When I'd first met Xerses, I was four and cried all the time. My dad's passing was partly to blame, but I know now that tears were built into my disposition. They were constant, annoying, and did nothing but keep me four years old for a long time.

What did stop my tears growing up was Xerses' smile. The smart boy next door with the chocolate eyes that followed me; the smile that made me laugh. It was always wide and bright, and erased all the dark in a room.

That's how he smiled when Roger opened the door. He stood, looking at me through the glass cell that housed him, and motioned for me to come closer. I did and let go of Roger's hand; I followed that smile.

"Missed me?" he asked, his smile a constant.

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped before I could answer him. Instead, I looked back at Roger, who leaned against the doorway, biting the insides of his cheeks. He locked eyes with me before pushing himself up straight and cleared his throat. Then, he broke that stare, looked down at the floor, and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Baby girl." Xerses pulled my attention again. "You all right?"

"I am," I sighed and pressed my hands against his cold cell, "but I should be asking you that. How is this happening? What about Verba?"

I heard Roger's foot hit the floor behind me as he spoke in Xerses' place. "No one knows, Clara," he muttered. "Little after I got here, he came around."

"He did?" My eyes followed Xerses' hand as he lifted and hovered it just over mine. Our hands were so different in size.

"He did," Roger added, and sighed. "We shared a room for a bit, before..."

Before...

I turned just my head to look back at him, only to find that he'd stepped out of the room, staring down the hall. He seemed uneasy, tense. "Roger... if you both shared a room, why's he in here and you're not?"

Roger gaze met mine, but he didn't speak. He looked like he didn't want to.

"Hey." Xerses tapped the glass. "Can't you see my eyes, Clara? I'm not normal. I'm here now, yeah, but..."

When I turned back, Xerses' smile had weakened, but his eyes were brighter than ever. "I'm not always here," he said.

No, that didn't make sense at all. Hosts wouldn't just lose control like that; once a Host, that connection couldn't be severed. Peace had tried! People died in their attempts, and yet... Xerses looked like the next piece to our puzzle.

Excitement took over. I looked back at Roger, ready to ask what steps they had taken to keep him in this aware state, but I stopped when I watched the flame from a light spark bright in his hands. He'd pulled a cigarette from his pocket and held it between his teeth. Once lit, he sucked in, then blew the smoke out the corner of his mouth. I held my breath from the smell.

"You two need a minute," he muttered, looking down the hall again. "I'll make one more swoop around, make sure no one's here. After, I'll come back before the next advancement."

Advancement? "What's a—"

"Thanks, man," Xerses cut me off. And like that, Roger was gone.

That tension that weighed down on his shoulders left with him. I could breathe again, and not because the smoke had gone, but because answering Xerses' questions felt wrong. When I looked back at him and saw that shimmer in his eyes, I remembered how easily I stopped dreaming about them; stopped worrying about him. I'd known he was alive, safe, and it was all I needed. Because for days, my world had revolved around something... someone... else.

"By the look on your face, I take it you don't know what the next advancement is?" Xerses chuckled.

I nodded.

"He hasn't told you much, has he?"

"No," I said, shaking my head, "no time, I guess. I haven't been up for too long."

"I see." Xerses leaned back to get a better look at me. "Surprised you're even walking."

I looked down at my legs and laughed; the pants hug loose around my thighs. "There's a lot of surprises today."

I smiled, but he didn't. He moved away from the glass and rubbed his hands together. Dropping down on his bed, he tapped the small radio beside it. It wouldn't turn on, but he tried anyway. It wasn't the music he needed; he was thinking of a way to change the subject. I knew it.

"Advancements," he said suddenly, looking back at me. "It's the movements Peace has done since their other factions came through. Men get sent out to re-secure the other buildings, protect us from Hosts. Most of the city is under Province control, so..."

"Province?" I looked at the side of his face. "X, it isn't the Province that did this. It was Polk—Zara Polk."

He lifted a brow. "I know, you think I wouldn't?"

"X..."

His smile. I thought it'd lift the mood, but it only made it worse. "As for the room Roger and I shared, they took me out once Verba came back."

I shifted uncomfortably. "What?"

"She was gone," he muttered, turning towards his single window. "I was free. Erica pulled me out from that old, dingy room and fed me. Clothed me. But I—I attacked him, Clara." He looked down at his feet before looking back at me. "You can't see it with those nano-bots he has—he heals pretty damn fast. But that night... there was blood everywhere. Apparently, I attacked Douglas, too; and Bessel."

Bessel?

"Matthews had to hold me down so Erica could sedate me; so I'd stop hurting people."

My blood went cold as he stood and approached me again. I couldn't help but look at his unnatural eyes.

"And that's why I'm here, Clara." He pressed his hands against the glass. "I can't be trusted."

I felt for him. We stared at each other without words, his heart crying out to mine, but I wouldn't tell him I understood what he felt, because I couldn't. I wasn't in his shoes, and I hadn't been. But I could imagine what it was like for him, standing in a room, ready to attack people against his will. Of course, no one would trust him; he was a bomb. One outcasted from enemy lines and placed in our care... because I'd requested it. Did I damn him to this? I only wanted to save him.

"She isn't here now, obviously," Xerses whispered, lowering his head, "but Verba likes to make surprise appearances."

"And you..." I bit my lip. "You can't control it?"

"No," he shook his head, then chuckled quietly, "but Erica, she's good, you know? Really got my hopes up about this machine that might free me. So, I'm dealing."

Like he'd done earlier, I hovered my hand over his, fingertips pressed against the glass. He looked at my hand and almost smiled, but stopped, because footsteps echoed down the hall outside.

"Erica will get it," I told him. "You'll be all right."

"Always optimistic." He snorted.

The footsteps came closer, almost hurried, and I turned to see who would come in the room.

"You know he sat by your bed every chance he got." Xerses' voice deepened. "Came in regularly, updated me on how you were; if you woke up yet. All he did was talk about you. Just... the way he did it, said it all—like, you were everything to him. Are everything."

I turned back to look at him, but his eyes were focused on the blank wall across his room. "Who...?"

He shifted just his eyes to look at me. "Roger."

Roger's name lingered in the air long enough for him to return to the door and knock on the frame. Both Xerses and I looked up at him, and I noticed the cigarette in his mouth smoked halfway; noticed the look in his eyes. His gaze bounced from Xerses and me, and when neither of us spoke, he cleared his throat. "Did you take the pills Erica gave you?"

I hadn't—I'd forgotten about them. They were still in my pocket, wrapped in a small towel. "No," I whispered.

He nodded once, removed his cigarette, and looked down at his hand. "It's fine, just take them now. We've got to get to the conference room." He lifted his eyes and his hand, extending it for me to grab. "After, you can come back and see him. I'll give you the code."

"Don't worry about it." Xerses barely looked at us. "You guys have shit to do. Get it done, so I can get out of here."

Roger paused and when I grabbed his hand, he pulled me towards the door. Rather than move us out into the hall, we stayed in the doorway. His eyes scanned my face, a finger just under my chin. Though he didn't speak, I felt... interrogated. I couldn't read his expression, so I couldn't feel the questions he wanted to ask.

After a minute, he looked back towards Xerses and said, "If there's time, I'll bring her back." He gave him a weak smile. "That's a promise I can make."

"Yeah." Xerses finally moved, but gave us his back, then made himself comfortable on the bed behind him. His head dropped down on his pillow, his hands over his face. His sighed echoed behind the glass. "Do that," he muttered, muffled and distant, "you're good at that."

What?

Before I could ask, Roger made a noise, shut the door, and escorted me down the hall.

♦

When I was told about additional factions coming up to join Peace, I had no idea the numbers they came in. New Chicago had less than thirty, but the others—Ohio, ninety-three members; Old New York, one hundred fifty-three members.

The conference room had no space to stand freely, and the table we once sat around, barely full, was now covered in hands and surrounded with chairs; those who couldn't sit, stood, hands leaning on the chair before them.

Roger and I could barely get in. But when we did, I looked at the end of the room where Douglas and two others stood, addressing the crowd. The Leader I claimed looked at me, nodded, but not once did he stop talking. He pointed at the blueprints Roger had made for them, printed on the wall; two screens had detailed maps of Provincial Hall. I followed his fingers as he pointed at the halls we'd run through; at the doors we hadn't opened. I leaned closer and listened, until Roger pulled in a chair from outside the hall and had me sit beside the door. He placed his hands on my shoulders, like the reassurance he was before.

"We've taken control of several buildings down on Old Michigan Ave, both South and North, as well as areas around the abandoned Loop." Douglas pointed at a third screen with a city map. "Bessel's men are stationed here—" he pointed at one corner, "—and here. They're sending in updates every ten minutes. So far, it's been two days without a host sighting. They've also managed to hack into the Province's old security system."

"Old?" The word left me, though I hadn't meant it to. Roger squeezed my shoulders.

"Ah," Douglas sighed and smiled at me. He waved his hand in my direction, then motioned over to the tall man beside him. It took a second for me to realize he was the same man who'd passed me in the hall with the others, like henchman; the one who gave me that uneasy feeling. With his hanging shirt and wrinkled jeans, he looked like Douglas' complete opposite. "Bessel," Douglas said, patting the man's shoulder, "meet Clara, the uncontrollable."

Uncontrollable? I froze.

Did I still have that name?

Bessel's eyes darkened as he smirked and lifted his chin to better look at me. The men who stood near me moved aside to give him a better view. "Well, Sleeping Beauty, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Have a good nap?"

I didn't know what to say. What kind of greeting was that? Like my nap was my own choice...

"Hey." Roger leaned close to my ear, hands squeezing the sides of my arms. "He's a bit of an ass, but okay, I swear."

With a grunt, I faked my smile towards Bessel and nodded my head, a silent hello. Inside, I growled up at the heavens. Was I supposed to take Roger's word for it?

"Back to it, then. As I was saying—" Douglas continued, but I didn't listen; at least not completely. He said something about front lines and Hosts, about skilled shooters atop buildings they'd lost, and while I heard him, I was focused on something else. Someone else.

Bessel.

He stood, hands behind his back, eyes forward. One of the men beside him, the one I'd seen down the hall, leaned close and whispered something in his ear; he whispered back. I narrowed my eyes, wishing I could hear him, but that's when I heard Douglas instead.

"A soldier's mind is hard to erase." He clapped his hands once, and that really got my attention. "If it's a war they want, we'll gladly fight back."

"Fight?" I could never keep my mouth shut. "Who's fighting?"

Bessel cleared his throat. "We are, who else?"

I stood to cross the room, but Roger grabbed my hands, stopping me before I approached the table. "Who else? We aren't soldiers! There hasn't been an army since the last war! No amount of training can help us through this!"

Bessel laughed in such a cocky way, it made me sick. He looked at Douglas before looking back at me with a twisted grin. He waved his hand, and like servants, the men at his side and a few others approached him. They didn't smile like he did, but I didn't like them either.

He pointed at the duo at the end of his line. "This here is Clark and Alex, from Ohio."

"Ohio?" I narrowed my gaze.

"Yes, Ohio. The State. I'm from Old New York, if it matters to you."

It didn't matter, but I needed him to get on with it. My eyes danced from Douglas, to the other Peace members I recognized; each looked at me, noting the frustration on my face. How else was I supposed to react? Mr. New York traveled our way to belittle me? Me? If it hadn't been for me, there'd be no...

"Clara." Roger pulled me back one step and whispered in my ear. "Relax. I can explain."

"No," I hissed under my breath. "This is stupid. We can't fight. They want to keep X locked up and turn us into their dogs."

Bessel clicked his teeth. "Your friend X will stay put in that room, whether you like it or not, Dog."

Wow. I bit my tongue.

"Now, as I was saying..." Bessel's voice became firm as Alex, a lovely redhead, pulled a headset out from a box beside one of the many computers. "Alex here, and her wonderful husband Clark, have been on the verge of new science with headgear, like this one. It's designed to train minds, teach new abilities, especially to those who otherwise cannot learn normally. Originally meant for someone born with a disability or having developed a disease that stopped normal functionality, we will be using this to learn the joys of battle."

Joys of battle? Who was this guy?

"A rehabilitation device?" I asked.

Clark chuckled and nodded. He was blond, bright, and blue-eyed; pleasing to look at. When he smiled, I thought he'd speak, but Bessel spoke instead. "You're smart. That's what it is, yes."

"And, it's supposed to, what?"

"I take it back." Bessel rolled his eyes.

My blood had reached its boiling point, spilling over the imaginary pot I had inside me. I felt it in my cheeks, on my skin; I was red, hot, and burning, and not in a good way.

"What he means is—" Douglas waved a hand between our burning stares, "—over half of the members we planned to have on the front line have already used the headset. What is normally an hour or so here in real time, is a day in that device. A few hours within its induced sleep, we've had a few days rough training. Only difference between that and reality, is within that realm, whatever we learn leaves imprints on our brains, without moving our muscles. It creates memories we ourselves do not naturally have. Thus, fighting becomes second nature."

"It's safe," Clark spoke, and his voice was soft, deep, and calming. So calming, I stood straight and relaxed. "Alex and I have created ten headsets. We've already worked through our faction, and well into the others. From Douglas' faction, you're the last one to be trained."

"Me?" I looked at Douglas, who without remorse, nodded his head. "Why me? Obviously, I failed the last time."

I thought back to the gun I'd accidentally shot, and Matthews who defended me until he was bloodied and cold.

"No, you didn't fail," Douglas said with a smile. "You did what we couldn't. Now, I don't want you in the front, but I do need you out there. You and that device of yours."

He tapped his scar behind his ear, and I touched the scar over my receptor. I honestly had forgotten all about it because Roger wasn't in it anymore.

With my fingers still over my scar, I turned to look at Roger, and asked, "Why my receptor?"

Roger didn't smile or nod or say a word; not at first. He waved his hand instead. In seconds, the many screens that displayed various maps and blueprints changed, each covered with the exact image of his face. When he smiled, the images did too, and it took no one by surprise. "It may not feel like it, but I'm still here." He touched the spot behind my ear and gently pressed down against my scar. "Together, we're untouchable, because I'm tapped in." His finger moved from my ear to my face, and he caressed my cheek. "And you're uncontrollable."

My mouth opened, but no sound came out. That's when Roger leaned in close, lips directly by my ear. "It'd been better if I showed you..."