My head bounces off the dark tinted window and I open my eyes in alarm. I lift my head to watch the guard in the front seat exit the car, and someone pulls the door next to me open. A man in a dark green button up shirt grins down at me and takes me arm, pulling me out of the car.
“My, did it take a while for us to find you.” His voice is gruff and tinted with age and wear.
The sharp squeal of a low flying jet rises the hair on the back of my neck as I take in my new surroundings. A small jet sits in its all white and black pinstriped glory, shining in the hot summer sun. The black letters on both the side and wings show one patronizing name, Norman. The hot, black pavement shines with hour old rainwater, the air hinting another storm is due soon.
“The names George Claudius Sutcliffe, but you’ll call me General Sutcliffe, understood?” he asks and sets his hand on my shoulder, the work worn shin brushing the back of my neck.
“Yes, sir.” My voice is small, timid, almost obedient, but I meant it to be the opposite of that.
He chuckles and pushes my back, forcing me to move toward the jet. Once I’ve climbed the three steps and sat myself in a comfortable leather seat next to one of the many windows, the General leans forward and unties my bonds. I rub at the red marks on my wrists and scowl. He chuckles again.
“We’re on our way to Norman, but I’m sure you’re already aware of that. Once we arrive, you will be given a change of clothes and then sent to a ballroom where you’ll receive training,” he says and walks to a bar built into the wall, pouring himself something that smells like scotch when he returns and finishes talking. I nod, already made well aware of the future that awaits both me and my best friend. He leans back in his seat and stares at me, his eyes hooded.
“So, tell me. Why are we so blessed with your presence?” His gruff voice fills the spacious cabin and he lets the question hang limply in the air, waiting for an answer. I ponder this question for a long moment, picking at my bloodied nail beds. One of my fingernails is missing, probably buried in the door frame of my bedroom.
“I… Uh… Got caught by the government…” I  trail off and he raises his grey eyebrows.
“Doing what?”
“I stole the files and codes for the thing they’re sending to work on. I messed up the codes for both sides, forcing them both to start from scratch,” I mumble and he gulps down the rest of his scotch. He stands up and makes his way back to the bar, pouring himself another glass.
“Care for one?” he asks, holding up his glass of carmely liquid.
“If scotch is the only thing you’ve got, then I’ll pass.”
“How’d you’d you know what is was?” he asks, staring down at the liquid in his glass.
“I can smell it on your breath,” I mumble. “Do you have anything stronger?” His eyebrows raise again, then he turns back to the bar.
“Name what you want, I’ve probably got it. Let’s see… I’ve got Jack, Whiskey, Vodka-”
“Jack will do. You sure it’s okay? I’m still underage,” I say as he pulls out another glass and tosses an ice cube into it.
“Age doesn’t matter anymore. You worry way too much,” he says and walks back over to join me, handing me the bronze colored liquid. I sip it, then after the burning settles down, I gulp down the rest. The General stares at me in wonder.
“Doesn’t that burn?” he asks.
“The burn dulls the other pains,” I tell him and he nods softly, sipping at his own scotch.
“There’s something… Peculiarly? I guess that’s the term. Anyways, something’s a little weird about the way you word your sentences. What else is wrong with you?” Talk about a peculiarly way to word a sentence… He raises both of his eyebrows as he waits for my answer. I once again ponder on this question, tilting the cup so the ice cube tinks against the glass.
“I wasn’t aware that I worded my sentences weird,” I finally mumble and tilt the glass again, the musical sound of ice against glass filling the still air.
“You do. What else is so strange about you?” he asks and I shrug.
“I’m very, very good at guessing.” He tilts his head slightly.
“Guessing? Like guessing on tests?” he asks and sets his glass down on the table next to me.
“Guessing people,” I correct and he presses his lips into a thin line.
“What do you mean?” he questions and I shrug again.
“Well…” I look closely at his posture, his face, his outfit. “You’ve been in two… No wait- three wars. Vietnam, Korea, and Desert Storm.” His eyes widen and I continue.
“You were raised in Kentucky, moved to Mississippi when you were a teen, where lived near the banks of the Mississippi River. When you were old enough, I’m going to say about 16, you joined the army and met your wife. You moved to Montana where you lived for several years on a ranch and had three children; two boys and one girl. You got called to Iraq to be on the team that killed Osama and were then placed on the president’s tactical force. You live in a cottage-like home near the White House and the ranch in Montana is used as more of a vacation house that only your wife and children visit,” I ramble and his mouth falls open.
“D-Did you read my file or something?” he accuses as he points an aged finger at me.
“Didn’t need to,” I say and shrug. “It’s written out for me to read right now.” I gesture toward him and he looks down at himself.
“What do you mean?” he asks carefully. I roll my eyes at him.
“Your hands are worn and overworked. Your shirt collar is crinkled slightly. You boots are smudged with dirt. You love to fish,” I conclude and he stares at me in awe.
“How did you…?” He can’t finish his sentence. The plane bounces slightly, then it jostles violently, throwing both the glasses onto the floor and I grip the sides of my seat tightly.
“Easy now. It’s just a bit of turbulence. We must be going through a storm,” he grumbles and leans down to pick up the glasses that are rolling freely around the floor, bumping back and forth between our feet. I relax my fingers and sigh.
“Is Dakota there already?” The question has formed and pulled itself out on its own. The General sits back up in his chair and balances one of the glasses on his knee as he contemplates the question.
“The Dakota that agreed to come in with you?” he asks and I nod my head. He purses his lips as he thinks again.
“He has arrived and should have started training yesterday, but Norman wants to keep you two together,” he murmurs and I raise my eyebrows.
“Together?” I question and he hums in response. He stands and returns the glasses to the bar.
“They’re scared that if you two are separated, you two will do something and once again bring them down.” I roll my eyes.   
“The only way I could do that is if I had access to a computer,” I grumble and a smile slides across his lips.
“That’s all Norman is full of,” he says and my eyebrows raise once again.
“What exactly are you suggesting, General?” I question and his smile falls.
“Absolutely nothing, Madyson. Nothing at all.” The plane bounces again, and I prepare myself for another jostling that doesn’t come. The plane slowly begins to free fall out of the sky toward the place I don’t want to go.
“Looks like we’re here,” the General mumbles. In response, the seat-belt light comes to life with a ding. I reach around my body and click the seat belt. I lean back in my seat and close my eyes, preparing myself mentally and physically for the horrors that await me.

Upon my arrival at Norman, I was handed a pale blue pair of scrubs and sent down a hallway and into a large gymnasium. When I push open the instructed door, a tall, lanky man stands in the middle of the room. His dark hair touches his shoulders, it's knotted ends tangle together.
At the sound of the door slamming behind me, his head whips around so he can look at me. He narrows his dark eyes at me as he observes me.
“I think you’ve got the wrong room, Kid,” he orders in a deep voice and my fingers go cold.
“Ballroom 12A. That’s where they wanted me to go. That’s what is says on the door,” I say and his eyes narrow further.
“Madyson?” he asks and I nod my head, switching from foot to foot nervously.
“Okay, you are supposed to be here. My name is James, but you can call me Jimmy.” He walks up to me and flicks his dreadlocks from his eyes.
“Just call me Madie, please,” I mumble and he raises an eyebrow.
“Okay, well anyways.” He claps his hands together and bounces on the balls of his feet. “What we’ll be doing today is just taking your weight, prints, and height to get you fitted for your Ausie,” he says and points to the center of the large room. I stand where I am told.
“Don’t worry about moving or anything, your weight and height is calculated where you are standing now. Your prints were taken when you touched the doorknob,” he says as he leaves the room and reappears behind a pane of glass in the wall across from me.
“Okay just don’t move,” he mumbles as he re-enters the room, holding a small box. He retrieves what is inside the box and clanks around with something metal. “This will hurt, just try not to move.” His words lay hot on my neck as he holds the side of my head, making me tilt my face toward the ceiling. Something cold touches the base of my throat and I squeeze my eyes closed as he pushes something sharp into my sensitive skin. He steps back and I peel open my eyes to look at his empty hands.
“Now don’t move,” he says and once again leaves the room. Click, click, click, click, the clicking seems to go forever. Eventually, though, the clicking becomes more and more distant. Jimmy comes back into the room and pulls the device out of my neck and slaps a band aid to the wound in my throat.
“Just move slowly. I’ll escort you wherever you’d like,” he offers and I nod when my legs almost give out underneath me.
“Well, where to?” I press my lips together as I wrap one of my arms around his broad shoulders. 
“Do you know where Dakota would be?” I ask and his chuckles vibrate my shoulder.
“He asked the same thing when he got here. Luckily for you, though, I just happen to actually know where he is,” he says and glances over at me as we make our way over to the door. After leaving the room, he guides me through a maze of hallways and to another gym set up as a cafeteria. Six tables line either side of the room and are occupied mainly by men and women in light green scrub-like clothes with blue hats. Behind or in front them, resting across the tables, are large guns. They eye me carefully as Jimmy drags me toward one of the tables full of cold, mushy food. He picks out two muffins, hands one to me, and drags me out of another door, stuffing his muffin into his mouth.
“I’m not all that hungry,” I mumble and attempt to hand it back to him, but he shakes his head.
“If you don’t eat that, you won’t be able to eat. The pipe in your throat peeled you esophagus open to control your eating habits. If you don’t eat now, the incision will close and you’ll starve to death,” he says and I pull the muffin back.
“You’re lying,” I whisper and he looks down at me, raising an eyebrow in a challenging way. I stare at the muffin then gulp. I pull it toward me, bite into it and roll one of the stale blueberries back and forth between my teeth as I think.
“You sure that you want to see him? He doesn’t know that you’re here. He doesn’t even know that we got our hands on you yet,” Jimmy says and pulls me to a stop. I nod hard and he huffs out a sigh as he reaches into his scrub pocket, withdrawing an ID card and swiping it in the card slot in the large glass door in front of us. The door slides open when it recognizes his card and I am faced with yet another long grey hallway.
He helps me along down the long hallway and after we round a corner or two, passing by sleeping people inside dull white rooms, we stop in front of a clear glass door. Inside is a bed with pale blue sheets, a white wardrobe, a white nightstand, with a silver lamp that has a light pink lamp shade, and on top of the ugly blue sheets, lays a familiar boy that I dread seeing, because I’m the reason for the frown evident on his sleeping face. Jimmy clicks a big blue button on the wall next to the door and it slides open with a whoosh of wind that blows my long hair out of my eyes. He helps me into the room and Kota’s body stirs, then one of his eyes open and he glances over at us. His other eye open as they go wide and his lips partly in surprise as he sits up on the bed, the spring mattress groaning in resistance underneath him. Once on his feet, his light blue scrub pants are folded up to his calf, and his dark hair is a wild mess from his fingers finding their ways through it.
“W-What are you doing here? You- they said… You wouldn’t be coming…” His voice is small and nothing like it was a couple of weeks ago. His bottom lip trembles as he stares at me, his muddy eyes collecting tears. “They said you had gotten away and they didn’t know where you were,” he whispers and a tear falls down his face. I push Jimmy away from me and stumble my way toward my best friend. I hold him close to me and inhale a mixture of detergent and lavender, this isn’t his normal smell.
“It’s alright, Kota. We’re in this together,” I whisper into his scrub shirt and he sniffles.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t run… You knew they got me… You should have ran…” I hold up my hand to show him my missing fingernails, showing that I didn’t give up without a fight. He reaches for my hands to look at them closer, but I pull my hand back and hug him close to me again.
“I wasn’t going to leave you. Friends forever, remember?” I whisper into his ear and his arm hair stands up on end. I slowly step away from his trembling body and I stumble over my weak legs. Jimmy catches me, and I jump slightly because I forgot he was still in here with us; watching and listening as our entire world falls apart in front of him.
“You alright?” Jimmy asks down to me and I gulp in attempt to catch the breath that has escaped my body. My legs are like Jello and I have to lean against Jimmy for support, the world around me fading in and out.
“Madie?” Kota takes a step toward me, but stops when Jimmy lifts a hand off of my shoulders.
“It’s alright, she just needs some rest, that’s all,” Jimmy says in an overly calm tone. He lifts me almost effortlessly into his arms and moves toward the door, Kota’s footsteps following in close pursuit. The motion of Jimmy’s arms makes me dizzy and a bubble begins to push itself up my throat, and before I can stop it, the gut wrenching stench of bile fills my nose and I squeeze my eyes closed in attempt to flee the smell.
“Madie!” Kota’s voice seems miles away and echoes through my sore brain, bouncing and dissipating then reappearing and slamming against my head dozens of times. Eventually, though, it fades away into silence and darkness and my mind fills with still images of what I could have done better, things I could have done to prevent Kota from ending up here too, a way I could have protected him. He probably hates me for putting him here too and he probably wishes that I would just die already, like I wish as well. I’ve hurt far too much, to often for it to be healthy for him or me. Kota, I’m so sorry for hurting you, for dragging you into this situation with me. Please, forgive me.

It’s an epidemic, a parasite they refuse to let die. They told me that the reason I got so sick was because I wasn’t fit to have to ‘food controller’ in my throat. My body rejected the foreign device and damn near killed me, not that I would have cared. 
“Are you sure you’re feeling well enough to be up and walking around?” Kota asks me for the hundredth time in five minutes. I roll my eyes and scratch at the infected barcode imprinted on the inside of my left wrist.
“Yes, Kota I feel fine,” I  reply and he glares at my scratching hand. I drop it to  my side and return the glare.
“If you itch it, it’ll become even more infected,” he snaps and roll my eyes again. We stop in front of the hospital wing and Kota raises his eyebrows at the closed automatic glass double doors. 
“I’ve been here for three days, and I had no idea they had a hospital wings in here,” he murmurs and I shrug, The doors sense us and slide open on their own, waiting for us to enter the mouth of the beast. Kota glances at me and I once again shrug,
“They’re waiting for us,” I joke and he glares at me.
“It’d probably be funny if it wasn’t true,” he grumbles and walks through the doors. I roll my eyes at his back and follow. There’s no point in selfish arguing anymore, we’re equal now. Once inside the cleanest place I’ve ever been in, we get stopped by a nurse in a light green scrub outfit that looks identical to all the other workers here.
“Who gave you two permission to be back here?” she barks as she eyes us, searching our wrists for the special access code that she doesn’t find.
“James is having me stay in here so they can watch my process with the food controllers,” I say and she glares at me sharply, as if I’ve overstepped my boundaries by speaking.
“I don’t see your medical pass,” she growls, her voice lurching forward as she stares us down. “I’ll call security if you two lab rats don’t get back to your area,” she threatens, then her lips close tight when she looks above my head.
“These aren’t lab rats. She had her body reject the food controller and the boy is not to leave her side. Did you just decide to ignore that part of yesterday’s reports?” a voice says from behind me and they set their hand on my shoulder, A shock of electricity makes my arm hair stand up on end with excitement. I turn to face this stranger, having to andly my neck to be able to meet his dark eyes that are hidden under a pair of thick rimmed, square glasses. His dark hair is pushed out of his eyes. He gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his  eyes and then looks back at the nurse.
“She’s under both mine and Jimmy’s strict watch. They are to stay here until we release them, which won’t be for a while, so leave them be,” he orders and with one last glare, the nurse turns and struts away.Kota and I turn to look at the stranger, and Kota wipes away invisible beads of sweat from his brow.
“Thanks man. You completely saved our asses,” he says with a smile. The stranger nods in recognition, then walks passes us and toward my temporary sleeping quarters.
“Who are you?” I ask, having to jog to keep up with him. He stays silent until we enter my room.
“Mole,” he states as he digs through a cupboard he unlocked with a set of key he pulled from his pocket.
“Huh?” Kota asks, his eyebrows raised high in questioning.
“Call me Mole.” He stands back up and turns toward us, his arms full of needles and vials. He flicks his dark hair from his eyes.
“What’re those for?” Kota asks and eyes the needles with suspicion. He’s always had a fear of needles. That’s why he was always sick as a child, he refused to get his shots.
“I’m going to run some tests on you both.” His reply is quick and curt. He presses Kota’s chest and makes him sit down on the bed. Kota glares at the needle in Mole’s hand and he shakes his head.
“You aren’t sticking me with those,” he growls and Mole rolls his dark eyes at him from under his glasses. He glances at me nervously and shakes his head hard.
“You can hold my hand if you’d like.” I nod at him and hold my hand out toward him. He glares at me, but takes my hand anyways
“Just remember, if you move I have to poke you again,” Mole warns before holding a vial up to a syringe to fill it. Once he’s finished, he turns and holds the side of Kota’s head to keep him from moving. He squeezes my hand to the point that I cringe when my fingers pop in protest. Once the liquid has been injected into Kota, his fingers relax and he falls back onto the bed, panting heavily. I set his hand on his chest and look over at Mole, who’s filling up another syringe with a light green tinted liquid.
“Why is mine a different color than Kota’s…” I ask and Mole turns toward me, nodding at the bed next to Kota’s.
“It’s a different test,” he says and grabs my wrist when I sit down on the bed and pushes the needle into my bicep. I hiss when he pulls the needle out and my vision begins to turn flakey, making the room around me to fade away.
“Good luck,” Mole mumbles with his back turned to me. With that, everything turns a dark blue and I wait for the next thing to happen.

It seems like forever until I’m able to fight my way out of my slumber, but I know it isn’t by the look of surprise on Mole and Jimmy’s face as I sit up, panting softly. They lean close to a computer screen and I rub at my sore forehead. Kota is still laying on the bed next to me, panting and writhing in his slumber. I stand on my wary legs and walk over to them.
“Five minutes,” Mole mumbles, not looking back at me. “Remarkable.”
“Fastest time on record,” Jimmy whispers, gawking at the screen.
“What-” I get cut off by Kota’s bed jerking forward with a screech. He’s awake now too, breathing heavily and shaking his head. With wide eyes, Jimmy turns and types a few things into the computer. With a disbelieving shake of his dark hair, Mole smiles at us.
“Congrats! You passed and didn’t die.” For some reason I don’t think he’s joking about us not dying during the test.
“You’re times were truly remarkable. Five and seven, fastest I’ve ever seen,” Jimmy says, a smile stretching across his lips.
“Why do you two keep saying that? What was the test about?” Kota demands and Jimmy and Mole glance at each other.
“Uh… Nothing! It doesn’t matter,” Jimmy says and laughs nervously. “What does matter is that you two passed.” He claps Kota on the shoulder. Kota grabs his arm and knots his other hand in Jimmy’s shirt. He shoves him back against the wall and steps close to his face.
“Tell me, or I’ll kill you. What are you two doing?” he growls. An unwilling smile slices Jimmy’s face and he laughs.
“Look, kid. I’m just doing what they tell me to. I was brought here on a deal too,” he snarls and I step forward, grabbing Kota’s shirt and pulling him away from Jimmy. Kota snorts at me, but steps down.
“What do you mean by that?” I demand, stepping up to Jimmy’s towering figure. He glances down at me, but returns his gaze to above my head and lets out a breathy laugh.
“You both came here on a deal; something they offered to give or return to you. I’m not wrong, am I?” he says, still staring nonchalantly above my head. “The test was to determine how much brain capacity you use. We put you both into a coma with obstacles. You had to fight your ways out of it. Did you know the average person uses only ten percent of their brain? You and your little partner there use an amount that’s unheard of. 52 and 47 percent. Highest on record. They knew something was wrong with you two, that’s one of the reasons they picked you two.” I step away from him and tangle my fingers into my hair.
“You aren’t making any sense…” Kota says quietly. A sharp prick blurs my vision as Mole stabs my neck with a needle. I whimper.
“Madie!” Kota shouts as I loose control over my legs and tumble to the floor in a heap. With his back to Jimmy, it gives him enough time to pull a needle from his pocket, flick the vial, then stab Kota in the neck. Kota groans and joins me on the floor. Mole holds the collar of his shirt as he speaks.
“Code blue is now under control,” he says and I close my eyes in attempt to calm my rapid breathing. Someone tucks their arms under my shoulder and hoists me onto their shoulder. I hold my breath when they begin walking because I find it nearly impossible to breath with all my weight on my stomach. With old air in my lungs, it blurs the sounds all around me, and I’m on the brink of unconsciousness when I hear a voice that sounds out of place to me. I crack open my eyes and take in the room around me, take in the blurry figures.
“They may have the fastest times, but they aren’t the brightest,” says the woman’s voice. Fading blond hair tops her blurry head, her voice etches itself into my mind.