The moment the smell of smoke fills the room, the alarm begins to go off. I bend over covering my ears and wincing through the loud noises and flashes while I reach for locked handle. As blinding light fills the stairwell, the sprinkler system activates, spraying layers of water over us and drenching our heavy, cotton uniforms. I squint through the water and smile when I notice that the fire exit has electronically opened on its own.

"It's open!" I shout to the crowd as more prisoners run up the stairs as exhausted as I had been before. My hands slip over the wet handle and it takes a few tries before I can get it open but when I do, I am met with quite a surprise.

The hallway is quiet considering the whole "escaped convicts problem" and I can't help but think of it all as pretty odd. I look right and see that the hallway leads into a huge, open, reception room with multiple shut doors that must lead to offices of some type and waiting seats line the walls. Why would they have such a simple office set up above the hundreds of prison cells below? What else is going on here? I then glance left and see what I was looking for. The second fire exit.

I step out into the empty hallway and signal for the rest to follow but put my finger up to my lips to quieten them. Something doesn't feel right. Where are the guards? The doctors? Workers? Surely there would be more people around? I slowly walk over to one of the closed doors and read the label, ignoring everyone else that follows.

Interrogation Room 1 - Occupied

I wrinkle my nose in puzzlement and place my ear up against the door to hear for any sign of other people. Nothing.

I open the door and peek inside but am met with an empty room that looks on at a one-way mirror. The mirror looks on to an interrogation room where a small, fail woman is tied down to a chair at a table. It's hard to make her out from here as she sits with her shoulders slumped forward and her hair falling in her face. I consider turning and leaving but my slowly declining morals tell me otherwise. I groan and stride toward the door, jerking it open while mumbling to myself about how I can't always be the hero when suddenly the woman looks up and I realise who she is.

"Aunt Trish," I cry and run over to her as she stares at me in confusion. I reach for the metal cuffs, letting my powers take over and break them apart without a second thought. They fall to the ground in a heap of twisted metal pieces and start to shake and curl as I allow my emotions to get the better of me. I take a huge breath and let go of my control on the metal causing them to go limp of the ground and turn my attention to my aunt who looks up at me in shock.

Her red-rimmed eyes stand out the most next to her pale, tear stained cheeks and quivering mouth. It's like I am looking down at a hysterical little girl who has lost her teddy bear.

"What happened to you?" I ask and softly grab her mangled arms. I stare down at the three vertical scars that wrap around her wrist in horror and lightly touch the freshest mark.

"Don't touch me," she says and pulls herself out of my grip violently.

"Hey, It's alright," I soothe, "come on, we're getting out of here," I say while turning toward the door.

"Who are you?" she asks and backs away from the door. "Where am I?"

"What do you mean? It's me, Layla." I say and reach for her but she pulls back hysterically.

"I don't know you," she says while looking down at her scars in bewilderment.

"Look we don't have time for this Trish, we have to go," I say and grab her arm more harshly. This causes another wave of tears to slide down her cheeks as she tries to get a grip on herself.

Something has happened to her. She is different. For starters, she can't even remember who I am yet alone function properly. The Aunt Trish I knew was always straight forward and practical. The opposite of how she is acting now.

After another round of tug of war, I realise I need to use a different approach. She now sits, sulking on the floor hugging her arms and rocking back and forth while mumbling some nonsense to herself about losing something.

"What did they do to you?" I whisper but she just stares blankly back at me.

"Look," I start, reaching for her hand. "I'm going to get you out of here, but I'm going to need you to do what I say. Okay?"

"Okay," she says and takes my hand in hers.

Eventually, after a lot of convincing, I get Aunt Trish up and following me out the door where we meet the rest of the group who have finally made it up the stairs. They stand grouped around the door in quiet conversation waiting for the next command from me. I stand up on my tippy-toes and spot Tate's messy, mop of hair at the front of the crowd.

"Layla," he shouts out for me as I push my way past everyone dragging a new survivor. Tate smiles when he sees the women behind me and shakes his head in disbelief.

"Another one? Is this still the same girl who said she will stop at nothing to escape? Even if it meant leaving some behind," he says nodding his head at the scared women hiding behind me.

"This one was a special case," I say and nudge Aunt Trish in front of me. He looks at me in confusion and I sigh in annoyance.

"This is my aunt, Trish," I say to Tate then change to a subtler way of communication.

The one I told you about. I found her in an interrogation room. I don't know what they did to her in there but something is wrong. He inhales quickly when he realises who it is and gives me an apologetic look. I grimace when she turns to face me and giving me a frightened look while reaching for my hand again. Something is definitely different about her but we don't have enough time to find out. I turn to face Tate and nod at the door.

"Let's do this!" he shouts and pulls open the door to reveal the army of soldiers on the other side.