Here in Birmingham, I dreamed for the first time in my life.

I'd never experienced it before. For some, that might've seemed weird, but I couldn't truly feel the absence of something that had never been there in the first place. I presumed it was an effect of modification. The brain was complex, after all; even the smartest scientist in the world didn't fully understand how it worked. It seemed apt that dreams would be a phenomenon that escaped the grasp of human understanding, slipping through the fingers like a wisp of smoke. For a long time, I'd assumed that the extra genes inserted into my DNA had simply interrupted what was needed to dream.

Until now.

I wasn't sure they could even be counted as dreams. I wasn't familiar with the process, in the dark about what they were supposed to feel like, but the visions felt far too vivid for comfort. Each one consisted of darkness, but of a thick consistency that seemed to consume anything and everything with no escape. I would try desperately to fight my way through, but doing so was like wading through treacle: exhausting and utterly pointless. Then it would force its way into my lungs, unrelenting, like toxic smoke, leaving me gasping for a breath I could never find.

Sometimes, I would hear voices. Always breathy, like a whisper carried away by the wind, gone too quickly to hold onto individual words. I didn't know who they belonged to – nor whether I was supposed to be running toward or away from them.

Tonight was exceptionally bad. The voices were louder than ever, and I was sure I recognised them – or at least one amongst the rest. It was too familiar to ignore, too insistent to walk away from. I had no choice but to walk straight into the darkness, hoping it wouldn't consume me as I did.

"Astrid..."

I definitely recognised it. My heart pounded, and I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. It was a male voice, morphed and twisted and completely distressed – but one I knew belonged to Jace.

Was this it? Was this finally him asking for help, ready to open up and let me in? I knew I had to follow, but that was easier said than done when blackness obscured all sense of direction.

I tried to call out, but as soon as I opened my mouth the darkness forced its way down my throat, and I ended up doubled over and spluttering. My eyes streamed as I tried desperately to force some air in my lungs. If I didn't manage it soon, I would choke to death.

"I knew it... you're going to leave me like this... I knew I couldn't trust you..."

You can trust me, I wanted to cry out. Throughout this whole ordeal, the idea of betraying him hadn't even crossed my mind. There'd been too much at stake, too much to lose. I never would have thrown that away.

"I knew it," the voice said again, in the absence of my response. "And now I'm going to make you pay..."

Something was coming for me. I could see the tiny speck of light in the distance, starting off small, but growing larger every second. What was it? I found myself desperately searching for a clue in its shape, its colour, its speed – anything that might prepare me. And yet there was nothing. All I knew was that it was growing larger, and as the light expanded and I found myself squinting, it became harder and harder to see.

Then, something slammed into me, the impact knocking me off my feet.

Amidst the dark and the chaos, I could see nothing. There was a pressure on my chest, the weight of something pinning me to the ground, and I scrambled to fight it off. Were those claws, ripping so deep into my flesh it seemed like the pain would split me in half? It didn't seem possible, and yet there could surely be no other explanation for the searing agony in my chest.

Struggling to draw breath, I was quickly losing energy to push against it. My muscles were weakening by the second. I couldn't go on for much longer – but what other option did I have? By doing nothing, I would almost certainly die here.

This thing on my chest would kill me.

Then, all of a sudden, I felt another impact, and the darkness disappeared. The silence quivered with the aftermath of a scream that had already left my throat; instinctively, I reached up to cover my mouth, as if this would hold in a sound that had already escaped.

It had been a dream.

The relief came as a momentary burst, but then I realised I was not in bed. This was still my room, but the surface beneath me was significantly harder than a mattress, even one that was fifty years old. Instead, I was lying on my back on the floor, my breaths still coming in ragged gasps.

I looked to my side, in the direction of the bed. The covers had been pulled away and were now trailing on the floor. As I reached out to touch them, I realised they were soaked with sweat. As was I.

With trembling limbs, I managed to pull myself upright, gripping the edge of the bed frame for support. It was then that I noticed the rest of the room. There had never been much furniture, making the place more like a bare box than a bedroom, but what little possessions I had were in complete disarray. Every drawer in the storage unit had been pulled open, hanging haphazardly out of the slots, one crashed to the floor with its contents spilled. The bedside table was no longer standing at all, and neither was the lamp that had originally stood on top of it. That was lying on the floor, amidst shards of glass from the broken bulb.

It was like the place had been ransacked in the night. Except that didn't make sense, because there was nothing here worth stealing. Plus, I surely would've woken up if somebody had been in here smashing furniture.

It was then that I noticed my arms.

At first, I'd missed them in the darkness, but once my gaze caught there I couldn't tear it away. A horrified gasp escaped my mouth as I stared at my wrist: where there was usually porcelain skin, it was now streaked with slashes of red. I pushed the sleeves of my top up, revealing more. All the way up and down my arm were cuts and bruises, where sharp edges had sliced through the skin and purple discolouration hinted at powerful impact. They were all fresh.

I traced my finger over one of the cuts, and there was a smear of blood when I pulled it back. I had to clean myself up – though not before I took a closer look in better light. Without hesitation, I pulled on my boots and slipped out the door.

In the communal bathroom, I twisted the cold tap, running my hands under the icy water that flowed out. I splashed some on my arms, hissing under my breath at the feel of it on fresh wounds. The red-tinged water disappeared down the plughole.

I looked up, catching my reflection in the grimy mirror above the sink. There was a crack right in the middle of it, but that didn't obscure the most noticeable thing about my face: the slash right across my forehead. It wasn't deep, more superficial than anything, but it was impossible to ignore.

The consequences of my nightmare were quite literally written on my face.

What had happened? I leaned in closer, tracing the cut, wondering what on earth had put it there. It was obviously something sharp, but that kind of injury should've woken me up. How was it possible that I'd stayed asleep while things were slicing at my skin? Perhaps while I was slicing at my skin?

My breath was coming in gasps, my heart still hammering in my chest. Still staring at my reflection, I took a deep breath. "Come on, Astrid," I said. "You need to calm down."

Then, I noticed something else. After a second's pause, I leaned in closer to peer at myself, praying that it was my imagination. I was exhausted, struggling to come to terms with a dream that had threatened my grip on real life, and I was seeing things that weren't there. That had to be it.

But then it happened again, and I knew it wasn't a mistake. Under the harsh bathroom lighting, there was no convincing myself otherwise.

For one second, my eyes had flickered.

Blue to green, and then back again, like it had never happened.

"No," I whispered. "No, no, no..."

I gripped the edge of the sink; my legs had become weak once more. The sense of dread was overwhelming, a resignation that weighed down my whole body. It hadn't happened in so long. All this time, I'd been free. I'd let myself get complacent, think maybe it was a phase that had passed. I thought I'd escaped.

Evidently not.

There were voices in the corridor. But it was the middle of the night; nobody was supposed to be up and about at this time. Under Nova's own rules, everybody had to be asleep and silent. Had my delusions extended this far, well beyond nightmares, now edging their way into reality? Under my current mental state, I couldn't be sure of anything.

The door burst open, and I glanced over my shoulder, ready to be faced with whatever had attacked me in my dream.

What I saw instead was reassuringly more real.

"Astrid."

It was Nova, her arm outstretched to prop the door open, eyes trained on me in a focused stare. Stood behind her was Thomas. My first instinct was to yank the sleeves of my top down, hiding the cuts underneath.

"What are you—"

I didn't get a chance to get the rest of my question out. "We need to talk to you," she said. "Now."

"Now? What time is it?"

"Late," was all she said. She started to gesture for me to follow, but her gaze caught on my forehead. "What happened to your head?"

The sudden attention saw me reach a hand up to my forehead. "Nothing," I said quickly, shaking my head so that a few strands of hair fell forward. The cut was still obviously there, and hadn't by any means escaped Nova's scrutiny, but for whatever reason, she chose not to dwell on it.

"You need to come with us."

I probably should've learnt by this point that I didn't get to ask questions, not when Nova was involved. Her priority was getting things done, even if the people doing them didn't entirely know what was going on. For that reason, as she marched down the stairs of the building, I knew the best option was to follow silently.

I sneaked a glance at Thomas, hoping he might give away something my sister wouldn't, but his face was expressionless. Staring straight ahead, he was either deep in thought about something, or trying with all his might not to think about it.

As I soon realised, we were heading for the lab. The darkened roads, not lit by streetlights in years, wound their way toward the old university. Nova led the way, Thomas keeping close on her heels, as she strode through the door and started walking down the corridor.

Inside, the lab was almost completely dark: the only light sources were a small lamp set up on one of the benches, as well as the flickering of coloured buttons on machines around us. Neither did much to relieve the sinister atmosphere.

"Why is it so dark?" I asked, when Nova walked past the switch for the main lights without any attempt to turn it out.

"We're having trouble with the generator in here," she said quickly, as if even giving this answer was wasting precious time. "We're working on it. It's not important."

I noticed then the spread of papers on the lab bench beside her. The print was too small for me to make sense of anything, but the fact that they were there hinted they'd been in the middle of something – which made no sense, given the time of night.

"You're scaring me," I said. "What's going on?"

"Your second set of results came back." Her eyes flickered momentarily to the bench behind her, before returning to me.

"And?"

"There are some... anomalies," she said. "We need to ask you a few questions."

I swallowed. None of this sounded like a good sign, despite her previous assurances that there had probably been a methodical error with the first set. What did she mean by questions? Was she accusing me of botching these tests myself? Perhaps there was still Dysintax floating around in my system, obscuring the results...

"Okay," I said. "Go ahead."

"How much do you know about your modification?" Thomas asked. His tone was a lot gentler than Nova's, a lot calmer, though I could still sense a layer beneath that. Whatever this was, it had them both on edge. "Did your parents ever mention anything about it?"

"Only the usual," I said, still not really understanding what they were getting at. "They went to BioPlus, looked at the catalogue, decided to go for the blonde-hair-blue-eyes thing. I guess they were looking for a change after Nova."

"Those are the physical characteristics," Thomas said. "Anything else?"

"Well, my memory." I paused, but his expression prompted me to continue. "I've got a perfect memory. I remember everything."

"And they've never told you anything else?"

I shook my head.

Thomas glanced at Nova, as if looking for confirmation. She shrugged. "That's the story I heard, too," she said. "I didn't think they would've told Astrid any different. Still, as we know now, our parents aren't exactly renowned for their honesty."

"I don't understand. What else were they supposed to have told me?"

"That's the trouble," Thomas murmured, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "We don't know."

Nova turned to look at him, directed a pointed look across the lab bench. The papers spread between them, just out of my line of sight, seemed to glare bright white in the dark. "And you've never seen anything like this before?" she asked him. "Not even close?"

"It's certainly out of the ordinary," he said. "I mean, I can speculate what it all means, but we can't know the truth – not from here, anyway."

By this point, I was growing sick of people talking about me as if I were invisible. I'd had enough of it, enough of the implication that it was too complex or too sensitive for me to understand, which seemed to be reason enough to leave me out of every loop. Something had to change.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded. "These are my results, aren't they? Isn't this something I've got a right to know?"

The outburst at least got them to look at me for more than a few seconds. They exchanged glances, and then Nova turned to me.

"Yes," she said slowly. "Of course you have."

I folded my arms, planting my feet in a defensive stance. "Right. Then let's hear it."

"It's all going to sound a little strange," Thomas interjected, "but bear with us. It's less that there's something wrong with you in particular, and more that... what we've seen doesn't fit with the data we've collected from everybody else."

"Right," I said warily. "In what way?"

He paused, his mouth held slightly open, like he was carefully choosing his words. "We've run a DNA sequence on whoever we can," he explained. "Modified, unmodified, it doesn't matter. The equipment was left here, and it still works, so we thought we might as well use it. I've always been a firm believer that it's better to collect as much data as possible... even if you're not entirely sure how you might use it."

I said nothing, waiting for more.

"Among those who've been modified, we've started to pick up a pattern. There's something present in everyone – all these short sequences that fit together like a puzzle. They're different from the normal genome. They're marked differently – and non-functional, not serving any purpose as far as we can see. It's almost like they're... spare parts, or something. Potentially even for identification purposes. Whatever they are, they're just sitting there in the genome, doing nothing."

"Okay," I said. "And what's different in me? I haven't got everything?"

Thomas' face remained expressionless. "Actually," he said, "it's quite the opposite."

I frowned. "I've got too many?"

"More than that. We think you might have the complete set."

He spoke clearly enough, but the words were having trouble sinking in. I couldn't work out what they were getting at. Rather than single pieces of the puzzle, I had all of them, perfectly constructed? It sounded like something done intentionally; it had to mean something. But if the genes weren't functional, what was the point?

The confusion must've been visible on my face, because Nova cut in. "It's just a theory," she said. "We don't know this for certain. If we had a DNA sequence for every person who's ever been modified, our job would be easier. We can only work with the sample we have. But with that... that's the direction it seems to be pointing in."

With the lack of a full explanation, my instinct was to reach for the next most important thing. "Is it dangerous?"

"We don't know," Thomas answered. "I couldn't give you a confident answer either way. Like I said, these sequences don't appear to code for anything: the likelihood is that they're non-functional. They could be mistakes, and by chance you've ended up with more of them than anybody else. They could act like buffers, making sure any inserted genes don't overlap with the natural genome. Or they could be something else – something we don't know about."

"Which could be dangerous."

"It's possible," Thomas said, "but perhaps not the most likely scenario. These sequences have been with you since before birth. You've survived over eighteen years with them without any issues. There's no reason why that would suddenly change now."

My eyes travelled from Thomas to Nova. When they landed on her freckled face, the question entered my mind. "Have you been tested?"

"Of course I have."

"And do you have them?"

For a second, she didn't say anything, leaving me to wonder whether she would give me an answer at all. It seemed perfectly within her nature to claim I didn't need to know, and therefore shouldn't. But then she broke the silence. "One of them," she said, her voice steady. "Just like everybody else."

The answer made my heart sink. A small part of me had hoped there was a question mark over her too, an unknown factor that might bind us together. But, as I'd just heard, she was like everybody else, which left me feeling like some kind of outcast that didn't belong.

I'd always known I was a freak; anybody with engineered genes had to count themselves as that much. I just didn't expect to be classed as a freak by the standards of the BioPlus community.

"Will we ever know what it means?" I asked. "Or am I expected to sit on this for the rest of my life, waiting for something that may or may never happen?"

"We're working on it," Thomas told me. "Every new face around here is another genome for the database, and more valuable information. But I can't make any promises."

"You worked for BioPlus," I found myself saying, though not sure where I was going. Already, I felt like I was clutching at straws, driven mad by the lack of information. "Don't you know whether this was part of their plan? Part of something bigger?"

He smiled wryly. "Unfortunately, secrecy was pretty much a company policy. Even if it was part of something they were working on, it would be highly unlikely that I knew about it."

It had been a long shot, of course, but I couldn't help feeling disappointed. I could tell this would be something I'd be thinking over for hours, days, weeks to come – always lingering in the back of my mind, ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of anything going wrong.

One fear in particular was already planted deep. I couldn't shake off the feeling, buried deep within me, that it had something to do with the side effects. They were common; recent news, not to mention the sudden surge in kidnappings, had proved that. What if the sequences spelled out something more sinister: a sign that whatever I had was much, much worse than everybody else?

"I'm sorry," Thomas said. "I didn't mean to worry you."

I shook my head. "It's fine."

"We just wanted to check that you didn't know anything more. Something that could help us."

I could tell it was well-intentioned, but it hardly did much to reassure me; instead, it served as a reminder that I'd provided nothing, offered no help whatsoever. That seemed to be a recurring theme around here.

"Don't worry about it," I told him dismissively. "I guess just keep me updated if you find out anything else."

"Sure," he said, but I couldn't help noticing the way Nova was looking on at the two of us, with an expression that made me question whether the right information would reach me at all.

"You can go back to bed, Astrid," she said.

In theory, it should've been a kind sentiment: an offer for me to head back, to spare any more of my night being spent in this lab, puzzling over results that failed to make sense. I should've been grateful. And yet the inflection on Nova's tone wouldn't let me go that far. To me, it just sounded like another order, blanketed under the disguise of goodwill.

Once I'd nodded goodbye and turned to leave, only one thought ran through my mind.

She wasn't fooling me.

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Hi, everyone! As you probably know, Wattpad has been glitching majorly over the last week or so, which has really messed with my update schedule. This book actually disappeared from my profile for a little while, which was slightly concerning! At the minute, it looks semi-functional, so I've decided to upload this week's chapter -- but I'm not sure if any of you will get the notification.

If you've come here via notification, please let me know! Otherwise I may have to try republishing later.

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