In the evening, I drug their drinks.

I would have waited at least two more nights before using those sedatives again, but something has been playing on my mind. A name, but I can't quite make it out. That's been my general motto for the past few weeks.

Besides, Little Miss Drip wants us to go back to school. School? Is she serious? No thank you. We don't have the time to ferret about from locker to locker while facing a bunch of teen drama stereotypes.

Since the incident last night, I've had to be a little more careful. Keep more tabs on our mind. It's a little distracting to say the least. Fearing from each moment to the next that her whining voice is going to pop up out of nowhere.

Dressing in the darkest clothes I can find, I poke my head out of the bedroom door.

The landing is pitched in a lukewarm glow, but there's no sign of anyone else. The drugs have worked their magic. Sneaking downstairs is easy enough, but I need something to defend myself. Just in case. With the electromagnet all I can do is make someone very angry.

The kitchen is cloaked in darkness, so I tap into my other senses to locate the bread knife. Too obvious. If they notice it's gone, there's no way I'll escape scrutiny.

Opening the cutlery drawer, I rummage in the bottom for a dinner knife, feeling its useless weight in my palm. That'll have to do. It's not as if I have any other choice.

Tonight, I need to be quick, I need to ensure my other self doesn't come knocking. It's bad enough wanting to go back to school, let alone sucking up to Mr. Freudian Slip. I haven't managed to come up with any realistic ideas of why he locked himself in the bathroom last night, but I have a few funny ones. I could even write fanfiction about them. Oh, look at that. I'm digressing again.

Shoving the knife into my shoe and the magnet into my pocket, I head for the kitchen window. The same lock. Don't these guys have any imagination? The electromagnet is really working wonders, but I suspect that the copper wire will start to fray soon. It's only a matter of time, so I need to move quickly.

My pulse beats out of sync, like a hummingbird trapped in a blaze. I need to do this. We don't stand a chance if I stop now. I need to protect us, protect me. I refuse to be hurt like that again. I refuse.

Chasing away the bile in my throat, I climb out the window, landing precisely upright on the drive.

Seeing as I've neglected to draw a map to the facility or steal a car with a SATNAV, I spend a whole two hours the night searching for it, which isn't ideal. Since they believe Doctor Steele disappeared from his home – he probably lives in his Mum's basement or something – they haven't doubled security. They will after tonight.

There's this name that I keep seeing. I can't get it out of my head. The name. A foundation. As I approach the coarse bushes on the perimeter, concentration becomes key. I need to do this because she won't. Because no one will help us. Even though everyone is convinced they are doing so.

The dinner knife climbs out of its hiding place, making its way into my hand.

Fearing my body will start to hesitate, I distract myself by edging in-between the trees, keeping watch on the wire mesh fence which surrounds the building. The Foundation. I stop, my breath shallow. The something Foundation. I remember, I remember.

Clenching my arms, I strain against the memory. I was being wheeled down a bright hall – a hall in the facility. Mind swimming in and out of consciousness, head spinning. Pain. That's what I remember.

I doubt I will hesitate now.

The area around the dumpster is free of guards for a brief 30 seconds, so I only have a short window to climb over the fence and break in. Not enough time. The guards have guns – quick-fire action rifles. Me? I have a dinner knife. Brilliant.

Searching the nearby area, I look for a tree with far-reaching branches. I could jump from there over the fence. Maybe. Everything could go wrong, and I'll end up with a broken leg, but other than that, it's great plan. As it turns out, I don't have another one.

Ducking low, I dance from trunk to trunk, heading towards my chosen diving board. The climbing is made easy by my recently toned arms and legs. All those exercises have actually paid off. Still, adrenaline is the main reason I'm not collapsing right now. The branches crosshatch across the clothes, tearing the odd hole, while the callouses of my hands scuff against the bark. I'm being as careful as I can, which – to be honest – isn't very careful at all.

My foot threatens to slide, so I throw myself onto the one of the topmost branches. It's thick enough and I thank myself for holding back on the bodybuilding.

Crawling like a cat, I edge into a standing position. Take a breath. Maybe one more. Perhaps I should count to three, as if it's a circus performance.

Taking one last breath, I hold my stance.

The guards begin trudging to the other side of the wire mesh fence. It's quite literally now or never.

Now. Now. Now!

Running, listening as the branches creak, and... Flying. Soaring through the air, the wind ripping a thousand tiny holes through my heart.

My heart pulses out of time, seemingly freeing in mid-air. Even though it takes mere seconds, for me, I stay in the sky for a lifetime.

Fighting a huge grin, I clasp the top of the fence upon landing. I can't even bring myself to wince as the metal cuts in my palms.

Quickly, I need to move quickly.

With all my remaining energy, I scale the fence, pull myself up, then drop down to the ground. No time to waste.

I head straight for the door, my 30 second window starting to close. Digging the magnet out of my hand, I wrap the coil even tighter. The light on the door blinks, and I shove it open, my breathing chaffing against my throat.

I'm inside. After all that, I'm in.

The white walls enclose me, with no cameras to see my smiling face. No cameras. This isn't surprising. With their shady activities, they won't exactly want a record. Nothing adorns the hall, not even the odd gurney. Just a bare rectangle leading into the maze of twisting rooms.

Above me, a slim light fixture flickers. It's as if even the building knows I'm here.

I'm starting to wish I hadn't left the stapler at home. No, not home. I shake my head. That fish-tank will never, ever be a home to me. Just as Dr. Light will never be family. At least Mum's there. I'm not sure I could function without her.

Turning a corner, I notice a green silhouette making its way down the hall. A Nurse. An older woman this time, in her mid-sixties.

Before she can look up from her clipboard, I duck back behind the corner, bracing myself. Just knock her out, that's the plan. Some of it, at least. I must admit, I haven't thought that far ahead. As soon as Nurse turns the corner, I lash out, snaking my arm around her throat. It's a rather flabby throat and choking her into unconsciousness seems to take several lifetimes.

Gradually, her movements lessen, her head drooping to one side.

Laying her down, I hesitate. She might not have seen my face, but others will. If I run into two or more people at once, there will be no hiding. Dragging the Nurse to one side, I strip off her green scrubs, laying them out on the floor. Next, I take off my black shirt, tie it around my face so my eyes are darkened. Finally, I slip into the scrubs. They're boxy and I definitely won't be making a fashion statement with them any time soon.

Tying the final knot on the shirt, I straighten up. Such a shame I didn't bring my Mp3 Player.

The first hallway I come to is pretty much empty, save for the odd gurney or two.

As I head toward a set of double doors, a memory crashes through like a falling ceiling. A room with a bed and a toilet. Doctor Steele. I remember squatting in that dank room with padded walls, wishing I were anywhere else. Wishing I was dead. No. No.

If I remember anything, I'll just shove it to the back of my mind. I don't have time to reminisce tonight. But the memories, they don't relent.

When I enter yet another long hallway, laden with empty shelves, more familiarities breach my mind. A filing cabinet, a broken filing cabinet. Several, all stacked up as metal soldiers in a hall. No, not a hall. A basement area – something like that. Either way it was underground.

Turning on my heels, I flash a disgruntled stare at the dead end I've come across. Take two.

At least I know – I think – the files are underground. They'd better be.

Pushing past the double doors, I break into a run. The last I want to do is be stuck wandering these halls all night.

Coming upon a side door, I swerve left, entering a larger hallway. At the end, a steel door swings back, revealing a man and woman, clad in black.

As I risk a peek behind the door, I can see a set of stairs, capped in aluminium. That'll have to do.

The woman sees me first, raises her firearm. Oh. Somehow, it never occurred to me that they'd be armed. They don't look like creepy Doctors, but you never know these days. They could be the janitors for all I know.

Wasting no time, I slide a gurney into the woman's chest, ducking as the gun is fired. The shot rings wild, the sound pulsing as blood in my ears.

I barely have time to breathe before the man is upon me.

He isn't well muscled, just toned, but neither am I.

He throws the first punch, which I manage to dodge. Kicking his knee, he drops, and I roll out of his grip. The knife remains by my side, but I decide I don't need it. Even though they have guns. By now, the woman's upright, pointing the firearm. I lunge for the man, snagging a clump of hair and pulling him in front of me. Should've gone bald.

"Who are you?" the woman asks in a grating tone. I can see her reaching for some sort of alarm.

Reaching for the man's holster, I yank out the gun.

"Now, this doesn't have to get ugly," she says as she sees my finger on the trigger. Of course, it does. That's all everything has ever been. Those long days, those endless nights in that room. Not that I could tell whether the sun was even there. I don't remember having any visitors except Doctors with clear syringes and gurneys with straps to tie me down.

Realising the gun is shaking, I keep its aim straight. So does she.

For god's sake. I can't afford to spend my entire night in a standoff. If we were in Prohibition Texas, I could have spared the time.

Inch by inch, I move the man closer. If I mess up the timing, I'll end up getting shot. Maybe I'll die, maybe not. This'll be fun.

I take a final breath, before driving my foot into the back of the man's leg. He collapses forward, and I duck and roll as the woman takes her shot. Misses. Twice.

Coming up, I fire a warning shot, but it's close enough to distract her. Make her hesitate.

Lunging forward, I whip the gun across her face, watch as she slumps. I forget about the man. A hand is about to close around my throat, so I kick back, hear a hiss of pain. Crotch. Brilliant.

Whipping around, I grab his shoulder and forearm, punching him in the stomach as I go.

Tilting his body, I sweep my leg behind his, bring him to the floor. Where he belongs, and I do not. Still, he isn't unconscious, not yet.

The gun feels sticky in my hand, as if blood has already drenched it.

Lifting the man up by his oh so snappy tie, I strike the handle of the gun across his cheek and forehead until his eyes abruptly fall shut.

Breathing heavily, I throw down the firearm.

Searching his suit, I pick out his key card, one which will give me access to the rooms.

Swiping it on the door to the stairs takes mere seconds. I'm in.

The left-over adrenaline courses through me, makes me shake like a leaf. Or maybe it's the knowledge that I could've killed them, could've drowned myself in their blood. I didn't, that's the main thing. I don't have to kill. I don't, I don't want to. I... I need to get down these stairs.

On each flight, there's a re-enforced door. There are no signs or labels, but I have a sneaking suspicion the files will be on the lowest level. That's what my unreliable memory suggests anyway. It's a better idea than checking all the rooms and having to fight an infinite number of gun-toting morons. I mean, I have a dinner knife and they have quick-fire semiautomatics.

I lose track of how long I spend running down the stairs. My shoes clonk on the metal, while my make-shift mask threatens to slip. I have to do this, I tell myself. I have to. No one else can help me.

Steadily, I reach the level before the basement, but something makes me stop. The basement isn't the right place. I remember, I remember where I found them. The second to last floor. My eyes slide over to the door. This is the place. I know it is.

For a horrifying moment, I think the key card won't work, but as I place it against the mechanism, the door swings to. That's when I see them. Stacks upon stacks of files, cabinets, paperwork. There are more than I remember. Not much more, but a little.

Quick, I have to be quick.

Scanning the files, I reach for the cabinet entitled, 'Base'. It's then that I see the name, the name that's been eluding me these past few weeks. The name of the people who took pleasure in locking up a little girl.

The name that made me what I am: The Janus Foundation.

It's a tad on the nose, but it's a good a name as any.

I snatch as many documents as I can carry, when my fingers brush against another file. It's slimmer than the others, with a red symbol etched on the spine. A single swirl inside a circle. Redder than fresh blood, lighter than dried.

Project Gemini.

Like the horoscope? Have the Foundation taken up palm readin

g? Without a second thought, I snatch the file.

Project Gemini. Doctor Steele called me his 'project'. Maybe it's about me. I'll have creepy book club another time. I need to move the files to my darkroom. Seriously, there aren't lights in there yet.

Getting back up the stairs isn't nearly much fun as going down. Each step is agony, my body rejecting every attempt I make to run.

I'm so tired, so tired.

Upon reaching the door to the hallway, I pause. Briefly. It doesn't sound like there's any movement on the other side, but one can never be too careful.

Opening the door, I poke my head out. The man is lying flat on his back, where I left him, while the woman is slumped in a heap. Perfect.

Picking my way over the bodies, I break into a sprint. The files dare to slip from my fingers, so I hug them to my chest. This is all the evidence I need. The Janus Foundation. Not very subtle.

It's right when I turn the final corner to the exit, that the alarms go off. They're just how I imagined them: red and blaring and siren loud.

If I try to speed up, I might collapse, but I don't have a choice. I must reach the door.

Shoe-horning the key card out of the scrubs, I throw it at the lock, almost fainting as the light burns green. I'm out.

Lights spring up all around me, while the guards shout inaudible orders, waving their guns like pom poms. The dumpster is so close. I don't want, but I need to. With all the remaining strength in my body, I lurch across the ground.

My feet churn up mud and sweat, all the way to the mirage of black containers where I dumped Doctor Steele.

The shouting is louder now, forcing me to jump and sail into the dumpster, shutting the lid behind me.

Heavy-duty boots parade past my position, but no one comes. No one at all.

The alarms flare against the musty silence of the trash. It's a symphony I'm forced to listen to. Anything is better than the tick-tock like a clock I'd grown used to in that coma.

In the back of my mind, I think I can hear her voice, screaming to be released. Maybe I should tell her, show her the scraps of memories I've collected. No. I can't show her that; she couldn't handle it.

Besides, she'll only blame me, blame me for everything. It's always me. I might as well embrace my title of 'murderer'.

I lose track of how long I spend making friends with the garbage, listening to the footfalls of the guards.

Eventually, the alarms are shut off, the patrolling beginning again. More guards this time. But I know what I'm doing.

Opening the lid of the dumpster – just an inch – moonlight cascades. I can finally see. And it's then I realise I don't want to.

Doctor Steele is gone.