Harold was still seething. It wasn't so much that they had lost that was bothering him—though this too still rankled—it was that his partner, Kierra, had refused to cooperate, making it easier for their opponents to claim the ball. She had looked disappointed when the game had been called, and, as upset Harold was by their loss, he took some satisfaction at how poorly she was handling it as well. Jimmy, as he always did, tried to soothe his rage, offering what he thought were words of comfort, like "It was just a class exercise," or "You'll do better next time."

But he had wanted to do well this time. Twice the other night he had failed, getting beaten by the gorilla and letting it escape; then being incapacitated by the hornets. This was supposed to be a shot at redemption. But again, he had failed.

He cursed. It was dark out, yet he was still unable to fall asleep. This time had less to do with the unpleasant aftereffects of mutant hornet venom, but was just as irritating and uncomfortable. According to the rules, students were permitted to be out of bed before midnight under certain conditions, one of which was that they did not loiter in the corridors and instead remained quietly in certain designated areas.

Harold glanced at his alarm clock. It read 10:43. Close to the same time that he had been woken by Mr. Girvan earlier that day. At the thought of their year-coordinator, Harold felt a hot surge of anger, coupled with an equally intense desire to do something defiant.

Having finally taken the shower he had missed that morning due to oversleeping, he was now dressed in a plain dark T-shirt and dark green shorts, the recommended colour for camouflage and concealment. He ripped off his sheets, laced up a pair of soft-soled sneakers, closed his room door softly behind him and, walking quietly, set off along the corridor. Two doors down, he came up to Jimmy's room.

Harold tapped gently against the door. A few seconds passed, but no reply came. He tapped again. Then again. And once more. A great rumbling snore rang out, reminiscent of the sleeping ivory gorilla. Harold knocked again, then immediately recoiled in horror.

This time, patience dwindling, he had struck the door harder than he had meant, and his fingers had made visible dents in the wood. He swore under his breath, then looked around to ensure that the corridor was still silent and empty. Thankfully it was. Nobody else seemed to have heard the noise. The door creaked open at last, and there was Jimmy, eyes half-closed in sleep, and his light brown hair tousled. "Harold," he said, his voice a groan. "What are you doing?"

"I couldn't sleep," said Harold. "Sorry to wake you, but I need to ask a favour."

Jimmy made a vague gesture as if to say, "go on."

"I need to leave the compound."

Jimmy's eyes widened to full capacity. He looked suddenly wide awake.

"You what?"

"Just for a little while," Harold said. "But I need to borrow your Overboard."

"You're insane," said Jimmy, but he grabbed Harold's arm and dragged him inside the room, then shut the door behind them and turned to him with a look that insinuated Harold had suggested an assassination.

"You know what'll happen if Girvan finds out. Or worse—Ripley."

Arthur Ripley was Helix's main night guard, a towering bear of a man with a vast beard who patrolled the grounds at night to ensure that everything remained in order.

"I know," Harold said. "But I can handle Ripley. I just need the board."

Jimmy looked at him for a moment, a long, piercing look quite unusual for the freckly, baby-faced youth Harold had known for the past three years. Then he sighed deeply. "If I said no, you would just take it anyway, wouldn't you?"

Harold grinned and laid his hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "You know me so well."

Jimmy rolled his eyes and turned to his drawers. He rummaged around in the lower compartment while Harold looked around the room. Though it was the same size and colour as his own, the difference between them was vast. Harold's walls were bare and peeling, with his sparse belongings scattered haphazardly on either the floor around his bed or along the cabinets and table. Jimmy's, however, was neatly organized, decorated with photographs of his family, keepsakes from his childhood, and even posters of famous figures from history.

How he had managed it, Harold couldn't tell, but he had somehow made this gloomy, green-and-white-walled box look comfortable, look like home. Jimmy straightened up at last, holding a rectangular device the size of a television remote, with countless ridges along the surface and a large button in the center.

"I'm going to regret giving you this, aren't I?"

"Probably," Harold said casually, taking it into his own hands.

"Just be careful. I'm fairly certain that if you get caught, I'll somehow end up getting blamed for this too."

Harold nodded, put his ear to the door and listened for a moment, then when he had determined that the hallway beyond was completely silent, he whispered a cheery, "Wish me luck!" and slipped out of the room.

Though he was perfectly allowed to be outside at this time, he still couldn't help but feel a bit apprehensive, as if any moment someone would descend upon him and start frizzing him. Fortunately, no one did. He made his way through the winding corridors swiftly and silently, trying every door he came up to. All were locked but one—the front door. He pushed it open and was immediately enveloped by icy air. The smell of the sea mingled with that of the forest beside them. It was a sickly aroma, one that always made Harold feel slightly nauseous.

Doing his best to ignore this, he set off again, keeping out of sight. At last, the gates came into view, large, wrought-iron spectacles framed in the center of the great walls that bordered the school. It seemed far too easy that he had gotten here undisturbed. Something didn't feel quite right... And sure enough, a moment later, Ripley came striding into his sights, muscles bulging through his shirt, keys dangling at his hip.

Harold ducked around the corner of the arches to his left, listening to the jangling of the keys as Ripley walked. But the sounds came to an abrupt halt. Harold glanced around the wall.

Ripley had paused, looking around with a suspicious look on his face. Then his hawk-like eyes swiveled towards the archway where Harold stood, and Harold immediately drew back. He thought he had pulled away quickly enough, but the guard's suspicions that something was amiss seemed to have been compounded. Ripley's heavy footsteps had started up again, faster and more forceful, and they were heading right in his direction.

Any moment now he would round the corner and find himself gazing down at Harold's guilty face.

"Turn around, turn around, turn around," Harold muttered desperately.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Ripley's footsteps did not falter, still approaching at a swift pace.

"Turn around, turn around, turn around," Harold prayed.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Turn around, turn around..."

Ripley froze again, just beyond the archway wall. He seemed to be hesitating. Then, as if by some miracle, he changed direction and continued past the archway as if he had forgotten all about whatever had bothered him. Harold shrank back against the wall as Ripley's vast shadow flitted across the bare wall as he strode by. Then his footsteps faded out of earshot.

Harold had to suppress a noise of triumph. He had no idea why Ripley had suddenly decided to go, but he wasn't complaining. Instead, he peered carefully around the corner again, and after ensuring that the hulking figure was completely gone, darted for the gates.

His heart pounded in his chest as he drew nearer to the wall, worried that Ripley would suddenly return and find him. But he didn't. The gates were locked, as he had expected, but Harold bent his knees, building up strength in his legs, and leapt over them. He landed lightly, several feet away from the wall, and hurried down the earthen path towards the beach.

He trotted down the slope, weaving around tree trunks and ducking under the lower branches. A few minutes later, he erupted out of the forest and raced down to the beach. When he reached the bank, he glanced up at Helix. From this distance, under the veil of darkness, it looked far less impressive than it usually did up close, a dull block of stone. But now, an entire ocean spread out in front of him, a heavenly, steel-grey carpet, the waves lapping gently, cool breeze swirling from the water's face.

He held up the device that Jimmy had handed him, and pressed the large button in the center. It glowed briefly with soft blue light, then the entire device began to contort, expanding until it unfolded into a long, sleek, black skateboard with a magnetic strip underneath instead of wheels. He dropped it and it froze in place, hovering dead in the air just below his knee.

It was a gift from Jimmy's older brother, the last time he had seen him three years ago. Technically, Jimmy was not allowed to have this kind of technology in school, which was why he kept it buried in his drawer in its incomplete form.

Harold took a deep breath, and leapt onto it. It wobbled underfoot and he swayed from side to side, his arms flailing wildly in a desperate attempt to keep him from falling. The board may have its uses, but Harold wasn't that particularly fond of traveling on anything without handlebars, or something to help keep himself steady.

After a few more moments of blind stumbling, he managed to secure a steady enough hold, and took off across the water. The sand on either side of him rolled away as he glided forward, roiling sheets of silver-white sliding past him in its stead. The wind lifted his hair, and he veered left. He looked back, Helix fading out of sight behind him, and smiled.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was a far better release than he had thought Gym Class would be. For a while he soared along aimlessly, turning from side to side, the motion rather jerky but enjoyable nonetheless. He liked Helix—he had many endeared friends there, and the environment, despite feeling oppressive at times, was generally welcoming. But as a year-rounder on the island, it was not uncommon for him to crave time away from the green-white walls.

The most he saw of the outside world was on his missions outside of Helix with his squad, but even then, there weren't many times like this where he could simply...be. To enjoy the world around him.

The gorilla mission had been his first time out of Helix in months. It had been a reprieve to step away, but where it had led them...

He couldn't imagine what could have happened to mutate the gorilla, or the hornets. He had heard stories, jokes, about people developing powers from exposure to radioactive chemicals, had even read about cases like this in those silly comic book stories that everyone else seemed to love, but he had always treated them as just that—fiction. Stories told for mere entertainment purposes. But could there really have been something in that forest that had caused its inhabitants to change so drastically?

Had it only been the gorilla and the hornets that had changed? Or were there now six foot tall grasshoppers leaping around the forest floor too? And where had the gorilla gone afterwards? Did it remain in the woods, or had it moved on to rampage in another nearby village?

Mr. Girvan had assured them that they would look deeper into the matter and report any updates so that they could move out again whenever they needed to. But so far he had not gotten back to them.

Harold came to a halt, switching positions so that he was now sitting on the board, hovering a good distance above the water. He looked around. There was nothing in sight, just an endless stretch of water unfolding all around him, trailing to the edges of his vision. Silence ensued. Harold had always preferred a more...exciting environment. But now, he enjoyed the serenity. The chill breeze rippling past him, stirring the water's face below, ruffling his clothes. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned backwards.

He sat there for several long minutes, breathing in the salty ocean air, enjoying the cold and the quiet. He felt as if he could stay there for hours, maybe until the sun came up, maybe even longer—but then a sudden splash jogged him back to his senses. Harold glanced around, looking for the source of the noise. But the water around him was still completely smooth.

The splash sounded once more. Harold stood again, peering out at the boundless expanse of sea. And then he noticed it. The air ahead seemed to be rippling—no, shimmering, like some kind of heat haze. But the stinging cold of the ocean air told him that it couldn't be from heat. Slowly, he edged the Overboard forward, gliding cautiously towards the area. He slowed to a halt a few feet away, and his mouth fell open.

Electricity was sparking inside the haze, blue streams of energy dancing along like ropes of lightning trapped in an invisible cage. He observed it for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a stick of chocolate that he had snuck from the vending machines before leaving the compound.

Harold snapped off piece and stuck it into his mouth, then took aim, and lobbed the remainder towards the haze, and it disappeared inside. Blue light erupted from the area where it had hit, then something small came hurtling back towards him. With reflexes borne of years of training, he caught it. It was burning white-hot, as if it had just been pulled out of a furnace, and Harold grimaced in pain. But he held on to it.

The heat faded rather quickly, replaced by a sudden freezing cold. Harold opened his palm. A small coin gleamed in his palm, burnished and printed with all the proper details as if he had just received it from the bank. But it was the same deep brown colour as the chocolate bar he had thrown into the haze.

Stunned, Harold looked up. The haze was gone, the water below had settled, and he was alone once more.