"That door's been there the whole time," Zane said, gesturing vaguely toward the far wall. He was sitting next to Joseph, facing the wall separating the main room from the bedrooms. One knee was pulled up to his chest, the other crossed over in front of him. He watched his reflection in the polished metal.
It had been hours since they had discovered the room. It felt late, but without a clock or window, Zane would never know. He rubbed his eyes, trying to extract the sleep from them.
"How can you tell?" Zane looked over at Joseph. The boy was once again bouncing his rubber ball against the wall, and Zane had come to recognize it as a nervous gesture, just as someone may pace or bite their nails. The rhythmic thumps of the rubber against the floor, the wall, and Joseph's hand were somewhat soothing.
Zane rested his chin on his knee. "It's sunk into the wall several inches, and in those several inches I saw runners along the side of the door."
"And that means?" Joseph inquired, the ball leaving his hand and striking the wall.
"The wall in front of the door was only a panel of steel that Wawrzynski slid up to allow us access to that room," Zane said confidently. He pursed his lips, and the ball returned to Joseph's hand with a faint thwack.
"There may be other hidden rooms," Joseph theorized. "Other rooms that signify further stages of the experiment." he crossed his legs, and his knee brushed up against Zane's hip.
"Right," Zane responded. He gazed around the room, just in case any more secret doors had opened since that morning. He saw nothing, and he wasn't surprised. Wawrsynski wanted perfectly trained human weapons. He wouldn't rush the process. Giving them access to weapons was a big step.
Zane was terrified of what Wawrsynski had planned for them. If there truly was an impending war, as Marcus had said, then Zane could take an educated guess. But again he found himself wondering if they had been lied to, if anything was truly real. He had been told New Vancouver was the only civilization left on a barren and hostile planet. Lies. He had been told compliance was all that mattered; everything would fall into place if you followed orders. Lies. He had been told life was predictable, dependable. Lies.
It was as if there were demons in his head, feeding off the lies, forcing the truth down deeper where he could not reach it. They preyed on his every thought, making him question anything and everything.
But it was all he knew. It was all that made sense. It was all that was predictable.
He knew it was foolish and self-centered, but he wished to go back. Back to the life where he questioned nothing, accepted everything, and disregarded all that made no sense. He wanted to be carefree and know what would happen every day from the moment his eyes opened to the second they closed.
But no matter how much he hoped to go back, he was attracted to this undependable life. He had seen and done more in the past couple weeks than in his entire life in New Vancouver. He couldn't help but enjoy Joseph's sincerity and calm, Daisy's foolishness and appetite, Mallory's defiance and competitiveness, and Marcus's sarcasm and spurs.
His mind was torn in two, drawn to his old life and this new life. He kept being pulled to either side of the war, but always got tugged back into the middle. He wanted to be both uniform and unique, undefinable and noticeable. He wanted to be himself, but not himself.
A hand on his face snapped him from his daze. Joseph had turned his head, his warm palm against Zane's cheek. Zane felt his thumb resting beside his eye. He lifted his gaze to Joseph's soft blue eyes, which were filled with concern. "You okay, Zane?"
Zane leaned almost imperceptibly into Joseph's hand. "Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking."
"A dangerous pastime," Joseph said, forcing a laugh from Zane. His hand slid from Zane's face, and the colder air rubbed against Zane's cheek, making him shiver.
Joseph stood. "Come on," he said, extending his hand toward Zane. Zane grasped it without hesitation. He felt the coldness of Joseph's silver ring against his shortened pinkie. The other boy pulled him to his feet, and he dusted off his pants. "I got a little surprise for you." Zane chuckled, knowing Daisy would have pounced on that phrase and made multiple dirty jokes at Zane's expense.
Joseph did not release his hand as he led him toward the weapon room. "Why are we going in there?" Zane asked, but was not gratified with an answer. He yawned and his jaw popped. Joseph tugged him through the door, closing it behind them.
The dark room made Zane even more tired. The lights were off, but there was a faint source of illumination coming from somewhere. It glinted off the weapons, throwing shards of artificial light across the walls. It was as if a thousand mirrors were reflecting the same light back and forth.
When Zane saw where the light was coming from, he laughed. "A blanket fort?" he asked Joseph incredulously.
Joseph had arranged weapon racks around a wrestling mat and thrown an enormous blanket overtop. It dipped slightly in the middle. Many other blankets had been draped over the racks, enclosing the space within. Inside the fort, beams of light protruded through the thinner blankets, bouncing off the exposed metal. Zane found himself foolishly grinning.
"Yes, a blanket fort." Joseph still grasped his hand.
"Why?" Zane asked, looking over at Joseph. A beam of brightness illuminated his face and his eyes seemed to glow a startling sapphire. His dark hair looked almost blond.
Joseph let go of his hand and walked forward. "My mother was more lenient than the governors," he said softly. "So I got more of a childhood than most kids. I get the feeling you didn't." Zane shook his head sadly. "So I decided to share a piece of mine with you."
Joseph swept a blanket aside, revealing the interior of the fort. Flashlights were situated around the perimeter, projecting vast swaths of light throughout the fort. Joseph had arranged blankets and pillows into two makeshift beds next to each other in the center. There was a deck of cards between the beds that looked the exact same as the deck in their old cell. Zane felt a wave of affection for Joseph.
"It's perfect," he murmured.
"I thought you'd like it," Joseph responded, gesturing Zane in.
He ducked underneath the blankets and entered the fort. He looked around in wonder. He had never done anything like this when he was younger. His childhood was so uneventful and forgettable, he hardly retained any memories of it. He felt a tear slide down his cheek. "Why would you do this for me?"
Joseph shrugged. "You've seemed awfully withdrawn and sad these past few days," he said, ducking in after Zane. "I couldn't bear to see you like that, so I took it upon myself to cheer you up." He smiled, and Zane returned it without hesitation.
"Thank you," he said.
Joseph collapsed on one of the temporary beds. "You are most welcome."
Zane dropped down on the opposite bed as Joseph twirled a card between his fingers. He propped himself up on one elbow, his hand resting on his jaw. He marvelled at how such a vicious room could be transformed into something so innocent and carefree. He suddenly felt relieved. If the nature of this room could be changed, he could decide for himself what he wanted to be. This room was told what to be, but Joseph was transforming it, showing it what it could truly be. Zane couldn't help but feel that maybe Joseph was doing the same to him.
He looked up. "What else did your mother let you have?" he asked, curious to learn what he may have missed out on.
"Well," Joseph started. "Despite repeated calls from the governors, my mom insisted on having her own garden in the backyard. She grew all kinds of vegetables and fruits I'd never heard of." He smiled wistfully. "She would make us every kind of pie imaginable, and they all tasted like heaven."
"Wouldn't the governors force her to tear it up?" Zane asked.
Joseph shook his head. "No. Looking back, I think it was so they could recruit me for the experiment when the time came. They assumed a child living with her would have high amounts of prejudice."
"So they were using your mom's rebellion to their advantage."
"I'm afraid it looks that way," Joseph said, dropping his gaze.
"By shining light on all these issues and lies, Wawrzynski really fucked us up, didn't he?" Zane said, giving Joseph a ghost of a smile. He ran his hand through his lengthening hair, letting it fall over his forehead.
"You should keep your hair like that," Joseph said. "I like it a lot better that way."
Zane felt blood rush to his cheeks, and he was grateful for the faint light. He knew he should say something back, acknowledge Joseph's statement, but his mouth would not form words as he gazed into the pools of blue that were Joseph's eyes. Joseph seemed to find this overly amusing.
"You're cute when you're speechless," he said quietly. The card continued to twirl in his hands, his impromptu gesture of nervousness.
Zane found a word. "Thanks." He mentally kicked himself. He had to say more, tell Joseph something, anything about how he felt. But "thanks" was all he had. Joseph smiled faintly.
Zane's pinkie was gone.
"Oh, fuck, not now," he said, recovering his ability to form sentences. His cells departed from his finger and drifted listlessly through the air. Zane tried to shove his hand into his pocket, but there was no hand to shove in. "Why?" he demanded. "I can control you now!"
But even as he said, he recalled the night before, when he had injected himself with more serum. He cursed softly and he saw Joseph's mouth move, but heard nothing but the roaring in his ears.
He called his cells back to his hand, but nothing happened. They stayed fixed in the air, separate from his hand. At least the disintegrating seemed to stop at his wrist. No more body parts broke free and floated through the air. "I'm okay," he whispered to himself. "I'm okay."
Joseph had stayed calm, but the card he had been holding was discarded upon the ground, flipped face up to reveal an ace of spades. He was holding his hands out placatingly. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked.
Zane stared at the spot where his hand had previously been. He admired the smooth skin at the end of his wrist. "No, I don't think so," he responded, images from the particles flashing across his gaze, obstructing his vision, making him dizzy. "I just... have to get out of here. It helps if I eliminate a few senses." He gestured vaguely.
"Senses?" Joseph asked, perplexed, his eyebrows drawing together.
"Like vision or hearing. If I can deprive myself of them, there's less 'noise' in my brain and I can concentrate better." He got up from the makeshift bed and headed for the blanket door. "I'll be back in a minute."
Once out, he headed for the shooting range. He anticipated it to be dark in one of the long aisles leading to the targets. The room was silent and sterile, a perfect environment. From the minuscule flashes of light and blankets he saw, he knew his hand was still back in the tent, dispersed in a thousand pieces.
He turned sharply and strode into one of the long hallways. He collapsed in the middle, crossing his legs, taking up a meditative pose. He closed his eyes and tuned out the visions from the cells. The silence was complete and he could smell nothing. His senses dimmed.
He descended into his thoughts.
It was as if he was thrown into his own brain, thrown into the jumbled mess that was his mind. But yet he saw nothing, heard nothing, smelled nothing. His thoughts were essentially not thoughts anymore. He didn't see them, he didn't hear them, he didn't smell them. They were nothing but feelings. They flitted away from him when he reached for them, but they deposited emotions as they flew by. He felt immense sadness, which was soon rivalled by a rush of happiness and ecstasy. Butterflies twisted in his gut as fear swept over him, stealing his breath. He felt affection, and then extreme hatred.
These feelings consumed him. They bombarded him. They were overwhelming.
Throughout it all, he pushed at them the feelings of his hand. He could not picture it, hear it, or smell it, but he could feel it. He remembered the strange sensation of cracking his knuckles. He recalled the feeling of having a shortened finger. He imagined the sloughing of his cells.
He felt his hand reform. He gratefully welcomed his senses back, and the feelings diminished. He stood and turned to head back to the blanket fort, back to Joseph, but he felt an almost imperceptible weight upon his palm. He looked down and he almost screamed.
Upon his hand lay an ace of spades.
He hadn't touched it. The last thing he remembered about the ace of spades was seeing it lying on the ground at Joseph's feet, forgotten in a moment of panic. But yet here it was, lying in Zane's hand. It seemed to stare back at him.
Zane whipped his head around, assuring himself there were no security cameras around. His gaze quickly returned to the ace, his mind whirring. How had it gotten there? Once again his mind flicked back to the night before. The syringe. The serum. Did he do this? No, he told himself. It's not possible.
The rational side of his brain didn't approve of that statement. Do you even know what's possible anymore? it asked. Zane felt the urge to scream, to throw things, to destroy something. No, he didn't know. He didn't know anything! He dropped the card, watching it flutter to the ground.
He knew within him that he had done it. He had disintegrated the card as well as his hand. He had deconstructed an object, torn apart its structure.
He knew he should tell somebody, but he didn't know who. He would either be pressured to escape or to develop this power further. He wanted things to stay as they were. If he escaped, he would have to fully discard everything he was ever told. He would have to discard everything he knew. He would be forced to disregard his old life, act like it never existed. However appealing that may be, he couldn't bring himself to do it. The governors' claws were sunk in too deep.
Zane was a pawn upon a chessboard of queens. They had complete control over him. No matter how strong his desire to reach the end and become a queen, he could not, for they blocked his way. He was trapped. He was the only hope for the other pawns, but his ghosts and demons would not allow him passage. They were able to anticipate his every move and compensate for it.
He was broken.
He stomped on the card, furious at himself and his thoughts. He knew he should use this strange new ability to escape, but he could not bring himself to. He viciously stomped from the shooting range, scooping up a loaded pistol on his way out. He flicked the safety on, tucked it in his belt, and strode toward where Joseph was waiting.
He may be a pawn. He may only be able to move in one direction. But what the queens may have overlooked was his diagonal capture. He had one small unpredictability, and he would use it to his advantage. And he had the other pawns, the only ones capable of helping him past the queens. He may not be able to bring himself to break out yet, but he would find a way past his inner demons, past his scars.
The others were the key. His way past the queens. They were the right sprinkled amongst the wrong. They were his anchor. They were the key to healing his broken mind.
So he had to protect them.