Concrete and bricks manifest from the black nothingness, forming the interior of the Grand Metro Station once again. An overbearing sense of trepidation consumes me. I collapse to my knees, exhausted and frightened. The train station continues to generate until the final stone slab sets. All is quiet... for now. The eerie wails of the apparitions gradually gain volume. I cover my ears to drown out their cries. It’s pointless however. I reach a breaking point.

“SHUT UP!” I shout.

The wails stop. I force one eye open. In my immediate field of vision are pair of feet in open toed black shoes. I glance up to a young woman dressed in a modest black dress with fiery hair resting just above her shoulders. Her expression is dull and vacant but her soft hazel eyes captivate me. An innate instinct tells me to seek comfort in her arms. Before I know it, I find myself inching closer to her.

My head nestles just below her bosom as I embrace her. She pats the top of my head softly. The woman is warm and welcoming. I could stay with her forever, but as my hands meet behind her back I don’t feel the cold metallic surface of my cybernetic. Startled, I leap back from the woman, slapping the sides of my face to break free from my trance. Surveying my hands and body, I come to the conclusion I am no longer my adult self, but a child.

The woman looks down to me, expressing the same absent stare from before. Her fiery hair begins to move, fluttering aimlessly in a wind that did not exist. A single spark sets her hair ablaze, which quickly consumes her entire body. Her clothes disintegrate and her flesh chars before my very eyes. The rampant fire dwindles, reducing her into nothing but a blackened silhouette of her former self.

I wince at the sound of her skin cracking as she extends her hand out in my direction. She cries a blood curdling scream in agony. I recoil and cover my ears which have little effect drowning out her banshee-like cry. Suddenly, I plummet as if the ground vanished beneath me. I fall into more darkness, land into a cold examination bed. Dozens of bodiless hands reach out from the void. Their grip cold and rubbery, they try and force my limbs into leather restraints attached to the bed. I squirm and lash out, struggling to break free from their hold.

“WHERE’S MY MOM?! I WANT MY MOM!” I cry.

As I reach over to liberate my right arm from the grasp of ghostly hands; I notice my left arm is severed just before my shoulder. Protruding from the singed flesh is a jagged, blood soaked bone. I shudder at the gruesome sight and let out a shrill wail. The bodiless hands become more aggressive in their approach, and successfully lock me into the restraints. Flailing my body in all directions, I physically try and throw myself from the bed to break free.

“LET. ME. GO!”

I close my eyes and pull my arm upwards with all my strength. The restraint snaps and I catapult forward. I swat at the air to fend off the hands. My hand connects with a surface with a loud smack.

“Ow! Ayden! It’s me! Open your eyes!” says a voice in the room.

A familiar gentle touch strokes my shoulder and neck area. I immediately untense and lower my arms.

“Everything is alright, Ayden. It’s me, Keith. You’re safe now.” he says calmly.

I’m hesitant to open my eyes but I do anyway. I find myself in a white room tucked into faded beige sheets on a hospital bed. Directly across from me is a toppled medical trolley. Beakers and bandages are strewn across the floor, an obvious sign I lost control of my powers. On the bedside to my right I see Keith’s sad, but relieved face. He starts to laugh hysterically, drying the tears from his cheeks. I shamefully cover my face with my palm.

“I hit you, didn’t I?” I say remorsefully. “I’m so sorry. It was an accident!”

“It’s okay. I’m fine, really,” Keith insists despite not realizing I can see the red mark forming across his pale face. “You on the other hand… you had another bad dream, didn’t you?”

I wipe my weary face with my palm.

“It was the worst feeling ever. I was a child again reliving the experience of losing my arm. It was awful, Keith! It was nothing like the others!”

“It’s okay, Ayden. It’s all over now,” he assures me.

“But what happened? How’d I end up here?” I ask. Keith physically tenses up at the question. He pauses for a moment as the figurative cogs in his mind think of a way to answer my question.

“Ayden, I don’t know how to say this but—there was an accident...” he replies delicately. “There was an explosion at the bank. Paramedics found you lying unconscious at the base of the steps. Aside from some bruises and small cuts you suffered a minor concussion and a fractured rib.”

His response hits like a stray bullet.

“What…?” I say with disbelief. “You’re joking right? I feel fine!”

“It’s the painkillers.” Keith lowers the beige blanket to expose my bare chest and reveal a gnarly purple bruise on the right side of my body.

“Oh—fuck…” I say under my breath. The sight whirls me into a dizzy spell. I clasp the side of my head, which is tightly wrapped in medical gauze. The harsh reality finally sets in.

“How long was I out?” I ask.

“A good hour or so… Do you remember anything at all?” Keith asks. My mind draws blanks, I scour deep into thoughts to try and remember something.

Nothing. It’s like my memories were stripped from my mind.

“I don’t remember much except for stepping off the train station with you early this morning.”

“That’s okay, take it easy for now,” Keith says with a worried smile.

I hear a heavily distorted ping from my cybernetic which starts to flash erratically. I notice the enclosure is damaged by a series of hairline fractures as well as numerous scuffs and dents. Activating the display projects a fuzzy interface barely legible. I struggle to navigate the basic layout of my homepage then finally view the notification after some time.

ƒ˜∫ç m ø∫i¬e ∫a˜˜in©

A d´p0ßit of 1z6 crœt∫ Hπs Be∆n m¬de into your aç˚ount.

Keith squints at the notification. “Jeez, I can barely read that...”

I impatiently tap the display as if it would miraculously fix it—and for a split- second it does. The display reverts to its former glory.

FNBC MOBILE BANKING

A deposit of 126 credits has been made into your account.

“I was expecting a deposit?” I ask Keith. Having no recollection of any amount of money coming in my direction. I turn back to the display which starts to glitch out again before cutting to black.

“Yeah, you were paid for participating in the evaluation this morning with Doctor Carrington and the board members,” Keith replies. His response sparks no memory. I nod my head, pretending to understand what he is talking about.

“If you say so… but if I was going to be receiving the funds in an electronic transfer. Why did I go to the bank?”

I think for a moment then scan around the room.

“Keith… where’s Petyr? I have him registered as my primary contact in case of an emergency.”

Keith tenses up and the color drains from his complexion. He chokes as if the words in his mouth suddenly turned to sand and charcoal.

“A-Ayden… he was also at the bank when—”

I didn’t give him an opportunity to finish his sentence. I subconsciously knew how it would end and didn’t want to hear it out loud.

“Keith, you need to get these out of my arm and discharge me, now!”

I gather all the IVs probed into my arm and present them to him.

“Help unplug me!” I command.

“No,” he says firmly. “You’re in no condition to be moving around right now.” He rests his hand on my shoulder to ease me, but I shrug him off. I couldn't care less about my condition, the only thing I care about in this exact moment is Petyr.

“I need to see him! I need to see if he is alright!” I panic. Malicious thoughts of his lifeless body in a black body bag sprout from the darkest pits of my imagination. I sit up from the bed and immediately become struck with a severe case of vertigo. Disoriented, I fall back onto the pillow.

“What the fuck…?” I grunt as the room spins around me. The swaying and rocking continues even as I shut my eyes. “Tell me he is at least alive, Keith. Please.”

“He was administered to the ICU at Asclepius General. He’s stable, but doctors put him into a medically induced coma. I have a nurse keeping me posted on his condition,” he replies.

I feel slightly relieved. At least he isn’t dead. Reassured now, I relax and ease into the pillow beneath me.

“Thank you,” I say. “How bad was it?”

“It’s pretty serious,” Keith replies frankly. “But he’s going to be okay. I promise you that.”

I take a long breath as a pained knot forms in the center of my chest. Keith leans in for a hug and buries his face into my neck. I reciprocate his gesture by rubbing his back then running my fingers through his soft hair. For the moment everything is tranquil. The room is quiet except for the slight ping from the heart monitor. Despite everything that happened today, I feel better knowing I have Keith here to help me every step of the way.

A woman’s sultry vibrato breaks the silence of the room. It takes but half a second to trace the source to Keith’s lab coat pocket. With an exasperated sigh, he reaches into his pocket and silences his holo-phone.

“I’m sorry. My grandparents have been calling all day since the explosion.”

“Why are you ignoring them?” I ask. “I thought you were really close to your grandparents?”

“Yeah but, they're just calling me to relay information to my mom,” he replies while rubbing the back of his neck.

“Your mom?” I repeat with astonishment. “... I don’t think you’ve ever talked about your mom before…”

“Pft,” Keith scoffs. “... for a good reason. We haven’t been in good standing for a few years.”

His phone rings again and the energy drains from Keith’s face. He pulls out his holo-phone once more.

“I’m just going to take this. I won’t be long.”

He kisses me on the cheek before leaving the room. I wonder what sort of event led to Keith not speaking to his own mother. As kind as he is, I can't wrap my head around the idea of Keith holding a grudge, especially one that has lasted for as long as he claims. But if stubbornness is a trait he picked up from his mother, it could explain why neither of them took the initiative to forgive one another.

Although the door is closed, I can hear Keith’s vexed voice faintly from the other side. I listen in to get a little more insight.

“... No, G-Ma. Why should I have to be the one to call her? … I’ve already buried the hatchet! … Well if she wants to know how I am doing then she can call me! You tell her I said that!”

The door slides open and I turn my head in the opposite direction, pretending to take an interest in the IV solutions and machinery at my bedside. Keith huffs and sits down on a chair besides the tipped trolley, distancing himself.

“Is everything okay?” I ask genuinely. He darts his eyes around the room, annoyed.

“I’m fine… it’s just family issues.”

“Talk to me. It’s the least you can do if I’m going to be cooped up in this bed,” I say. A corner of Keith’s lips curve up slightly as he mentally agrees with the truth in my statement.

“My mom and I got into a disagreement a few years ago. She never told me the truth about my father. When I would ask about him she would say I never had one, and tell this grand story of how I was a blessing from a space angel. Of course, as I got older the story translated into in vitro fertilization. And for a while I believed her. Eventually the truth came out when the university I enrolled in asked for a copy of my original birth certificate because of an inconsistency they noticed. When it arrived from the government office, I quickly realized what the university meant. For all my life I’ve been told my last name was Rae. You could imagine my surprise when the little box instead read, Keith Amadeus Everett. It was strange, like finding an extra piece in a puzzle you’ve already completed…”

“Rae?” I interject in astonishment. “As in—”

“Yes, my mom is the one and only Kimberly Rae. I figured you maybe would have caught on by now. My eyes are usually a dead giveaway.”

My mind flashes back to the many times I’ve seen the celebrity appear on billboards and social media. Her unparalleled green eyes coming into focus like a pair of flawless emeralds. As I mentally compare their features, Keith’s uncanny resemblance to his mother becomes clearer. Especially the color of his eyes and shape of his nose. And I figuratively kick myself for not noticing sooner.

“I’m in a relationship with the son of a celebrity… does that make me a celebrity by default too?” I say with a boastful grin. Keith pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

“Anyway, this prompted me to do a little investigation. I found out my father was just your typical nobody, a spacer drifting from ship to ship and planet to planet for labor… and when my mom found out I learned the truth she flipped out. But what put her over the edge was when I started to use Everett on all my official documents. She didn’t take too kindly to it. She started to distance herself and before I knew it, years had passed and not a word had been exchanged between us.”

“I’m so sorry, Keith,” I apologize, feeling particularly moved by his story. “I’m not really good at giving advice but maybe you should talk to her. Be the bigger person.”

Keith gives me a sarcastic, “Could you be anymore cliché” look.

“What? I’m not good at this talking it over kind of stuff,” I say. “I solve problems through confrontation and asserting myself.”

“If you’re suggesting I get in a fight with my mother. It’s not going to happen…”

He happens to glance down at his holo-phone and suddenly his expression twists into an appalled look of horror. I’m almost afraid to ask what could cause Keith to shudder like that.

“Babe? What is it…?” I reluctantly ask. Keith looks up from his phone. He opens his mouth as if he is about to say something but the words stop at the tip of his tongue. He mutters something inaudible.

“Out with it, Keith!” I harshly bark. Instead of hearing a response from him. A soft spoken woman’s voice fills the room. It’s Deborah Locke.

“...we are receiving word from our correspondent that the cause of the explosion at First Nation Bank that claimed the lives of fifty-three people and injuring five earlier this afternoon was caused by a series of incendiary explosives and not a gas leak as previously assumed. We’ll now turn to our Kale Davenport live at the remains of FNBC to elaborate on this chilling new detail...”

Keith sits beside me on the bed so we can watch the live coverage together. Kale Davenport stands before a police barrier to maximize the view of the smoldering ruins of the bank behind him. The sight is hard to take in. Firefighters and aqua-drones work diligently to hose down any remaining flicker of fire present.

“...you can see behind me, police have created a perimeter after fire investigators discovered what looked like a detonated explosive. Since then, bomb squad has been deployed and they are now sifting through the ashes for any clues. Not much is known about how or why such devices were found within the building, but police officials refused to give a statement when asked about the possibility of an act of—”

The broadcast from Keith’s phone suddenly cuts out to a spinning white pinwheel over a black screen.

“Woah, that’s strange. Did I lose reception?” Keith asks himself. Just as he goes to check his network connection, the broadcast resumes, but not of ANN. On a white background, a tribal outline of a wolf’s head appears. It’s head is pointed upwards as it howls into different sized circles above roughly resembling Arcathia’s two moons, Nyx and Thanatos.

I trace the outlines of the cryptic image with my eyes. A gut feeling passively tells me I have seen this image’s likeliness before. I try to think back to a moment in time where I might have seen it but my brain fails to produce any sort of visual confirmation. The cloudy fragments of memory will begin to form in my head, but then it’s immediately swallowed up by a mass of black nothingness.

My thoughts are then suddenly interrupted by a fanfare of trumpets. After a few seconds, my brain picks up on the melody like second nature, and I find myself humming the lyrics of Nearer to Fortuna, Arcathia’s planetary anthem.

“What the hell is going on!?” Keith shouts to his phone. The fanfare stops.

“Sheep of Arcathia!” declares a heavily modulated voice. “... I am Lupo, the mastermind behind the spectacular fire show at FNBC today and the collapse of the gold mine in Floras. Your thrice elected Prime Minister is a skilled deceiver and conspirator! I’ve risen from the ashes to pass on a message to the populace. Prime Minister Cain proclaims he will protect you, and boasts empty promises of a better future. But I warn you, he is a wolf in sheep's clothing, preying on the weak and feeding off them for his own benefit! You are all little lambs being herded for slaughter! I say rise up! SEEK THE WOLF!”

The image of the wolf head flickers away, resuming the regular broadcast of ANN. The studio desk where Deborah Locke sits is empty. Interns and staff members frantically race across set and shouting orders to one another as they realize they have regained control of their broadcast. Deborah hurries into frame and takes her usual seat. She parts her brown hair away from her face and focuses her attention to the cameras.

“We sincerely apologize for that interruption, but it seems like our broadcast network was hacked by the terrorist leader Lupo, previously assumed to be killed in the Red August bombing orchestrated by them. We’ll continue this story as more information develops and our technical staff can secure our network.”

The live feed cuts out. In its place a simple, Please Stay Tuned disclaimer.

I contemplate quietly. I can’t believe the same entity responsible for mutilating me and claiming the life of my mother returns almost two decades later just to take another attempt at my life and Petyr’s. My worst nightmares have come true… I cast away any ounce of fear and grief left in me and fill that space with fiery rage.