I'm not in the helicopter anymore. I'm not even sitting upright. I blink a few times, then rub the back of my neck.

A dull throb beats in my forehead, just as confused and disoriented as I am. Black curtains cocoons the little space, and a plastic chair clarifies next to me. I peer down at my clothing, the same agency-branded jeans and polo as always.

My back presses into the dentist office lounge chair. I lift my hands to feel my forehead. Two wires stick to my temples, and two more materialize on my wrists. I know better than to pull them off. It'll only bring people into this hospital...

I blink a few more times, scanning the room again. I'm in a hospital? I'm alive? Aren't I supposed to be, like, dead or something?

It only takes a second to recall everything, beginning with the juvenile agency. My interrogation with Daniel. Walking through the Ruins. A helicopter. That weird oxygen mask with the little metal can...

I'm in a Renegade hospital. Oh, crap.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I crane my neck to view the entire room. Which curtain do I rip down first to escape? Just as I take a deep breath, to hoist myself to my feet, I hear a nearby door open and close.

Blood runs cold in my veins. Too late now.

Metal grommets screech against the curtain rod. A deep voice speaks. "Daniel, I trust that you can handle onboarding Miss Cummins?"

My mind fires a million silent insults at Daniel, but I don't move an inch. I keep my eyes slid shut and my breath as steady as a beating drum, as if I'm still asleep.

Daniel snickers, sparking flames in my gut. "You mean Agent Cummins, Sergeant." My temper burns. Stay still, Ashley, stay still.

The sergeant doesn't sound impressed. "No jokes, Fadhill. Do not touch or terrorize her, and that's a direct order."

Daniels laughs arrogantly. "I'm telling you, she was resisting!"

"We're not discussing this here, Fadhill," the sergeant says, "and you know what constitutes minimal force, both mentally and physically. One more infraction, and I will alert your father."

Daniel doesn't miss a beat. "It doesn't matter if you tell my father. Dad's in charge of all the Renegades here, and you both know I'm the best Clarifier here. He's not going to remove me from my position because of her."

Daniel says his next line like he's trying to say it under his breath. An unfiltered thought laced with poison. "I'll stop treating Cummins like a stuck-up Statie once she stops acting like one."

My temper explodes. Without thinking, I open my eyes, rip the wires off, and launch myself at Daniel, the arrogant, disgusting, despicable Renegade near the foot of my chair. I force him to the ground and punch him hard in the face. Daniel laughs as if I was tickling him. I hit him again.

I'm not a Statie. I don't make the rules or the laws. I'm just trying to be a decent interrogator to get a decent paycheck. A boy like Daniel is not going to blame me for the problems he created.

The sergeant doesn't rush to pull me off of Daniel, but he does grab me with muscular arms when I try to slip past the curtain. The two of them tackle my limbs and cart me into the hospital hallway.

The few nurses in the hall don't even bother to look in my direction. How can they be so immune to screams? Ones that rip through my throat until they scratch it dry? I have to remind myself again I'm in Renegade territory. Rules don't apply for them.

The two Renegades push swinging doors open at the end of the hall. The sergeant drops me into a chair and locks my wrists to the wooden arm.

"Sorry for picking you up," the sergeant says, towering over me, "but I'm glad you got a few punches on Fadhill. That kid is a real piece of work."

"Serg, I'm standing right here!" Daniel says. His lean figure fails to match the sergeant's grandiose strength. "Behind my back next time? Please?"

I shoot the sergeant a dirty look and rattle the handcuffs. While the two of them bicker, I scan the room. It's a typically hospital waiting room with the tacky carpet, dusty chairs, and wood-and-wire toys for kids. There's an older lady peacefully reading a book at a raised counter. No windows, though, and no red exit signs.

I say, "What the heck is this place? Some sort of brainsweeping headquarters?"

"No, it's actually a--" the sergeant starts. The locked doors glide open behind me. I nearly fall through the opening, but my mom catches me in a hug.

My heart drops. My mom is here? I do what any other teenage-girl-kidnapped-by-Renegades would do: I hug her like its my lifeline to reality. I hear one of my brothers say my name, and I pull out of the hug to embrace them as well.

My eyes skim each person. Hair free of dandruff, faces clean and shiny. Each look healthy, well-fed, and even a bit happy.

"Ashley, honey," my mom says as she runs her hand lightly on my arm. I turn to her again as she grazes her hands over my cheeks. Dark, curly hair pulled tight in a bun, creases in her deep smile so thankful to see me. "This is going to sound odd, but we're all going to be safe here."

I look at her in disbelief. "Mom, how can you say that? These people are terrorists." The Renegades could have brainswept her, too, but she doesn't have that bloodthirsty look Daniel had. I remain cautious.

She tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. "I know, sweetie, but you have to trust me on this one." She takes a deep breath, wrinkles forming and disappearing at the corners of her mouth. "Daddy was working as a Renegade before he died."

"What? Nuh-uh, no way," I say, backing away from her. For some reason, I look to the sergeant for confirmation. He nods.

Mom says, "Ashley, you have to trust me on this. It's a lot to ask, but I promise you everything will make sense if you let the sergeant explain."

"Okay," I drag out reluctantly. I don't say anything about Daniel because I don't want to worry her. If she's in her right mind, she might lose it if I tell her about the bruises from him.

The sergeant asks me to follow him, and I do so. I really don't know what I could do instead. There's no way I can escape this place, so my best bet is to play along and seize the opportunity when it comes.

We walk through a door and a navy hall before entering a little waiting room 100 times more comfortable than the one I work in. I lower myself into cushioned blue seat at the wooden tabld. The sergeant takes a seat across from me, a computer screen in between us. He pushes it out of the way so I have a clear view of him.

He starts the conversation by getting to the point. "The Renegades don't actually take over peoples' brains. We're a rebel group."

Ha, nice try. "Not true. You people are evil."

He exhales. "Let me prove it to you." Pulling the monitor in front of him, he touches away on the screen and turns it towards me. He plays the video of Daniel's arrest at the courthouse.

"That proves nothing," I say in response to the video I've seen dozens of times.

"Where are all the bodies of the employees? Where are all the families to interview?"

"It was too horrifying to put the bodies on a newscast," I reply, "and they never interview family."

The sergeant raises an eyebrow. "Where's the graves? Did they take shots of the graves?"

"No."

The sergeant raises an eyebrow and reclines in his seat. "If the Renegades really could take over minds, I'd be a lot easier to make the world into an army by infecting the water supply with Renegadea rather than setting off a bomb in an empty courthouse, right?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. I've wondered the same thing before, about the water. "Well... true, but our wastewater systems disinfect--"

"And your government? Do they ever help feed or protect or help any citizens?"

"Yeah, I mean, I guess," I say, thinking about the countless paycheck my family hardly survived on, "but the States protect us from--"

"The Renegades," the sergeant says, leaning back in his chair. He pulls out a dictionary from a drawer and slaps it on the table. He opens up the book to a bookmarked page and commands me to read the highlighted part out loud.

"Renegade," I read plainly, almost mockingly as I glance up at him. "Noun. A person who deserts one cause or party for another."

"Read the synonyms," the sergeant says.

I sigh. "Deserter, traitor, rebel."

"And the dictionary doesn't lie, correct?" the sergeant says.

"Renegades are technically traitors," I point out.

An idea for a deal pops into my head. I debate about whether to ask, but it's now or never. "Explain the Pennsylvania bombings that took my--" I begin, mumbling the word father. My voice perks up after passing over the word. "Then I just might believe you."

The sergeant softens his expression, much to my surprise. "Our rebel headquarters used to be in Pennsylvania," he begins, "and the States annihilated it, killing countless rebels and innocent citizens."

My mind flickers back to my encounter with Daniel and the stranger on the street. "I guess that could make sense. But what about the guy outside the juvenile agency? In the street?"

The sergeant fiddles with his screen again, showing me the exact moment when Daniel speaks to the man. "A Renegade himself."

"Fine," I say. This dude's got a point, but I just can't abandon a lifetime of belief with one conversation. "Assuming that Renegadea isn't around anymore, then Daniel was acting like a Renegade in the agency interrogation room and in the helicopter?"

The sergeant sighs and slides the monitor to the side. "Correct. Dan is a really good Clarifier, or undercover recruiter of the States' citizens to join the Renegades. His dad is the Renegade leader who assigned him to clarify you and your family."

I continue to ask hundreds of questions until my lungs empty and my throat dries. The sergeant answers them all, which steers my understanding of Renegades more towards "rebels" rather than "anarchists." I've had my own doubts. Everyone does, but you just bite your tongue and forget you ever thought it.

I don't know. I can sympathize with the sergeant, but that's where I'd draw the line. No way will I ever trust Daniel. Certainly not Daniel. Never Daniel.

Turns out the sergeant has his own agenda, too. He bounces an array of questions about the juvenile agency off me. I decide it's safe to answer. In terms of the States, I'm a traitor and a coward now, but something about the sergeant's Renegade story compels me to believe him. At least a little.

I tell the sergeant some basic information about the agency, starting from my first round of basic training up to my interrogations. A sickening feeling fills my stomach. I'm kind of the bad guy for working for such a corrupt place. Or maybe I'm the bad guy for committing treason against the agency and the States?

I don't give the sergeant everything I know, though. No mention of the files or techniques or anything too tactical. Some cards need to stay in my hands. I just don't know what's true anymore.

The sergeant nods, pleased with my information. Once we finish answering a few more questions, the sergeant leads me back to the waiting room.

When the doors open again, I see my mother and siblings seated across the room. My brothers, John, age 6, Finn, age 8, and Matt, age 11 play a game of cards at my mother's feet. Her lips move as she reads a picture book with my two-year-old baby sister, Mandy. So many of us yet all so united with our dark, wavy hair and rounded faces. Mom rises from her seat when she sees me enter the room.

"I brought you some clothes," she says, motioning to a small stack on the seat next to her. Thanking her, I take the clothes and, as an afterthought, I tap John with my shoe.

"Hey, you," I say, kneeling next to my brother. "Did you miss me?"

"Oh, hey, Ash," he says, focused on the card game. Matt and Finn say "hi" to me as well, but I don't expect much more from any them. They show their love for me in a very low-key way, and apparently, they trust the Renegades, too.

I sneakily kiss John on the cheek and return to an upright stance. The sergeant directs me to the bathroom, and he talks with my mom before returning to the hospital wing.

I stride into the bathroom, choosing the first stall and locking the door behind me. Mom always pays attention to detail, so she managed to bring me an entire set of clean clothes: black v-neck t-shirt, khaki-colored shorts, and sneakers. She even got me a brush and a hair-tie.

I change quickly, slinging my hair into a messy ponytail. Re-joining my family, I take a seat next to my mom. She catches me up about the events that occurred over the past two days, the amount of time I was unconscious in the hospital. Just as I relax against the back of my seat and think about life finally having some stability, the hospital doors swoosh open. I turn to face the doors, expecting to see the sergeant enter the room.

My eyes fall on a male figure, and it's not the sergeant. It's Daniel Fadhill.

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oh, yes, daniel is back... *cue dramatic music.* i hope you liked this update because it's about to get interesting.