Strange footsteps woke me up one morning. Police armoured in tactical gear swarmed into my bedroom. I was rather addled about the situation, looking at the officers who surrounded me. Mom’s screams were loud, unrestrained, I could hardly focus on what the arresting officer was saying because my attention was pilfered by the scene my mom made. Dad was holding her back, with a look of pity on his face.

Very soon, I was being interviewed by an interrogator. He came in, a bit charged by the situation, clutching a file under his arm. The chair screeched as he pulled it back to sit. “Good morning, Jared Ugo. I’m detective Jason De Souza. Do you know why you’re here?”

“Y-yeah. No,” I corrected, “I’m not sure. Something about a murder?” My mind wasn’t wrapping around what had happened.

“Three,” he opened the file and loosened his tie a little before showing me photos of two girls and a boy.

“Someone killed them?” I questioned.

He looked at me, a bit perplexed. After a long while, he stood up, “Why are you playin’ dumb, kid?”

“Excuse me?”

Both his hands slammed down on the desk, “Look at them, and tell me you don’t know anything about their deaths!”

I pulled back a bit startled, “Dude, what are you talking about? I’ve never seen them before.”

He took yet another long time, scanning my face with keen eyes, “You’re, serious?”

I did a little nod and shrug, gesturing that I was seriously clueless.

“Get me the damn video!” he said to whoever was listening on the other side of the glass. After a couple minutes, someone opened the door and handed over a laptop to the detective. He showed a security video from a camera in the back of my school’s gym, a camera that wasn’t there before Cennet died. Three kids were on the camera – probably skipping class – when a fourth hooded one approached. The fourth kid began beating the daylights out of the others, not even giving them chance to scream, much less run. The movements and sheer strength narrowed down the suspect to just one possible person, and as if those things didn’t make it obvious enough, at the end of the fight, the hoodie had fallen off the attacker’s head, revealing my face.

“This, can’t be right…” I denied.

“No. No it’s not right!” Jason De Souza argued in agreeance, but twisting the meaning of my words. “Why’d you do it, kid? You were a hero, now you’re just another criminal.”

“No, no,” I pushed the laptop away, “you don’t underst–”

“I don’t! So, enlighten me!” His fist slammed down on the metal table, making me flinch.

It was becoming increasingly hard to focus. “I, can’t. I have no memory of this!”

He opened the file again, taking out three photos. He slammed one down, showing an unrecognisable face. “You did this!” He claimed, then proceeded to do the same with even more vigour to the two other photos. “If they didn’t have their names on their books, no one would know who they even were! Could you imagine being beaten to death so brutally that people can’t even identify you?! Tell me why you killed them!”

“I already told you, I didn’t do that!” I pleaded, my heartrate rocketing.

“Don’t,” he emphasised, “lie”, and dropped his fist again, “to me!”

At that point, it was a little difficult to remember what happened. In fact, I’d no memory of what happened for the rest of the interview.

I woke up in my bed again, with the memories of that morning baffling me. It was like random information with no context. My parents refused to let me go to school for a few days, which made me wonder if that video really was true. After midday, mom asked if I was ready.

“Hmm? For what?” I questioned.

Dad tilted his head, “For what? Did you forget the trial is today?”

“What trial?!” I drew closer to them. “Are you saying that interview with the detective actually happened?”

Mom and dad looked at each other, then dad nodded at me. “Don’t tell me you believe I killed those students…”

“Jared, honey,” mom put a hand on my shoulder when she realised that I was losing my cool. “It’ll be okay.”

“But you should know the truth,” dad intervened. “We had professionals look over the video. It isn’t fake. We don’t know why you–”

“But I didn’t,” I pleaded with them. “I’m not crazy! How could I do that?! I didn’t kill anyone!”

As dad was about to refute my claims, mom stopped him. Her stare directed right at me. “Charlie, I think he’s speaking the truth. I don’t think Jared killed those students, or the detective!”

“The detective’s dead?!” I held my head and took a seat. “The hell’s going on?!” I murmured to myself. “Did I…”

Mom, as if having an epiphany, became a bit excited, “No!” She held her mouth, “I mean, you did, but you didn’t, get it?”

I shook my head negatively; dad hadn’t a clue what she was on about either. She immediately called her lawyer. Without telling us anything, she proceeded to get dressed. Dad and I followed along.

The courtroom was semi-full, with some people I didn’t recognise. Eventually, the cold stares of hatred made it obvious who the family of the dead students were. A lot of the proceedings were back and forth debates between mom’s lawyer and the other families’ lawyer. I was questioned, but couldn’t provide any answers I didn’t already provide. My attention was waning, despite the seriousness of the matter. But mom caught my attention again by asking for permission to speak, which the judge granted.

“Your honour. I’m not a professional in the field, but I believe I’ve noticed signs that my son has a mental condition that may have been responsible.”

I was shocked, and by the looks of everything else, so were they. Even our own lawyer looked a little surprised. An argument quickly ensued between parties. The judge used his hammer to disperse the tension, allowing mom to continue. “Anna Stone, who stepped in as Jared’s legal guardian told me of his blackouts when he was coping with my ‘death’. There were times when she’d find him unconscious and he would wake up with no memory of what happened. I believe the same thing is repeating itself again because of her death. In the video, it was clear that he was rather angry. In the interview, the detective kept pressuring him, bringing him back to something he’d tried to avoid. I think something happens when he enters a heightened emotional state. So,” she clasped her hands together, “I’m simply asking for a psychological evaluation before we proceed.”

The bickering started up again, but not as rowdy so as to force the judge to shut them up. They threw their arguments back and forth, whilst I dwelled on the matter. Me? Mental condition? I couldn’t believe the words coming out my own mother’s mouth. Me? Killing innocents? But, I began to wonder if it could be true, that person in both videos was definitely me. Why did I do that? I thought back to my parents’ mistaken funeral, remembering the rollercoaster of thoughts that smothered me. If I fear death so much, then why would I… The arguments between parties in the courtroom began fading. My face cringed. Anna, I’m sorry. Perhaps, if I didn’t ask UGO to make her my partner, none of this would’ve befallen her. If it weren’t for Cennet… I thought, opening up a can of worms for myself.

At that point, all voices in the courtroom had faded and I looked like I stared into space. Suddenly, that dreadful blast from Cennet’s gun when he shot Anna raped my mind. I jumped, terrified. Her limp body sliding to the side of the chair sickened me. That abominable scene played over and over in my mind. The continuous shots broke something within me every time I heard the loud bang. Shot, after shot, after shot; the magazine emptied until there was nothing in the chamber. Anna…

Sound began returning, slowly.

“–mer!” Ban heard someone shout.

“It’s the hammer! Don’t use the hammer!” Mom’s lawyer warned the judge who’d commanded the courtroom security to restrain Ban. The boy had jumped from his position to the judge’s desk in one go, before anyone could react and held the man by the collar, but was stopped in his tracks by a taser. However, after a few seconds of it, Vasc began working in overdrive and he yanked out the probes before they could increase the intensity. Without a second to lose, Ban grabbed a chair near the judge and hurled it, effectively knocking out one of the guards.

Another chair would’ve been tossed, but his mom stood in the way, causing him to pause. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m with you now,” she said. “You’re not alone. I’m here with you,” she repeated those words endlessly. They had quite the soothing effect, those words. Ban fainted.

I woke up with thick bindings, holding me down to a bed, or more accurately, a stretcher. Someone was pushing me. I’m, in the hospital? I pondered, looking around. Eventually, I came into a room with mom and dad. They explained that I had to be restrained in order to see a psychologist. What the hell happened in the courtroom?

Over the course of a few visits, we won the mental condition argument. Over the course of a few weeks, I’d gotten an idea of what had happened to me.

Dissociative identity disorder – DID for short –, they called it, coupled with posttraumatic stress disorder – PTSD for short – had caused some issues. According to the reports, it all started with the video of my parents’ death. The video caused random blackouts, but not DID, so my other personality, Ban, didn’t come about until Anna’s passing. Any striking sound, similar to that of gunfire, caused an episode of PTSD for me primarily if I was in a state of heightened emotions because it reminded me of when Cennet murdered Anna right in front of me. As a defence mechanism, Ban would take over and would be under the assumption that either me or someone close, needed protection. I unconsciously turned to Ban to ensure my survival. In other words, if my personality switched, someone close-by would be in mortal danger.

It turned out Marissa never did check up on me in my basement. It was just a dream because my personality had already switched. A lot of what happened was still a little confusing to me, but I understood enough to move on.

So, for the next few months, home-schooling, house arrest, and mandatory counselling sessions were my life. And, I eventually began getting better. I learned how to recognise a PTSD episode and stop it, essentially short-circuiting a DID switch. My parents were also able to talk me out of it once they repeated the safe words. My life was finally stabilising.

Even though I wasn’t fit for school, I was still able to complete the exams, so at least I got a little bit of what I wanted. I was deemed fit again for public schooling after years of counselling. I gazed out at the passing clouds whilst having a cold beer in celebration of my acceptance to university with LocalHost. Xeno was up and about, along with the rest of the group. Carol really helped me out with the chemicals needed for Vasc.

Looking back at it, David Cennet achieved both his goals, didn’t he? The country adjusted their rules when it came to school security, and somewhere along the lines, my mind really did split in two. Truthfully, that part of me that Cennet created never did go away, but I’d learned to control it and made peace with it. However, I couldn’t deny the fact…

Ban, is Cennet’s Cyborg.