to the sky and whatever (or whoever) is beyond it that I did not blank the memories of my Power Management Instructor from Ten School. If I had forgotten Focus, Follow, and Fortify—the first thing powerful parasite carriers learn—this building...I might've... I shudder.

Pushing images of twisted metal and sludge piles of concrete slapped under news headings, I glance upwards and freeze.

Wraith leans on the nearest console to my left, gray, almost black eyes fixed on me.

The back of my head hits the smooth metal of the console as I jerk backwards. H-how long had she been there? Was she there before I came here and I didn't notice? Did she see—

"She's controlling you." Wraith's raspy voice breaks into my thoughts like the rattle and crinkle of a snake's old shed skin. I snap my gaze to hers as she gathers herself and pushes off the console, head slightly tilted so strands of her black hair fall through the small cloud of smoke that billows from her mouth.

I swallow, straightening to a stiff board, thoughts a tangled mess of sparking wires. "W-Who?"

"Deception." With causal ease, she twirls her cigarette through her fingers. Her eyes, however, remain fixated on me.

Deception controlling me. Already? How? Does her mind control powers work that fast? How do her powers work? Am I really under her thumb already? Am I—

"I don't want to be controlled!" My chest constricts and I blink in the thundering silence my blurted words leave behind. I can't be controlled. I have someone, somewhere, to return to. I—have to get out of here before she sinks further into my mind and really controls me from the inside out.

Wraith stares, growing still as a supporting beam, thoughts flashing behind her eyes. With careful, almost tentative deliberateness, she waves towards the Leapers on the far wall. "There's the door."

I glance between the Leapers and her. Is she telling me to leave? (I've tried.) Why? "They don't open for me." Shouldn't she know?

"And?" She takes a puff, raising her eyebrows in challenge. "If you really want to get out of here, that won't stop you."

Unease trickles down my spine. She knows I can blank through those leaper doors any time I want. Does that mean Deception knows too? Does she have anti-blanking on her Leapers' doors (if that is a thing)? Does she have a plan to stop me?

Or maybe she doesn't think you'll leave, the thought from before whispers. Maybe she thinks you don't want to leave because Edison abandoned you. I grit my teeth, shoving the thought down. No, that couldn't be. Edison doesn't hate me (maybe) and he wouldn't abandon me (but maybe he has before? And he's trying to make up for it now?).

A chill settles into my stomach. That...that makes a lot of sense. He is so nice to me, so caring, so understanding all the time despite my villanry. I thought it was because he is glad that we're together after so long, but maybe it's because he's trying to make up for all the wrongs he's done to me in the past.

It makes so much sense. Too much sense. So much sense that— I shove the thought into a jar, slam the lid on, and shove it onto a shelf. I can't think about this right now; Wraith's staring at me and I need to look somewhat sane.

Swallowing trepidation, I orient my thoughts back on track. Whether Deception's right or not, it still brings to question why Wraith is not only aware that I can blank through the Leapers but also encouraging me to do it. Is it some sort of challenge to see if I have any nerve? A test set up by Deception?

I squint at her face, the casual way she holds herself that's just a bit too purposeful to be normal, the way all her attention is on me and me only, and frown. It doesn't give me any more clue to her intentions. "Why are you telling me this?"

The corners of her lips twitch as her gaze sharpens, posture losing the casualness for serious intensity. "She controls everyone eventually." She gestures at herself, the hall behind her, and the Don't Go There hall with her cigarette. "I'm controlled, Conflagration is controlled, Grease is controlled."

The casual indifference returns, settling over her as if nothing changed with a lift of her shoulders. "If you don't want to be controlled, then get out of here."

A plume of smoke screens her face, filling the space between us. I suck in a breath through my teeth, the acrid taste of cigarette and sharp chemicals immediately coating my tongue.

She means it. Wraith really means it. If I stay here, I'll be controlled, trapped under Deception's thumb. A dozen small moments of Decpetion's concern, Deception's soft words, Deception's potential for being the only person that might know who I was between now and when Edison lost me clammer for my attention.

Would she really control me? Would she really trap me here against my will? Is she really that...villainous? Or am I sticking her in a box with labels she doesn't deserve and turning a blind eye to the truth because it hurts? Hurts like finding out Edison does hate me and—along with everyone else—abandoned me?

The purple tendril wound around my guts constricts and my heart falls against my ribs with a sickening thud. I have to get out of here now before I fall any further. But how?

If I blank my way through the Leaper's doors and get to another floor, then what? I don't know how big this place is, whether I am underground or hidden in the wilderness or under the ocean or even what kind of security measures are there! There's bound to be high level security, the kinds that can handle high-powered people like me.

I clamp my teeth together and slide my gaze back to Wraith. She puffs away at her cigarette, expression readable as a cloud of smoke—though it doesn't quite hide the gleam in her eyes. She would know a way out.

But why would she help me? She's under Deception's control and she's a successful villain. She doesn't gain anything by helping me escape back to the heroes. Then...why did she warn me Deception controls everyone? What does she get out of that?

Rolling my tongue around, I open my mouth, pause, and start over again as I search for the right phrasing. "How are you so...calm about it? Don't you want to not be controlled?"

Wraith pulls out a small, portable ashtray and snuffs out her cigarette. "It's too late for me."

"You sure?" The words are free before I even have time to process them, Edison's words resonating in my head. "Just because they're called a Villain doesn't make them evil. They deserve a second chance. You deserve a second chance. That's why we're doing this."

Her head comes up, indifference thinning enough that a flash of curiosity and surprise bleeds through. "Say again?"

I've hit on something. Sitting up straighter, I pull on more memories of that night, letting Edison's reassurances wash over me. "Are you sure? That it's too late for you, I mean."

Wraith stares, a thoughtful frown edging onto her face. After a few, tense beats, she straightens and sticks her hands into her pockets, regarding me like she is seeing me for the first time and isn't quite sure if I am a danger or not.

"You...have strange ideas," she says at last. With that, she breezes past me, leaving the overpowering smell of cigarette smoke and a slight burn of acidic chemicals behind.

Shakily climbing to my feet, I watch her fade into the Don't Go There hall like the wraith she is named after. 'They're not my ideas,' and, 'It's true,' (maybe) linger between my teeth, but I don't speak them. Would she even listen? Would it matter if she did?

Clenching my jaw, I look away to the consoles scrolling through various security feeds of seemingly random and unidentifiable alleyways and stats. There is a way out of here, behind those Teleporter doors.

I could blank through them, race against time searching for the exit, even (maybe) fight mind controlled villains (there's got to be more than four here) and security measures along the way. Actually, escaping that way is near impossible with how little I know, but maybe, with an accomplice, it might be possible.

Maybe. Just a little bit more possible than doing it alone. That is, if Wraith would help me. She is controlled—she said so herself—but...there's second chances, right? (Does that count for mind control?)

And why would she be warning me, telling me to leave, if she wasn't a little bit sympathetic? She thinks it's too late for her, but if we work together, we could get out. Probably. We'd have a higher chance than on our own, at least.

Still...what if she reports back to Deception? Can I trust her? My gaze slides back to the shadows she's disappeared into, weighing the calculatingly curious look on her face. She's controlled already, but maybe I could convince her to help without her knowing she's helping me, or maybe undo Deception's control a little. Is that even possible? Does her power work like that?

I turn away, shoving my hands into my pockets and heading back to my room, head down in thought. It's risky. So, so risky that I'd be ludicrous to try it. Just like my last plan as Denizen.

But what else can I do? There's no way am I wheedling out information from Deception—last time I tried that on the heroes it blew my cover—and the other villains here don't seem likely to drop hints quick enough I can escape before I lose myself. I can't wait for the heroes to find me, either, and anything through or with the web is out of the question.

There's bound to be a lot of security, both physical and cyber, around here, and last time I tried to blank my way out of a high security place like a HQ without a plan it went very badly.

I need information before I can make any move. With Wraith's help, I might be able to get enough to escape. Might, maybe, possibly, all words of uncertainty. But they're not improbable or impossible.

This could work. If Wraith will listen to me and if I can keep my head screwed on straight. So...just in case I fail, and she isn't trustworthy, I'll keep an eye out for clues and put as much distance between me and Deception as possible.

Inhaling slowly against the clenching of my stomach and the nervous buzz in my fingers, I steel myself forward. It's a tenuous, risky, probably horrible plan, but it's a plan.

I have to do this. I have to keep trying to get out of here, even if it's useless in the end. I have to go down trying—fighting. For Edison. For David and Skittles. For Storm Cell and Dr. Egret and everyone else. For me.

And if it blows up in my face, I always have plan B: wait for rescue.