Shon's white, worried face burned in Ari's memory as she jogged the remainder of the way into the labs as Jos had instructed. The lights were getting dimmer, but Shon's spare torch lit the way. Ari slowed her approach, juggling the oscillating energy inside her body and readying enough for a blast should anything untoward leap out at her. The corridor ran long and narrow and then suddenly she was in an open theatre.

It opened in a large dome, reminiscent of the exam arenas with their spectators' seats on the peripheries rising above a ring. Dust sprayed in her wake. The overhead lights were dim and flickering. A few bulbs were dead. Some of the rafters hung from the ceiling, dangling and rusted with flaking old paint. A few of the spectators' seats had collapsed.

"You came, Transformer."

The woman's voice came unexpectedly from somewhere to Ari's top right. Ari jumped, spinning around, a bolt of energy at the ready. There was a low chuckle. From up above, a face peered down at her. She must be about seventeen, with premature wrinkles and whites in her very curly hair, tied back in a bun. She wore a dirtied whitecoat and glasses. Ari recognised that face from Rale's screen.

"You're Kena."

Kena grinned with yellow teeth. Her sharp eyes roamed over Ari like she was some delicious food, savouring each detail. Ari shuddered.

"You're mighty sharp, child."

"I'm sixteen, not a child. And you're meant to be dead."

"Huh. I wondered what Administration would say about me." She sounded almost disappointed. She leaned back, and then shrugged. "I guess it's the quickest way to erase me from history and any need for follow-up. As you can see, I'm not dead."

"No, so that means there's no protégée."

"Is that who Administration's been crediting all my creations to?"

"No, they've said nothing about it at all."

"Is that so?" Kena sounded intrigued, tapping her chin and leaning against the precarious, rusted barrier. If that collapsed, she would pitch several storeys onto Ari's level. "Funny that, huh?"

"I'm not laughing."

"The Users are surging all over March City and there have been no speculations as to what's behind it? Isn't that weird? Nobody is to blame? These are natural phenomenon?"

"They're not natural. Administration called them terrorist attacks."

"And just who are these terrorists, precisely? Anyone came forward to claim credit?"

Ari was silent.

"I didn't think so." Kena narrowed her eyes. "But, of course, the sheep never question the lion."

"I'm just here for Mina. You can do whatever the hell you want."

Kena grinned again, as if everything Ari said fascinated her.

"If this is some old grudge between you and Administration's permission of your research—"

"Oh, this is so much more than that, my dear Ari. You really think I'm some pesky scientist miffed that her research grant got cut? Or that my conclusion didn't go to plan and I threw a tantrum? Or that Administration didn't deem any of my results significant enough? No, my dear. Everything went according to my plan, which was precisely why Administration didn't want any of my results to be published. It would break the very essence of March City."

Kena's appearance didn't give Ari the impression she was a mad scientist, merely a dirty one, but the conspiratorial words sounded purely crazy to her. Administration silenced Kena because she found out something she wasn't meant to? Whatever was next, Kena herself created March City?

"You're meant to be clever, right, Transformer? You can tell me what's going on in this city."

"I'm only here for Mina. You can do whatever you want."

"Of course. It doesn't affect you, right? As long as you get to use your ability and have fun, who cares about others? Never mind their jobs, futures, family, lives, right?"

"I mind my own business," Ari shot back, flushing. "If you have issues, I'll say the same thing to you as I did to Hine: take it up to Administration. It's not my problem."

Unlike Hine, Kena didn't explode into rage. "Tell me, Ari: how long have you known your sister?"

"Mina?" Was this a trick question? "All her life. She's my little sister."

"Right. And how long, precisely, have you known her?"

"Twelve years. She's twelve."

"All twelve years?"

Kena's amused expression was making Ari uneasy.

"Yeah."

"Tell me: what did you do for Mina's fifth birthday?"

"We went to Area Five," said Ari automatically. "We spent all day at the amusement park and then had a meal at her favourite restaurant." She could even see the scenes before her eyes: bright summer's day, Mina's glee when she went onto the Dynamatron machine that spun at ridiculous speeds, her subsequent green face when she'd gone too far.

"And for her sixth?"

"We went to Area Five. We spent all day at the amusement park and then had a meal at her favourite restaurant."

The same images flickered before her eyes. Mina's nauseous face came into view. Ari frowned.

"And for her seventh?"

"We went to Area Five—" Ari slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes going round. She swallowed the rest of the sentence and ignored the images. "What is this?" she said in a whisper. "What are you doing?"

"Me? I'm not doing anything." Kena showed Ari the flats of her hands. "See? No tricks. I'm a telekinetic, not a telepath. Now tell me: what was the earliest memory you have of March City?"

Ari bit her lip, casting her mind back. "Area Ten, fanning out across the whole city. I'm on a train... it was on the circular line going around all the areas." She blinked. And then it had gone black, and she was ready for another day of school.

"And then it goes black and you wake up in bed; time for school."

"Whatever tricks you're playing, Kena, it won't work on me."

"It's no trick. What would you say if I told you all students of March City describe that as their first memory of this city? Not of their wonderful childhood or some nice birthday, but seeing March City from Area Ten, on a train, and then waking in bed, ready for another day of school – but they have never been to school yet, at that point?"

"You... you're making no sense."

"Where do you think the children come from?"

They had always been there, of course; but now that Ari thought about it, it couldn't be true. All the significant memories she had of Mina were identical up until her tenth birthday – because the day after Ari had celebrated with her, she'd fallen out of the sky and broken multiple bones. That was a permanent record in Ari's medical history.

And when Ari received her Transformer title at ten years old, Mina, then six, had been there, watching proudly from the crowd. Or had she? She couldn't recall a single conversation with Mina from that period. But Mina must have been there. The mobile photos on their fridge door had several of them from before Mina was ten. She was baby-faced with bouncy curls and pink cheeks. Ari's favourite was one of Mina standing next to the water fountains in Area Four immediately after school, laughing until she was red in the face. She was five, then.

There were no five year olds in March City.

"I don't know." Ari's chest felt hollow. Kena's smile was more genuine the second time, seeing Ari's realisation. "I have memories of Mina. Mina's always been there, even when she was little, when I was little. Are you saying those aren't real?"

"Oh, they're real – in your head. But they never existed in reality."

"There aren't any Users in March City under ten years old." Ari's stomach did a flip. "Nor any over eighteen." Her bright blue eyes fixed on Kena, whose amusement turned to gravity, meeting hers with those hollow, sharp eyes. "Where are the adults?"

"Indeed," murmured Kena. "I found myself asking these questions over the past few years. Such an efficient, advanced city. Who invented these? Pod chairs, teleporters, virtual announcers, self-polishing buildings, cell regenerators... they've always been there, but who made the first? Others like myself? But who are they? What's the history of March City? That wasn't in any of the lessons. Instead, I was taught the intricacies of human biology, the double helix, the medical sciences, physics, technology – all the things needed to further this city's development, but nothing about the city itself. Just like everyone else."

Ari didn't interrupt, unsure what Kena was trying to say.

"And yet year on year, we age. We undertake exams, we gain or lose ranks, we advance in classes, we get paid credits based on the rank and struggle on with extra credits and jobs – for those of us less blessed with abilities."

"And when we turn eighteen?"

A wicked smile curled on Kena's lips.

"That's the big question, isn't it?"

"What does any of this have to do with you altering Users' abilities and making them surge?"

"What do you think happens to people like Mina who don't have sisters like you looking out for them?"

"They... work?" Ari wasn't sure if Kena was going on about some revolution or uprising thing. Everyone contributed their part in the city. Ari learned easily and she could give back when she finished school. Those who didn't learn as easily, like Fris, gave back early to enable herself to continue school. Everyone had to get credits, somehow. Everyone contributed to the running of the city and went to school, even the Healers whose work was required at all hours.

"But our credits don't increase if we are made to stay behind. Credits are required to retake to up-band our credits, and by March City law, you have to be in school and continue exams. What if despite multiple jobs – which strip them of spare time to study – they fail school? Year after year, retake after retake? What if they run out of money?"

"Is this all about Noan?" Ari dared to ask. "Is this vengeance for what happened to your brother because he died?"

"Oh, Noan has nothing to do with it." Kena gave a laugh devoid of mirth. Her eyes flashed in the dim light. "Noan was an utter waste of space. His death came as a blessing for everyone around him, literally."

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