I wake in my bunk dehydrated and stiff to the bone. The last thing I remember is toasting drinks with Pyrrha then being challenged to a tequila drinking contest by Jorge. Judging by the strength of my hangover, I’m confident I at least came out the victor. I motion to check the time on my cybernetic but my sore muscles tighten with retaliation, making it excruciating to move in the slightest. I bear through the pain and toggle my cybernetic on. The time is twenty minutes past noon.

I overslept for six hours.

I quickly force myself up despite the pain and dizziness. Various empty bottles of liquor and beer litter my bedside, evidence of a great time. It’s too bad I have no memory of it. As I move my arm towards the railing a feel an unusual tightening sensation around my bicep. I carefully lift my sleeve to find plastic wrapped over fresh tattoo. I stare blankly at the two bands of a black ink, wondering when last night this might’ve happened. I quickly climb off my bunk and step onto the cold floor.

“Pst, Pyrrha?” I whisper in a panic. There’s no response, her bunk is empty along with Dawud’s and Jorge’s. Assuming they’ve already started their day, I gather some fresh threads from my footlocker. As I go to grab my boots I notice a message sloppily written on the blank side of a beer bottle wrapping paper.

No exercise this morning. Jorge and I went to the cafeteria. Be back soon. -Pyrrha

I sigh a breath of relief then toss the note aside. Feeling more at ease about accidentally sleeping in, I gather my things and head to the locker room for a hot shower. When I arrive, the locker room is empty and mostly quiet except for a distinct soft buzzing sound in the distance. The buzzing isn't like a bee or a fly, but like a machine. My curiosity gets the best of me and I search each row of lockers for the source. I’m surprised to find where the sound is originating from the final row of lockers near the showers.

Sitting hunched and shirtless on the aisle bench is Jorge. Seated behind him is Pyrrha, holding a small tattoo machine to the back of his shoulder. The buzzing stops and they both look up to me at once.

“Well, well, look who’s awake!” Pyrrha snickers.

“Man, you’ve been asleep for so long we went off and caught Lupo already!” Jorge adds.

“Har-har.” I sarcastically reply, rolling my eyes. “What’s going on today? Why aren't there any exercise drills?”

“The Captain has been in a meeting all morning with Director York. She didn’t give us an expectation of when she’d come back so I’m tattooing Jorge in the meantime,” replies Pyrrha.

“What about Dawud?” I ask, feeling only inclined to ask because I felt the gesture is polite, not that I truly care or anything.

“He said he was having another one of his chronic migraines so he went to the infirmary then sort of just slipped from radar. He usually goes on a walk when he has migraines, I’m sure we’ll run into him around the campus eventually.”

“Hey, chino. You got the time?” Jorge asks. I raise an eyebrow, perplexed. He has never referred to me as chino before. In the few weeks I’ve known him not once has he guessed my name correctly, suddenly he has a pet name for me? I choose to ignore his crude nickname and toggle my cybernetic on.

“About twelve thirty.”

“Pyrrha! Tyra is about to start!” Jorge exclaims excitedly. Pyrrha reaches into her back pocket and pulls out an old, worn holo-phone. She taps the screen furiously and then hands the phone for Jorge to hold.

“What’s about to start?” I ask, looking over his shoulder to see what they are so ecstatic for. The screen buffers, Pyrrha turns on her tattoo machine and resumes inking Jorge. After some time, the stream plays.

An upbeat jazz melody plays over a dark stage. Spotlights then flash on, centering on a young woman sitting cross-legged on a crimson suede sofa. The lights illuminate her round face and smooth coffee-colored skin. Her fingers are poised ever so gently on her knees to show off the many studded rings and glistening gems that decorate her hands. She looks to the cameras with an award-winning white smile.

“Hello, viewers of the Milky Way Galaxy,” she says softly. “The time here in Capitala City is twelve thirty sharp and that means it is time for another delicious episode of Tea Time with Tyra.”

The music transitions into sultry jazz and a spotlight fades in on a coffee table in front of her. In the center is an elegant tea set with two overturned teacups resting on paper-thin ceramic plates. Tyra delicately reaches for the closest tea cup and then pours herself a serving of hot water.

“This month’s flavor of the month is Arcathian Marigold. I accidentally discovered this flavor while traveling to the NorCap mountains to gather natural herbs and roots for my kitchen. This yellow flower contains a concentrated sweet nectar within its pedals which is both flavorful and beneficial to your health.”

Tyra takes a dried marigold from a ceramic bowl then places it into the cup of steaming hot water. She then takes a long whiff.

“MmmMmmMmm! You cannot smell it my dears but the aroma of this tea is sharp at first but gradually smoothes out the longer it steeps. I find this particular flavor pairs well with a lemon slice and if you are feeling a bit naughty, a few scoops of brown sugar for all my sweet tooth viewers,” she giggles.

“You can purchase a box of sun dried Arcathian Marigolds on my website. This is a seasonal product, so supplies are limited—”

*DING*

A soft chime interrupts Tyra. “Oh, seems like we just sold our last box. For those who weren’t able to, do not be discouraged. I’ll have more come next year.”

She sets the teacup down then folds her hands over her lap.

“Now, I’d like to welcome a very special guest who’s been making political headlines lately… Let’s give a warm welcome to Prime Minister Victor Cain.”

An upbeat jazz ensemble plays as the Prime Minister enters from offstage. Tyra rises from her seat and greets him with a bow.

“Greetings, Prime Minister. It is such an honor to have you on my show this evening.”

“Likewise, I am a big fan,” the Prime Minister replies. His voice is noticeably brassier than Tyra’s and disrupts the mellow ambiance of the show’s theme.

“Mr. Prime Minister, your name has been on the tips of tongues for the last few weeks…” she comments as she pours him a cup of tea. “Your loyal supporters are raving about your executive decision to secede from USH and forming a Gifted task force. Praising it to be a prime example of direct action and excellent leadership. While others believe this decision was made hastily and may have drastic effects on our relationship with our sister colonies. Do you care to elaborate more on your galaxy-breaking executive order?”

The Prime Minister doesn’t flinch at the question. He casually picks up his cup of tea with his swollen, dough-like fingers and slurps it.

“Well of course, the decision was not easy. I stayed up for nights, contemplating the consequences and potential backlash from critics and my fellow administrative cabinet. I also want to make it clear that our relationship with our sister colonies will remain intact, and in no way are we severing ties with them.”

“Right, but some critics are questioning why go through all this trouble? The DSSO has a Gifted military branch designated for these sort of things—And I have to say I sort of agree with them. Couldn’t you just contact the fleet and have them take care of the matter like they always have?”

The Prime Minister chuckles. “I went through all the trouble for the people, Tyra. I respect what the DSSO has done in the past and what they represent, but they aren’t what they used to be since after the Extinction War. Fifty years ago, Admiral Tanaka recruited countless Gifted civilians for his experimental Hero Project. A lot of those heroes did not make it to see the end of the war, the few that survived left the DSSO and isolated themselves. Nowadays the DSSO is seeing less and less applicants for their Gifted division. The remaining Gifted within their active ranks are spread thin throughout the galaxy, occupied with other tasks. To ask the Fleet Admiral for support would just be another chore on their to-do list. So I took action instead. I diligently interviewed for capable Gifted civilians with the help of my dear friend, Doctor Carrington at EvGeni, and found four willing recruits. Three of which who already have backgrounds with the DSSO.”

“I see… it seems you believe the DSSO wouldn’t be able to respond to the urgency of these terrorist attacks quick enough?”

The Prime Minister nods his head in agreement. “Yes, and though it defies everything the DSSO and the USH worked hard to establish. I did it to protect the people of this planet. I love Arcathia, and the last thing I want to see is another catastrophe like the invasion fifty years ago.”

“I believe we can all agree on that.” Tyra replies with a warm smile. “Why don’t we discuss a lighter subject. I understand you’re running for another term as Prime Minister?”

“Absolutely,” he replies.

“Care to give Arcathian viewers a taste of your platform for re-election?”

“Of course,” the Prime Minister smiles almost charmingly. “My people, these are unfortunate times. Some of you may be frightened, confused or downright vengeful because of recent events, but I promise if re-elected I will protect Arcathia. With our power no longer limited by the USH, we can build our own fleet and re-establish our orbital defense network, creating jobs the unemployed. Together we can get out of the rut, and flourish!”

Tyra applauds softly, tapping the top of her hand with her palm. The Prime Minister nods his head, then slurps his tea loudly.

“Thank you, Prime Minister, for that powerful statement. Yesterday, your task force successfully thwarted Lupo’s dastardly attempt to destroy the Justinia Memorial Bridge. They were even able to stop the infamous serial killer, Gerard Moreau, from destroying the bridge.”

The Prime Minister grins. “Yes, I cannot be anymore proud of those agents. They risked their lives to protect a prominent landmark of Capitala. If they hadn’t succeeded, the damages to the bridge would have been astronomical. I only hope their success changes the public’s view on my decision of this task force.”

“Well, it’s certainly awe inspiring. I believe our studio was able to nab some drone footage of the exciting confrontation on the bridge. Lets take a look.”

The show then cuts to a montage of clips of our firefight on the bridge, edited in a way so it shows every moment in the heat of battle minus the graphic gore too extreme for television. The final closing clip is a focus shot of me looking exhausted but triumphant.

“Amazing stuff,” Tyra applauds.

“Isn’t it?” The Prime Minister replies proudly.

“We’re going to take a short break. When we come back, we’ll talk more about this year’s elections and announce the winner for this week's raffle,” Tyra and the Prime Minister make inaudible small talk as the cameras fade to black and cut to commercial break.

“Oh my god! Look at you mister hero getting the close up!” says Pyrrha, nudging my shoulder playfully.

“We never got this kind of recognition with the DSSO, huh? Pyrrha?” says Jorge, muting the commercials.

“Nope. Never. The media only focused on the mistakes,” she sighs. She turns off her tattoo machine then leans back to observe her work from afar.

“Whatcha think?” she asks me. I lean in to get a better view. The tattoo is of a semi-nude Trojan warrior wielding a shield and spear.

“That’s impressive!” I reply in amazement.

“Alright, you’re all set compadre,” says Pyrrha. “A slap for good luck?”

Jorge quickly jumps to his feet and laughs sarcastically. “Fuck you.”

“Um, white boys are more my thing, but thanks for the offer,” Pyrrha chuckles, putting her tattoo machine away into a leather pouch. She looks to me with a sparkle in her eye. “How do you like yours?”

“Should’ve known it was you…” I say, glancing to my tattoo. “It surprised me this morning but I like it.”

“You got all emotional when you talked about your mom and dad last night. You begged me to ink something in their honor. So I thought two black bands wrapping your lower bicep. One for your mother, Ana, and the other for Petyr.”

My heart skips a beat and I look down to my feet timidly. “I told you about my father last night?”

Pyrrha forces a smile through her frown. “You confided to us about him last night before you passed out.”

“It’s some tough shit man. Sorry for your loss,” says Jorge, trying his best to be sympathetic. The three of us are silent for a moment, unsure how to reignite the general liveliness of the conversation.

“We’re going to head back to the dorm to finish the show. Did you want to join us?” offers Pyrrha.

“Maybe, I’m going to shower and get some food after,” I reply, gesturing over to the showers.

“Alright, see you around then,” Pyrrha says. The two then leave the locker room with a final wave goodbye. I wait for the door to shut behind them before I strip and drape my clothes over the waist-high shower divider.

“Shower one on,” I command. Water pours from the closest nozzle to me and I eagerly step into its warm embrace. I close my eyes and let my mind drift blissfully. After a few moments, I open my eyes and gawk at the violet colored blotches of skin that cover my body. As my eyes wander from my arms to my feet, a small pinhead sized object protruding from the shower floor catches my attention. I tap the object with my big toe and it slides along the wet tile with ease, leaving a chalky white trail. I kneel down and pick up the object to get a closer look. It starts to crumble in my fingers immediately. It’s a pill—was a pill, and the shape and texture vaguely reminds of Serodyx.

“Oh, Ayden! I forgot to mention!” Pyrrha exclaims suddenly, her voice amplified by the echo in the shower. I drop the pill remains and nearly jump out of my skin in fright.

“Ah, jeez!” I almost squeal.

Pyrrha stands on the other side of the divider then roars into a fit of laughter. “Did I scare you? I’m sorry!”

“... Yes!” I reply reluctantly, turning to the side to cover my shame. “What do you need to tell me?”

“There’s a cute doctor here to see you for a check up. Blonde-ish hair? Green eyes? Looks like he belongs on the cover of Teen Vogue? He said to stop by the infirmary when you get the chance.”

It doesn’t take me more than a second to figure out who she’s referring to.

“Okay. Thanks,” I say, masking my inner excitement. Pyrrha leaves red-faced and hysterical but as soon as she turns her back I swiftly wash myself clean. After racing down the hall I nearly break the infirmary doors down pushing past them. Keith jumps from the chair he’s sitting on.

“Woah, woah! Where’s the fire!?”

“Babe” I exclaim with an ear to ear grin. Keith rises from his seat then opens his arms out for a hug. Instead of walking to him for a hug I gently pull him into my arms. I kiss him on top of his forehead and nose.

“It hasn’t been that long has it?” Keith chuckles. “I saw you yesterday!”

“I’m so happy to see you! What are you doing here?”

“Believe it or not it was your Captain,” he replies. “She put in a request for me to be transferred here as Phalanx’s personal medical specialist. Apparently she said my expertise in Kinetic physiology will be beneficial to the team’s success. Next thing I know I’m on a shuttle heading to the ABI headquarters”

“He’s also helping me uncover some medical files needed for the ABI’s investigation,” says Captain Elnora. I turn around quickly, surprised at how stealthily she managed to enter the infirmary without Keith and I noticing.

“Hello, Captain Elnora,” I salute. “I thought your were in a meeting with the Director?”

“The meeting was concluded. I came here to get a status update on the task I gave the doctor.”

“Let me check to see if my friend replied,” says Keith. He walks over to his satchel then recovers his medical tablet.

“Did you really request him to be a part of the team?” I whisper to the Captain.

“I did, and I realized I misjudged him. He’s a brilliant young man, graduated valedictorian among his classmates at Dharma. He also comes from an interesting family background.”

“Oh, about him being the son of Kim Rae?” I interject.

“That’s one reason. Plus, he seems like good morale for you,”

Keith returns. “Nothing yet.”

“Damn,” curses the Captain.

“What’s this lead you have?” I ask.

“It’s more a hunch than a lead. The ABI looked up every personal record of living Mnemokinetics galaxy wide. Only sixty results, none of which who match our perpetrator. Then I thought, what about the deceased?”

“You think a dead person is doing all of this?”

A soft ping emits from Keith’s tablet. The three of us perk up.

“He just forwarded the records to me.” Keith says with a relieved grin. “Looks like there’s over a hundred results.”

“Upload then to me,” says the Captain. With a flick of his finger, she receives the message directly into her cybernetic. Medical records flash before our eyes at rapid speeds, and within seconds, the Captain completes her research.

“I found a potential match...” she says, then projects the file from her cybernetic. “Veronica Sterling.”

I analyze their photograph of the young girl closely.

“That name sounds familiar,” Keith suggests. “Wasn’t she subject of controversy a long time ago? Didn’t she kill her mom?”

“Right,” replies the Captain. “About twenty years ago Veronica killed her mother when she accidentally brainwashed her to jump from the balcony of their condominium. She was six years old. The court system didn’t know how to try her. So her father arranged leniency then renounced custody, placing her under special supervision with EvGeni.”

“That doesn’t explain why the system believes she’s dead.”

The Captain and I make eye contact. “That’s because she went missing the day the Red August bombing happened…”