I woke up with a start, shooting up abruptly in my seat. I hissed quietly in annoyance as my temples pounded from the sudden movement and waited a few seconds for my vision focus. I blinked repeatedly until the headache receded enough for me to see straight. My head felt like a bowling ball; heavy and hollow.

I attempted to wipe the dark hair out of my face but found my hands were confined. I looked down to see both of my hands imprisoned up to the wrist with heavy manacles that were sealed to the metal table in front of me. My arms strained against the restraints, the metal digging into my pale skin, but to no avail.

I turned to look at the rest of the room which quickly appeared to be a standard interrogation room. To my right was a large panel of one way glass with a solid metal door without a handle beside it. I stared at the opaque glass for a moment, not because I could see through it but because I knew someone was watching.

My pales brown eyes surveyed the rest of the unremarkable room for a chance of escape. I glanced under the table to find that both the chair I was sitting in and the table were bolted to the ground. However, the chair across from me was not.

I tossed my head to the side to get the hair out of my eyes before focusing upon the opposite chair. It lifted into the air as I compelled it to rise. I glanced towards the glass before launching the chair with sudden force towards it. The chair bounced off of the glass, hardly leaving a scratch, as expected.

Perhaps if I repeated the action several times I could break through the glass. But then what?

My hands were still welded to this table and I had no idea where I was or who was outside that door. And even if I could muscle my way through whatever human obstacles stood in my way, I wasn't likely to get far. My best chance was to wait until someone entered. Maybe I could hold them hostage or gain a weapon.

I signed audibly and let myself relax against the back of the chair. My stomach growled but I ignored the unpleasant sensation. I could last at least another two days with food if necessary and eating was not a priority. My interests were in escaping.

They hadn't killed me yet and considering the layout of the room, the DCL obviously wanted to know something. Most likely about the agency.

The sound of sliding bolts came from the door behind me and I quickly sat up right again. The door creaked open on unoiled hinges but I didn't turn to acknowledge those who entered. Instead, I stayed facing forward, my expression vacant.

The first figure to come into view was an unfamiliar male with curly black hair flecked with grey and tan brown skin. His hooded eyes met my unwavering gaze calmly. He wore a formal black suit jacket and slacks; business attire.

I took a quick whiff of the air only to find out that the tan male was not a Variant. He gently righted the chair on the floor before taking a seat across from me and setting a thin manilla folder on the table top.

I looked away to see that the Asian hybrid male was right behind him. His narrow eyes were like steel but there was an undeniable edge of curiosity in his mostly blank expression. He still maintained the cool, stoic demeanor he had in the diner. His black wings were set comfortably behind him now that there was no overcoat to confine them. Under the bright fluorescent lights, the feathers almost appeared iridescent. There were no 'flyers' at the agency. Wings or any other such bodily protrusions were considered un ideal for agents. Unless they were worth being removed.

Next, the sandy brown haired female came into view. Similar to the others, she kept a reserved and almost business like demeanor. However, she appeared most anxious as one of her fists closed up into a ball and her atrides were noticeably short. I only caught a short glimpse of the oddly reflective and metallic nail set attached to her fingers.

The female took a place beside the curly haired man in a suit while the hybrid stood on the other side.

The dreadlocked male came into view, now sporting thick rimmed glasses and his long hair pulled back into a low ponytail. He was easily the tallest out of the group so far and surprisingly the least imposing. If the hybrid had been hiding his curiosity, this male openly displayed it.

The door behind me closed and I turned to see another unfamiliar male. He was short, maybe an inch shorter than myself, with scruffy stubble and a clean buzzcut that fit his square jaw. He wore a vest and undershirt but a noticeable scar peaked from under his sleeve. It had a wax like texture and seemed to travel all the way up to his neck. His casual expression and small grin differed greatly from the general seriousness in the room. He stayed by the door rather than joining the others and appeared to be the only one armed as an idle handgun rested at his waist.

If I could get his gun I might have a chance.

I looked them over once more with a slow moving gaze. The group must of been a unit of some kind since four of them were Variants. A task force perhaps. But there was a discernible sense of loyalty between the five. They had known each other for many years.

The man in the suit cleared his throat, as if preparing to speak, but said nothing. I turned my attention back to him and crossed my legs under the table.

"How could I help you today officer?" I asked complacently.

The man didn't look the least bit taken back from my remark. Infact, a flicker of amusement went across his eyes as if he was intrigued by my apparent indifference to the situation.

"Your cooperation for the next hour or so would be helpful," The male replied with a slight Indian accent. "I have a few questions I would like to ask."

"That makes two of us," I said, willing myself not to break eye contact with the curly haired male who I deduced was in charge.

He nodded politely. "Then by all means, ask away."

I quirked a brow but didn't hesitate. "Who are you people?"

He seemed to anticipate this question. "We are the DCL, Division of Criminal Logistics," He began. "I am Inigo Chandler, the Director of the DCL."

He gestured to the hybrid male beside him whose expression remained placid and had his arms crossed. "This is Dakota Gray, Field Leader of the DCL Variant Task Force," The Director said and the stoic male only dipped his head in recognition.

"This is Saratoga Davidson, second in command," He continued and the brunette offered no gesture other than maintaining her icy stare.

The Director then gestured to the dreadlocked man with shield projections. "This is Dr. Royce Willaims," He said. Doctor? He looked better suited for running track or being a wide receiver. "When he isn't on the field, he's in the lab."

The doctor offered me an awkward wave.

"And lastly, there's Teddy Melbourne," The Director finished and his gaze shifted to the male behind me. I absently peered over my shoulder to look at the scruffy male who gave me a friendly grin that I didn't return.

I returned my gaze to the Director. "How'd you find me?" I asked.

The Director anticipated this too.

"We only came to learn of your existence a little over four months ago after a mysterious confrontation in Ely, Nevada occurred between three unregistered Variants," The Director told me. I nodded once, my eyes drifting to the table top. I'd been ambushed by two agents after holing up in a rundown apartment block. The tenet had been blind but accepted cash payments and I always delivered. It was quiet and small and perfect for someone like me.

But the agency still found me and the following attack quickly became violent. There was a lot of damage and some human collateral. I was well trained and extremely capable but they had caught me by surprise. It was foolish of me to ever get comfortable.

"Two of the Variants haven't been seen since but we managed to catch up with you a few weeks after," The Director continued. "We have been keeping you under surveillance for the past three months however I must say, you are a very difficult person to keep track of. We almost lost you twice."

I nodded in agreement. "And the diner? How'd you know I'd be there?" I asked, tilting my head curiously.

"It was luck really that you ended up walking into that diner," The Director conceded. "Agent Gray had only been on surveillance duty. Our initial plan was to arrest you tomorrow however, as you can see, the plan did not follow through."

My brows furrowed. I glanced at the Hybrid, Dakota. His imperceptible dark eyes looked back. The DCL had been tracking me for months and I had almost no idea.

I didn't like that.

"Any further questions?" The Director inquired as I fell into a thoughtful silence.

"Just one."

The Director gestured for me to continue.

"Who's the deadman that shot me with moose tranquilizer?" I asked stiffly.

The Director's expression turned amused. "That would have been agent Melbourne," Director Chandler replied.

I turned to see the scarred male at the door who had a guilty but humorous expression. Teddy gave an apologetic grin and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Sorry about that," Teddy shrugged with a thick Australian accent, "And it was actually a double dosage of thorazine since... we weren't sure how much you could withstand."

No wonder my head felt like it had been run over by a car.

I shook my head before turning back to the Director. "Thorazine? I'm a Variant not a schizophrenic."

"Necessary precautions had to be taken Mrs.Sterling," The Director pointed out. "Moving on, I have few questions I would like to ask."

I leaned back in my chair. "Why should I tell you anything?" I asked, looking off into the air dismissively. Saratoga, the brunette, arched a brow. Obviously, disobeying the Director was a rare occurrence.

"I answered your questions, did I not?" Director Chandler pointed out fairly.

"I didn't force you too."

"And I wouldn't like to force you either."

My eyes returned to his in an instant. "Was that a threat."

The Director's expression didn't so much as shift. "It's an implication," He replied simply. Each of his words had the cutting edge of a knife.

I held his dark gaze for a moment.

"What happens if I do?"

"That depends on how you answer."

"Don't I have rights to a lawyer or something?"

"The sixth amendment only applies to registered American citizens and considering that you didn't exist until four months ago, I'd say you wouldn't qualify," The Director replied swiftly.

My pale brown eyes flickered to the tall male, Royce, who was studying me curiously behind his thick rimmed glasses. He looked away, like a school boy caught staring, before he could meet my gaze.

I took a long breath, sighing loudly through my nose.

What's what's worst that could happen?

"Fine. What the hell do you wanna know?" I finally conceded.

"We have reason to believe that you were, or are, affiliated with an underground agency known as LACE," The Director began and I quickly averted my eyes.

A claw of dread ran down the back of my neck and traveled down my spine. I hadn't heard that word out loud in many months. My hands balled within the restraints, silently fighting against them. A flare of telekinetic power surged under my skin at the name in subconscious self defense. My confident attitude was whisked out of the room but I remained collected.

The Director noticed the sudden shift in my demeanor and paused briefly. "Do you attest that you were or still are affiliated with L.A.C.E?" The Director questioned. "This isn't being recorded, feel free to answer honestly."

I swallowed slowly.

"Yes."

The Director appeared pleased by my response and that seemed baffling. If he knew anything about LACE then he wouldn't want to be anywhere near a former agent. It would have been in his best interest to bury the LACE investigation, and me with them, under a stack of papers and forget about it.

"Our insight regarding LACE is limited however, we are led to believe that LACE is an illegal Variant terrorist group," The Director continued. I blinked once in response, still not meeting his dark eyes. "Is there any light you can shed on the subject?"

I took a deep breath, resetting my nerves.

LACE wasn't here. It was just the DCL.

"You people really want to know about LACE huh?" I asked, looking up at the four visible occupants in sight with a frigid expression.

"It would be helpful, yes," Director Chandler insisted.

I paused, contemplating the consequences of revealing LACE. I could have been sending these people to their graves by letting them track down LACE, if they got that far. However, perhaps they could keep LACE busy long enough for me to skip countries. A temporary diversion at the very the least.

"Your funeral," I shrugged, leaning back in my seat. "LACE is an underground agency but not a terrorist group. LACE gains a profit by providing Variant assassins for hire so that they can fund their 'research program' for the 'perfect agent'. There's only about thirty field agents at any given time, maybe thirty five now, but they are all efficient killers. They've been operating for decades, centuries even."

The Director's already wrinkled forehead wrinkled further. "If they are assassins then how has LACE gotten away with killing so many people? Surely someone must have noticed some of these strange deaths, yes?" The Director inquired.

"Yea, a few people. But said people never get very far due to their own untimely deaths," I answered. Most of the assassinations are designed to look like accidents, mere whims of fate per se, and evidence is often planted to place the blame elsewhere. "And LACE typically avoids high profile assignments such as world leaders and such but lower politicians, celebrities, and even Directors, like yourself, are fair game."

The Director hardly lifted a brow at the subtle threat.

"I did get assigned the British Ambassador of Croatia once," I recalled randomly but quickly bit my tongue.

Director Chandler's eyes narrowed. "Andrew Dalgleish?" He asked and I nodded dimly. "He passed away a few years ago after while going down the stairs in his home," The Director stated knowingly. "He had a heart attack."

My eyes unfocused as I recalled the late ambassador.

I could still remember pushing him down that narrow, wooden stairway after breaking his mind. I had to step over his body once I reached the bottom. It was reported that his fourteen year old was the one to find him after coming home from lacrosse practice.

I hadn't thought about him in a while.

"That's what it looked like," I said quietly before lifting my gaze back up to meet the Director's. "If it's any consolation, I didn't want to do it."

The Director processed my words swiftly. If there were any hard feelings felt, he displayed none.

"And you are a 'former' field agent?" He asked and I nodded. "Did you escape?"

I nodded again as a funny sensation rose in my chest. It was hard to believe that revealing an illegal and inhumane agency such as LACE felt wrong. Not because it wasn't the right thing to do but because of all the things on the planet, LACE was the only thing I feared.

"How did you do it?" The Director inquired further. The other Variants listened closely.

I cleared my suddenly dry throat. "LACE uses a serum on their agents. Not quite mind control but close to it. It removes normal human inhibitions and makes us obedient. But after a while, most agents become entirely compliant by nature and the serum only acts as a firewall," I started. "But the serum wears off after two weeks and during the short time between doses, I found a way to override its effects."

"How?" Royce asked curiously, speaking for the first time since entering.

I looked at him from the corner of my vision. "I'm a telepath." I said. "A contact telepath specifically but regardless, trying to control a telepath's mind with a mind controlling serum isn't the brightest idea."

The doctor nodded as he trailed off into thought.

"A telekinetic telepath with enhanced sensory perception? That must have made you very valuable to LACE," The Director pointed out with intrigue

"I was."

"Yet your profile says that you were registered only as a telepath at age five," The Director noted, motioning to the manilla folder. It was federal law that every Variant was registered by the age of five whether their abilities had manifested or not. I can't remember being registered but then again, I couldn't remember anything before LACE.

"Sounds accurate," I replied unenthusiastically.

"How did that come to be?" Director Chandler pressed on. I didn't fault him for his obtrusive curiosity, I sensed he had the right intentions, but memory lane for me was not a pleasant ride. For LACE not only prided itself upon training the most efficient agents, but they also created the most powerful Variants.

"The experimentation period," I began without looking at any of them. Instead my gaze stayed fixated on the manacles confining my hands. "Before we're trained, all assets are subjected to the experimentation period for 'amplifications'."

"Amplifications? Like enhancing them physically?" The doctor asked, propping his fist under his chin.

I nodded, meeting his dark green gaze for a split second. "Precisely. The scientists test for latent Variant genes before activating said genes," I explained. Incidentally, I had a strong, but dormant, telekinetic gene. "But that's the easy part. The physical enhancements are... far from painless."

The doctor made no further comment as the room came to a quiet pause.

LACE only ever had thirty to thirty-five active agents at any given time for two reasons. One being that it's easier to control a small number of agents when they are out in the field. However, the real reason was due to the low probability of making it out of the experimental period alive.

There were many scientists amongst the ranks of LACE but I'd been designated to Dr.Ortega, the head research scientist and also most successful. Yet she wasn't successful because all those she experimented on lived on to become agents, but because those that did live were typically the best.

Dr.Ortega scared me as a child and still as an agent. She was like my childhood equivalent of a boogeyman only that instead of living under my bed, she was my caretaker for three years. I remember how she enjoyed spoon feeding me after certain procedures rendered my arms or entire body incapacitated.

The female was the one to break the silence and pulled me from my thoughts.

"If it's not voluntary then where does LACE get their agents?" She asked. Her cold expression had softened.

"Kidnap," I replied evenly. "Kids are perfect little slates that are easy to wipe."

"Wipe?" The Director questioned, his thick brows furrowing.

"Brainwash, you know, erase their memories," I shrugged, as if it were obvious. "Most people forget most of their memories from before the age of four so LACE just had to get rid of five years."

A wave of surprise ran through the room. For the first time, the Hybrid's expression betrayed a flicker of surprise as his brows lifted. No one, not even the Director, had anticipated this progression.

But for me, it was normal. I didn't remember or know how it felt to be normal like them.

"Ho-how could they do that?" The Director asked, puzzled.

"Hypnosis, diluted rohypnol treatments, and electric shock treatments," I listed blankly. The memories of being brainwashed were hazy themselves but the pain was unforgettable.

Saratoga shook her head in disbelief, an emotion I couldn't label flooded her eyes as she looked at me.

"They did that to you? To children?" She asked, obviously repulsed.

I nodded.

"And you don't remember anything at all?"

"No," I replied simply. "I don't remember where I was born or what my home looked like, or even my parent's names."

There should have been something devastating in saying that. However, I felt no emotional connection to my childhood or family anymore.

How could I?

I couldn't even remember their names.

Royce took a step back and rubbed the back of his neck anxiously with his eyes turned away. The female looked away as well, as if she knew something unpleasant was coming. I watched them closely until I saw the Director glance down at the manilla folder with a trifled expression.

"What's in the folder?" I asked.

Dakota stepped forward and his wings gently brushed against the back of his arms, his mask of a face held a dim light.

"Sir, she doesn't know."

His voice was soft.

"Don't know what?" I pressed, looking between the DCL agents for a sign.

The Director cleared his throat before cautiously opening the folder. "When we first learned of your existence, we attempted to find out all we could about your past," Director Chandler explained evenly as he came across the paper he intended within the file. He pushed the manilla folder towards me so that I could read what was upon the page. "We found who we believed to be you and your parents in an open ended home invasion case,"

The room fell silent as I analysed the folder.

"Home invasion?" I asked to no one in particular. A random violent 'home invasion' was a common LACE coverup.

Even though my vision was perfect, I squinted at the paper. Within the open manilla folder there were several sheets of paper with paragraphs of fine print but more importantly, there were three images that caught my attention. They were identification headshots that one might see on a driver's license or a passport. The first image displayed a man in his early forties or late thirties. He had shaggy, dirty blonde hair and a deeply dimpled chin. His eyes were a pale brown.

His name was Cody Sterling.

The second image was that of a daintily featured woman with a heart shaped face. We shared the same thin eyebrows and straight roman nose.

Hazel Sterling.

They were supposed to be my parents.

Something tugged at my heart as I looked upon the last image. It was a picture of a young girl at the age of eight or seven that must have been pulled from an elementary yearbook. Her hair was dirty blonde, just like my natural hair, and held in curled pigtails. She had a smile full of pink brace rubber bands and her eyes were pale brown.

Just like her father's.

Underneath the image was my name, Harper Sterling, and the word 'deceased' in parentheses beside it. That word was beside Cody and Hazel's name as well.

I swallowed as an unseen weight was placed upon my chest. My breath caught in my throat, making it difficult to breath properly. I could feel tears well behind my eyes and willed them away.

Cody and Hazel were just names, I didn't know them. They were distant figments of a past life. But I'd always thought, or at least hoped, that while I was kidnapped, that they were still somewhere in the world, probably in a house, living happily. That maybe they'd moved on and had another child.

Instead, after all this time, they'd been dead.

In many ways, that little girl, Harper Sterling, was also gone. She'd been stripped away many years ago and replaced by something much more violent.

I soon found my voice again and gently closed the folder with a small telekinetic push.

"It says that I died," I stated openly with mixed emotions.

The Director nodded his head slowly. "We didn't know that you were unaware."

I nodded my head once in blank recognition. I inhaled deeply through my nose, willing the unpleasant emotions to recede.

"What do you really want,Director? What's the big picture here?" I asked stoically, shifting the topic.

"Our main goal at the DCL is to monitor and control Variant criminal activity. That being said, dismantling an underground agency like LACE is a top priority," The Director explained.

My brows shot up and I scoffed automatically at the premise. The strange sadness and grief was replaced by dubious surprise. The Director's unflinching expression remained steady.

"You? Dismantle LACE? How?" I asked in a slew of disbelief. I was under the impression that the Director was intelligent until now. "You and your boy scouts here are out of your league."

Saratoga's jaw clenched at the barb. "We seemed to manage you pretty well," She pointed out.

"Yeah, barely, and only because I wasn't trying to kill you," I retorted without missing a beat, meeting her icey blue gaze that contrasted distinctly against my pale, almost unassuming, brown.

She shrugged, her tone holding the same edge. "We weren't trying either."

The dreadlocked doctor looked between us anxiously but I held myself back from letting her know how easy it would have been.

I shook my head and leaned towards the Director. "You don't know what you're getting into," I told him point blank.

"I am thankful for your discretion however, the investigation into LACE will continue," He said with slight hesitation. "But I must say? I am a bit surprised."

"By which part?"

"Well, I would have thought, of all people, you would be most interested in the undoing of LACE," He claimed.

I opened my mouth to respond but paused mid way. Of course I wanted to burn LACE to the ground but the only way to truly do so was to cut them at the neck. And that path was laden with death.

"LACE agents aren't like us Director," I started. "They won't and can't think twice about killing your agents. They aren't just Variants, they're genetically enhanced assassins. Trust me, I was one of them."

The Director considered it and I hoped my warnings were getting through.

"And how many agents did you say there?" The Director inquired.

"Thirty, maybe forty now but even if you did somehow get past them, getting rid of the Masters is the only chance you might have," I replied even though I thought it was hopeless to entertain him.

The Director's head turned up in interest. "Masters?" He asked. "Are they the leaders of LACE?"

I nodded slowly, the familiar faces of the two tyrants flashing through my mind.

"Who are they?" The Director pressed.

Ice slid down my neck, warning me to stop. Yet the Director's persistent confidence was beginning to make me the slightest bit hopeful.

"Th- BOOM!

The sound of a large explosion resonated lowly somewhere in the near distance. The room trembled from the close impact radius. The standing Variants stumbled slightly but quickly regained their balance.

Director Chandler stood up quickly but without panic.

"Sir, I am getting reports of serious damage in the lower sector of level 2. Half of the corridor has been destroyed and multiple injuries already reported," Agent Melbourne, the trigger happy Aussie, listed off quickly from behind me. "Intruders have been spotted."

"Intruder affiliation?" The Director asked calmly.

Teddy was quiet for a few seconds before looking back at the director with dark hazel eyes.

"Unknown."

"It's L.A.C.E," I said instantly as a flair of panic pierced my chest like a frozen blade.

They probably sent agents to finally finish the job. It was a bold move for LACE to attack out in the open but I was a dangerous liability to them. Once they got me, they could just retreat back to the underground with the DCL sniffing at their heels for the rest of time. And I was a sitting duck.

Director Chandler didn't seem to hear me. "Teddy, Saratoga, go to level two and neutralize the situation," The Director ordered and then turned to Royce. "You too Royce."

The agents nodded respectfully and went to carry out their orders. Director Chandler opened his mouth to say something to Dakota but I spoke first.

"You guys are gonna get yourselves killed," I stated loudly to get their attention.

Saratoga and Royce both stopped just short of the door. These DCL agents were well trained but they didn't stand a chance against real LACE agents.

Not without me.

Especially if LACE decided to send their best.

"Nice try Ms.Sterling, but if these agents are anything like you, then a few tranqs should do the job," Teddy replied, patting his rifle.

"Maybe," I considered as another boom sounded off, this one louder than the previous. "Unless they've been skin casted."

"Skin- what?" The Aussie asked.

"Skin casted. Means their skin is almost four to five times thicker than normal," I explained quickly. Skin casting was a torturous procedure but once completed, agents were almost bullet immune, un susceptible to burns, and undectable on infrared.

"Then why don't you have it?"

I shrugged. "They thought it might affect my telepathy," I replied honestly. It was actually true. It was one of the few things Dr.Ortega hadn't done to me during the experimentation period.

A far off siren was beginning to seep through the concrete walls, raising the tension.

I turned to the Director sternly.

"Look, Director, sir, you're going in blind. I'm the only one who knows these agents and what they can do," I said but left out the part that if they left me here I would be nearly defenseless. "And even if you do detain them, you'd never get any information out of them without me."

The Director's hooded eyes narrowed, contemplating his options.

"Plus, if I do try to escape then Australia here has my permission to tranq me again," I added for a good measure.

The room went silent as the Director held my steady gaze. His thick brows shifted as he decided.

"You heard her Agent Melbourne. Let her go," Director Chandler ordered and Saratoga stepped forward.

"Sir?" She asked in obvious disagreement but the Director lifted a hand to stop her and she immediately complied.

"You three get to sector two. Dakota, release Ms.Sterling and give her an earpiece," The Director said and the three agents swiftly left the room. The corner of my mouth lifted triumphantly at being released but the Director turned to me just before leaving.

"And Ms.Sterling?" Director Chandler asked as Dakota procured a small metal key. "Do not test me."

His words were simple and even though I had no intention of crossing him, yet, I listened closely. I nodded once and the Director disappeared through the door. I turned back to the stoic hybrid who was unlocking the sophisticated manacles. The cuffs finally loosened, releasing my hands.

Dakota fixed me with a serious look. "You best not try anything Ms.Sterling," He advised as I rubbed my red wrists.

"It's not me you have to worry about Agent Gray," I told him with an imperceptible smirk as he handed me the ear link that was buzzing with commotion. "Besides, if I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it already."

"Comforting," He replied, unphased.

He quickly strode to the door as I followed behind him with fast steps. He led me down a series of halls and then a flight of stairs until we arrived.

The room was a high ceilinged research center with dull metallic walls and all manner of electric panels that were set into originally fine rows. Much of the software was in ruins now and random craters from what looked like hand grenades dotted the floor. Small bits of debris fell from the crumbling ceiling. The air smelt of smoke as bullets rang through the air.

It was a few seconds later when I spotted the three LACE agents.