The headache felt like it was going to split open Edward’s head; he had it ever since the day of his speech. Despite it, he continued his assignment. Edward was trying his best to make sense of his parent’s journal, even with all his intelligence, the migraine, and his lack of background knowledge made any attempt at progress futile. He thought back to Master’s words:

“In order to best use your potential, you must sharpen it with experience; experience outranks everything.”

He thought back to when he disabled the security locks; Master managed to get a hold of the locks. And with a bit of fiddling around, he figured out how they worked. They sent a signal that asked the controller if it were to remain locked. If the controller replied in the affirmative, it would remain sealed. If someone hijacked the signal then transmitted it in the negative, they would unlock.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, and the pain started to fluctuate like waves rising to their crest, then breaking under their weight. The vicious cycle refused to let up. He cradled his head, elbows pressed into the wooden desk, scraping his skin raw. He felt…. he felt? He couldn’t remember the last time he felt emotion. So much so that he couldn’t put a finger on it. It was like trying to accomplish a task that a person has done a hundred times over, yet in this particular instance, fails without reason. The strange tapping within his mind got louder.

He redirected his attention to the time in hopes of shaking off the feeling. His lamp barely lit up his desk, let alone room. He judged the time to be late by the darkness that slipped out from under the door, consuming the light of his lamp.

Edward decided it was best to consult his bookshelf; the chair creaked as the weight was relieved from it. The bookshelf was one of the walls, filled to the brim with various subject matters. Most were scientific in nature, and the rest dealt with books on war, specifically the art of waging them. His fascination with strategy lay with air primarily. The topic was a rarity in the collection. The Great War had the last major air campaigns, that was over a hundred years ago. The books spawned from it must have been outdated. Naval Strategy dominated the shelf much to his displeasure. His fingers brushed against the aging books, their leather long cracked and dried.

His hand had found the one he was seeking; it was one of the oldest out of all of them. It’s binding frayed at the edges. The cover was no better; it was a mix of olive green and black. The only discernible feature of it was the title placed across the bind. Discoloration painted itself across pages. He opened the book; dust plumed out like smoke. His eyes struggled in the dim light, placing the book down on the desk did little to help.

Another pain drilled into his skull, he heard knocking, worsening the headache. Anger rose to the surface, he was irritated at himself for not being able to concentrate. Edward thought it came from within, but when it happened a second time, he realized it to be the door.

“Edward, it’s Master.”

His lips quivered, eyes squeezed shut. Master came at the worst time; the boy knew precisely why he was here; another round of chess. Edward couldn’t beat him like this, but that didn't stop him from thinking of a way to victory. With his thinking strangled, the only thing that came to mind was a cautious approach. The boy slid out of his chair; he shuttered as his cold hand gripped an even colder doorknob. Master’s imposing figure loomed over him. The man noticed something amiss, “Are you alright, Edward, you look pale.”

Edward shoved aside his weakness, no matter how much it hurt, “I’m fine, Master.”

Rather than call out his blatant lie, Master continued to look down on him, observing him. Edward remained firm in his facade. “Come with me.” The man walked through the hallway with the teen in tow.

Their steps fell in line, Edward resided several levels below Master. Master didn’t let the silence linger between them, “What are your thoughts on lying?”

Subtle, he should’ve known Master was not one to let things slip by, Edward thought to himself. But, knowing the man, the question meant much more. “They are good for covering up the truth and leading people astray.” That is why people lie, right? The boy questioned himself.

The man sighed and clicked the elevator button. The glow created faint twins of the pair on the wall. “You disappointed me, Edward.”Even without his emotions, danger screamed within his mind. Yet, he couldn’t help question why? Was he wrong? To the boy, cunning always lends itself to intelligence. “Anything built upon lies is fragile at best.”

The elevator sound resonated from below, getting louder and louder as it approached. Edward doubted the truth of that and found it hypocritical, “Isn’t my name, William, a lie?”

“No,” Master said. The elevator halted its approach, with a small ding, the doors opened. “You are William. You were never Edward; there was no Edward.” He caught on to Master’s logic, it was only a lie, if you let it be. The headache, as if it had a mind of its own, rebuffed this. The pain got less and less tolerable. As a result, the boy stumbled into the stainless steel box. He gripped the handrails until his knuckles turned white. Master stepped in behind him, Edward could feel his eyes on him. “The truth always has a way of resurfacing. Unfortunately, to learn this lesson, you must experience the consequences.”

Edward did his best to think through the agony; there had to be a reason why Master was telling him this. The young teen twisted his neck, he gazed up at him with one eye, “Is it because you have?”

The man gave him a curt nod. The elevator doors opened. He didn’t even notice they had closed, or also they had moved levels. Master didn’t waste a second and started to walk down the hallway. Edward followed moments later; he had trouble keeping up with him. He recognized that they were on Master’s level; it had the only passageway with a wall that was pure glass. A subtle glow lined the darkened cityscape. Edward stopped at the door frame as Master continued toward the chessboard. The boy’s mouth pressed into a firm line, posture stiffened. He didn’t want to lose for the twelfth time, especially not in his condition. To his relief and confusion, he passed it and stood by the window. Master beckoned to Edward to stand with him, at which he obliged.

“Take this as an example.” the man started. “If I were to believe you were fine, we would have played another round of chess. You would’ve been thoroughly beaten.” Edward couldn’t argue with that. “Also…” Master looked down at him, his brown eyes peering into his blue as if he was waiting for something. He moved away from the window and towards his desk. The boy remained frozen, anticipating his next move. “I wouldn’t have known the danger you are in.”

“What-” was the only word he got off. As if on cue, he crumpled to the ground. Edward gasped for air; he felt like he was drowning. The knocking was louder than ever before; he saw flashes of a person.

The boy barely heard Master’s words. “Don’t fight it. This will make it easier.”

Something pricked his shoulder, his body lurched. Whatever it was, it felt like it injected ice water. In no time, it spread throughout his entire body. His vision went dark, the young teen felt nothing, no ground to stand upon, just an endless fall into oblivion. He attempted to scream, but even his voice was failing him. The darkness had consumed him.

Edward stopped.

Words could not describe where he was, nor when it was. Edward lied upon an infinite white plane, or what he thought it to be. The ground was smooth as glass but hard as diamond. The air was frozen in time; only his movements disrupted the stagnation. He ran his hand upon the ground, contemplating where he was, he had to be somewhere, no person was nowhere. To his relief, the headache had disappeared. Edward got to his feet; emotions had once again left him; he didn’t know if he ever had them. The boy pivoted around; there were no landmarks, nothing to indicate a location. It had to be a dream, Edward thought to himself.

He was mistaken. If only he knew how much he was. The brightest light he had ever seen, brighter than the sun, exploded in the distance. The ground trembled, almost through the boy to the ground again. An explosion followed that shook him to his core. Wind howled in the distance, and it got closer and closer. The boy forced himself out of his stupor and ran away with the vain hope of escaping the danger. Like a tidal wave, the wind-battered against him. He screamed as it tore through his clothes and even skin. The gale picked him up and threw him down, leaving Edward a bloodied mess.

The wind died down; the ground stilled, the boy’s trembling ceased. He rolled onto his lacerated back; his mind could not comprehend what had happened. “MASTER!” The boy cried out. Yes! The boy thought Master would know what was going on! He called on the man who would know. He kept on until his throat was rubbed raw, and his strength receded until they were mere whimpers. Edward was giving up hope, hope? But wasn’t it a dream? The boy reasoned. Yes! It was a dream; he would wake up soon; it was only a matter of time.

He waited. It never came.

But the boy was not without hope; his eyes caught something, something far away. It wasn’t another light, but a person. He tried to get up, only to find out his body refused to move. It was alright; the figure was getting near. “Master!” he yelled in a hoarse voice. “Help! I’m paralyzed!” Master was silent. The boy tried to twist himself free, deepening the pain. He winced in failure, he would have to wait for rescue. On further inspection of the approaching figure, ‘Master’ was shorter than he expected, much shorter. Not even the distance would explain the discrepancy.

The question ‘What?’ hung within his mind. Edward’s questions were far from answered; they multiplied. It was the person’s visage to blame. The person... was himself. It wasn’t though, and he was he, that… that was an imposter. He stepped up his efforts to break out of the prison that was his body. Everything was futile, Edward was helpless. The young teen decided to switch tactics; he tried talking to him.

The imposter was silent; even when he was standing over him, he said nothing. The real Edward took this time to analyze his imposter. They wore the same clothes, had the same eye color, same-colored hair, but there were notable differences. Tears streamed down his face and dripped onto the ground. His face was scratched up, huge bags under his eyes. The entire body of the imposter was shaking; his hands were the most erratic. What terrified the real Edward the most was just how emaciated the imposter was, he was nothing but skin clinging to bone.

Enough was enough, thought Edward. If he couldn’t get answers from Master, his imposter would have to do. “Hi-” was all he could get out.

The fake moved with inhuman speed, his hands were pressing into his throat. Words got caught in his mouth; he couldn’t even scream. The fake straddled him and gripped his throat tighter and tighter. Tears poured out from the imposter’s eyes and onto his clothes and face. His vision blurred, body convulsed in ways it should never. His lungs begged for air, and his brain screamed for it. Darkness crept into the edge of his vision; he experienced weird pains that didn’t hurt, but confused him and nauseated him. He felt like he was breaking apart.

The moment froze. Edward began to hate, it was a logical hate. It was directed wholly at the crying face above him. The imposter was the reason why he could not work, why he failed Master.

The fake moved his lips; the sound reached his ears as the world faded away. It was faint, but the dying Edward could still make it out, “I’m sorry.”

“Liar.”