I don't know what I expected, but it certainly wasn't being lunged at by some random guy. All we did was walk out of the wormhole—and this boy just comes at us. I almost fall back through the wormhole.

'Who are you?' The guy drops his rucksack and raises his fists. Oh, please. He can't be much older than me, and he's all skin and bone. 'Get out of our way.'

There's a girl, too, peering at us from behind the guy's back. Jet-black hair swirls around her face and it's weirdly difficult to tell where her waves end and the mist begins.

'Ahah!' Eldred claps his hands, then thrusts one under the boy's nose. 'Pleased to meet you, young man, pleased to meet you; the name's Eldred, Professor Eldred. Now, was it you who called, or your pretty sister behind you? I know who my money's on.'

'Get away from her.' The boy spreads his arms out wide. 'Pretty sister, my ass; get lost, you sleazebag, or I'll make you.'

'Phwoo! Feisty one, aren't you?' Eldred turns and raises an eyebrow at me. 'Hear that, Puffin? We best move, or he'll make us.'

'Don't call me that,' I mutter. Eldred seems to get endless entertainment by seeing how far he can push me before I snap; the last few days have been the longest nightmare of my life. My insides feel raw, like I'm crumbling away. Like the slightest gust of wind could knock me down and I'd never get up again. Plus, my asthma's at its all-time worst; we keep having to stop and for someone who calls himself a professor, Eldred's sure been unsympathetic.

'Come on, now, Puffin,' he grumbles. 'Stop slacking!'

But I can't. My entire world has disintegrated. FUTURE is nothing but a cult of murdering bastards. Whilst the Resisters, the fabled warmongers that destroyed the world, are actually. . . who?

I just don't know what to believe anymore.

When Eldred showed me that his black button was vibrating, I couldn't muster up much enthusiasm.

'Another of the Elementalists is calling,' Eldred said, dancing a jig on the spot. 'Come on, Puffin, let's go!'

He then tampered with the wormhole at the bottom of the mountain, slotting a red chip-card into the control panel. The control screen usually shows a map of the routes you can take within that specific wormhole's database; I managed a grunt as the map flickered, settling on a completely new location.

'Al-Abhor? Where the heck. . . That's not where this wormhole goes.'

'Oh, Puffin.' Eldred patted me on the head. 'That's what this is for.' He slipped the chip-card out again and pocketed it with a wink. 'Call it platinum-level access, if you will. Or—' He grinned. 'Platinum-level hacking. Come on—our next Elementalist awaits.'

And without a backwards glance, he stepped through the Wormhole. For a fraction of a second, I wondered—could I make a break for it? Would he return to hunt me down, or would he choose the new Elementalist? Then realisation came crashing down; making a break for it. Stupid, stupid. Even if I wanted to, where the hell would I go? I have nothing, nowhere.

I am completely alone.

*

'I'm warning you,' the boy growls, unearthing a blade from his pocket; although dull, it's enough to make the girl gasp and Eldred's eyebrows to raise a little higher. 'MOVE.'

'Or what?' A hot rage floods through me. The way he's looking at us. . . It's starting to piss me off. 'What are you going to do? Stab us? Yeah, right.'

'I'm sorry,' Eldred says softly, shoving me with surprising roughness back behind him. 'But you need to come with us.'

'Go!' the boy yells behind him at the girl. 'Run, I'll hold them off—'

Eldred completely ignores the boy. He turns to the girl instead, his voice a gentle caress. 'Sweetheart, I'm here to help. You called, so I came.'

'Don't speak to her!' The boy brandishes his knife inches from Eldred's chin, trembling all down his arm. 'You don't understand; we have to get out of here, they're after us—'

'They're not after you,' Eldred says. 'Yet.' There's a scuffle, so quick I barely see it. The boy yells, the blade swings—and a splash of blood splatters the ground. The girl shrieks and the next thing I know, Eldred has the boy pinned, arms to his sides. The knife clutched in Eldred's fist.

'Let him go!' The girl runs at Eldred, pummelling his arm; there are red rims around her eyes. 'Please, please! He's all I've got.'

'C'mon.' Eldred's eyes soften as he glances down at her. 'What do you take me for?' He pauses, readjusting his grip on the squirming boy. 'So, what did they name you, in the end?'

'Don't tell him anything!' the boy hisses, struggling against Eldred's unexpected rock-solid grip.

'Samma,' the girl sniffs. 'Samma Fazil.'

'It's a pleasure, Samma. I'd shake your hand, but unfortunately mine are otherwise engaged. A nod will have to suffice.'

Samma gapes at Eldred. Even the boy stops straining long enough to shoot him a very odd look.

'Please,' Samma whispers after a pause, still trying, and failing, to prise Eldred off the boy. 'You don't understand. I need to get away from here before it's too late. I'm—'

'I know,' Eldred says, his voice so quiet, I can hardly hear him. 'I know who you are, sweetheart. Elementalist. . . It's okay. I'm here to help you.'

Samma gasps, eyes widening—but then, Eldred slams a hand down on the Wormhole's control panel. With a laugh that escapes into the wind, he thrusts the boy through the glowing red void.

'Follow if you're ready to find out who you really are!' He jumps backwards through the wormhole and disappears. Samma screams and holy hell—I cry out in alarm as all around her, the mist starts to thicken into a dense, dark fog.

'MUSA!'

A blast knocks me off my feet; the girl dives through the wormhole after Eldred and the fog explodes off the surface of the void, unable to travel through.

It's all I can do to claw my way on my hands and knees through the biting mist, my eyes streaming from the sting, after them into the wormhole. I tumble through—

And Al-Abhor disappears.

*

'Where are we?'

I roll out of the wormhole and scramble to my feet, scattering pebbles across the dusty ground. Wherever we are, it's dark. Dank. There's an abandoned feeling to the place; I can't explain it. It just screams loneliness. Maybe once it was a forest, but now, it's just a ghoulish imitation—we're surrounded by an army of dead, blackened trunks, shadows of their former selves, not a leaf to be seen. The ashen forest seems to stretch out for miles.

I shudder. The mist lies particularly heavy here, like it's trapped by the trees; I'm slowly becoming soaked, just by standing here. The vapours prickle my skin and I scratch my arm, suddenly self-conscious. 'Where are we?' I repeat.

The boy, Musa I guess, is no longer being pinned down by Eldred; he and Samma are clinging to each other like they'll never let go. Kitty's face floods my mind and I have to look away as my heart burns.

'Where the hell have you taken us?' Musa fumes, at the same time as Samma whispers.

'How did you know?'

'Simple.' Eldred smiles at her, ignoring Musa once again. 'You pressed a button that only Elementalists have. Look.' He shows her his little black button, and just as I did when he showed it to me, she brings an identical one out of her own pocket.

'It's changing colour again,' she says softly; it is, right before our eyes. Black fades all shades of grey, before settling on a sort-of milky off-white. I get mine out too and press. We watch it turn from beige to black, then slowly fade back to beige again.

'Snap,' I say and she stares at me.

'Are you one too? An Elementalist?'

'Apparently.' I want to say more, but I can't right now. My breath jars, sticking in my chest. Coughing, and heart hammering, I reach for my inhaler and the tension between Samma and I breaks. Musa scowls and snatches Samma's button, shoving it into his own pocket.

'What is this? Some kind of bloody reunion? Well, you can shove it; this isn't a game. Sammi's life could be at risk; we need to stop the Futurists before—'

'Oh, believe me,' I croak, as my chest finally expands. 'If anyone wants to make the Futurists pay, it's me.'

'I love this!' Eldred claps his hands together in glee. 'You don't know how long I've waited to see my Elementalists back together. And so furious with the Futurists—people really do create their own enemies in life, don't they.'

'Shut up, Eldred,' I snap, pocketing my inhaler again. 'Can't you just tell us where are we?'

'I thought you wanted me to shut up?'

'Screw you.'

'Charming as ever. We are just outside the RESIST headquarters, wherein lies the very heart of the resistance itself.' Eldred beckons us over, pointing downwards; we shuffle forwards. At first, I don't see anything, but then, Eldred kicks over a log and the ground suddenly shifts—I stumble, trying to maintain my balance. A whole section of the ground sort of just . . . melts away. It slides out of view, revealing a deep pit; I peer down into the darkness. 'Which is, of course, where I work. Shall we go inside?' He smiles, showing off his rows of crooked, but glaringly white, teeth.

'What, down the hole? Are we rabbits now?' Musa snorts. Sammi shoots him a reproachful look.

'Musa, give it a rest. I have a good feeling about this.'

Why? What about any of this feels good? Then I recognise her expression. It's hope. And it's so pathetic, and childish, and so starkly like how Kitty used to look when we'd pray to be relocated to Ra every single goddamn night. . . I can't stand it. Blinding pain slices the wound in my heart, ripping it open, leaving me reeling.

Kitty, my Kitty. Gone. . .

'It's okay.' Eldred's voice echoes in my ears and I feel the weight of his hand on my arm. 'It'll be alright, son.'

'I'm not your son.'

Samma and Musa exchange a glance before nodding Eldred's way. After giving me a chuck under the chin, Eldred clicks his fingers and a shuttle appears, whizzing up through the hole towards us.

Despite the tears tracking down my cheeks, I step inside after Eldred as though in a dream. And the shuttle drags us down. . .

*

'Lower level ten,' the shuttle announces. 'Preparing to dock.'

I wonder how deep into the ground we've gone and how much further we'd need to go before we hit the mantle. Maybe we could sink into its fiery depths and never resurface.

We step out of the shuttle into what looks like a factory. It's so busy; the moment we leave the shuttle we have to fight to avoid being swept along by a swarm of workers, rushing up and down the passageway. There are even people dangling from the walls and ceiling. Hulking tanks and copper pipes hang down from above us, oozing a noxious-green tar; every few seconds, great puffs of steam burst from a gap, whilst a worker hastily tries to nail it shut.

'I've got lots of people who want to meet you,' Eldred says, leading us down the hallway. No one gives us a second glance, but Eldred is greeted with a respect bordering on reverence by—well—everyone. He acknowledges everybody. Droids mingle with the crowd almost as common as humans, but no one pays them any particular mind; it's like they're just the same as any other worker. I gaze around at them, at these people, stunned.

'Are you. . . Is this really RESIST?'

Eldred raises an eyebrow at the surprise in my voice.

'Why wouldn't it be?'

'You've got droids. How on earth would Resisters get hold of droids?'

Eldred laughs. 'You assumed we'd be as primitive as Resisters above ground? Hell no! We can't let the Futurists have all the fun gadgets now, can we? Yes, above ground we're still woefully behind the times, but if everyone knew about the tech we've got squirrelled away down here. . .'

'They'd be pretty pissed off that you've left us rotting in the gutter,' Musa mutters. Eldred shoots him a sharp look.

'Exactly. But the reality is that we can't fight a monster stronger than us, can we.' His tone switches, suddenly very careful. 'We're already at a huge disadvantage. This looks impressive to you? It's nothing compared to the Futurists. This is just stuff we've scavenged or bartered for on the black market. Supplemented by inventions from our own brilliant minds, of course.' He pauses to tip his hat at a worker passing by. 'Anyway, everything will become clear shortly; I've got a team waiting for us just a few minutes ahead.'

At the end of the passageway, a huge metal door bars our way.

'Scan,' Eldred says to nobody in particular, and a red light bursts from a control panel on the side of the door. It flashes across his face and Eldred blinks; then, with a grinding creak of metal, the door creaks open. We follow Eldred inside.

I guess it looks a bit like a boardroom. Like one you might see on a Futurist TV program. There's a labyrinth of rusty pipes snaking across the ceiling, but as long as you don't look up, it looks pretty sophisticated. A table takes up most of the room, with comparatively few people perched around one side of it. It's not the kind of table my family and I'd have sat down for Sunday lunch at. The whole surface is a touchscreen, currently showing a map; the people at the table are zooming in and out of certain segments. Every time they zoom in, a hologram of that location pops out, and they rotate each image, inspecting it from every angle. The current image looks a lot like Caeltanica.

They then bring up a holographic image of me.

'Hey!'

The people at the table jump; hands spring to rifles on their hips. But then one of them chuckles; their grips relax, rifles slide back into holsters and they slump back against their chairs.

'Morning, Eldred. We weren't expecting you back for weeks.' A tall woman rises and approaches us, placing a balled fist to her forehead—a move that Eldred immediately imitates. Her expression is hauntingly solemn, its coldness sending a shiver through me. Have those lips ever smiled? Have those eyes ever closed, calm and at peace? I doubt it. Those lines carved into her skin looks as deep as through stone.

'How many did you manage to obtain?'

'Two, General.' Eldred cocks his thumb at Samma and I. 'And one more identified, but unobtainable for the time being.'

'Oh?'

'It is as we suspected.'

'I see.' The woman purses her lips so hard, they practically disappear altogether. Sweeping past Eldred, she stops sharply in front of me. Hell. I've never seen anyone so enormous; she towers over me and I'm not exactly short.

Her hand appears beneath my nose and I blink. 'Elementalist.'

I allow her to crush my fingers, before she turns to demolish Samma's hand too. If I didn't feel so numb, I might have laughed; Samma's eyes bulge and she nurses her hand to her chest the moment it's able to escape.

The Resister seems oblivious to our discomfort. 'My name is General Alicia Cotton.' She has the deepest voice I've ever heard. 'I am the leader of political party RESIST. It is an extraordinary pleasure to meet you both.' And just like that, the stone cracks and her lips twitch into a smile. Tiny though it is, it's the most honest thing I've seen in days; I inexplicably want to weep.

'Kassius McKenzie,' I whisper. She nods at me.

'Samma Fazil.' Samma hesitates, before gesturing at Musa. 'And this is my. . . Musa.' After a moment's thought, she juts her chin out in resolution. 'Where he goes, I go. Where I stay, he stays. That going to be a problem?'

Cotton chuckles, a dull, humourless sound. 'I'll see what I can do. Come and meet the team.' She gestures at the group of people watching us from around the table.

'This is Labelle, our Head of Technology and Engineering; without his expertise, neither our factories nor our laboratories would exist today.' Labelle is dazzling. My eyes widen; he looks too impeccable to be a Resister, with his shock of blonde hair and brilliant white teeth. I guess his title made me expect a nerd.

'This is Văn, our Head of Logistics; he's a political mastermind. Tactics are his speciality; no one plays the game better than him.' Văn is a tiny, middle-aged man with an almost eerily neutral expression. It's the poker-face of a most well-practised gambler—or politician.

'This is Brie, our Head of Espionage and our link to the black market. She's in charge of gathering information, secrets to keep us sharp and hit them where it hurts.' Unlike Labelle, Brie is the epitome of what a Futurists might derogatorily refer to as 'a resisturd.' Scruffy, with spiky hair and coating of tattoos—how she's the head of anything, let alone espionage, I have no idea. Inconspicious, she was not.

'Hit who where it hurts?' I interrupt.

Cotton sniffs. 'The first rule you should learn is to mind your manners when you speak to me. I don't care what or who you are.'

'In other words,' Brie chuckles. 'Interrupt again, and you'll have me to deal with.' She winks; I quickly turn back to Cotton, biting back a retort.

Cotton is watching me carefully, like she's expecting a challenge from me. When none comes, she continues. 'And this is Dr Keller—he's worked alongside Eldred for many years, on projects ranging from reducing the toxicity of the atmosphere to the creation of the Elementalists.' Dr Keller is an owlish man in a thick lab coat; he gives us a curt nod before starting to twitch his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He makes me imagine a highly intellectual mouse.

Cotton turns to tap the table-top and everyone redirects their gaze to four holographic figures that blossom upwards from the map. Despite the pixilation, I can tell exactly who they are; well. Two of them, at least.

'Four Elementalists, scattered as infants across the world: two physical Elementalists and two ethereal Elementalists. The road to overthrowing the Futurists has been long. We have had many obstacles and challenges to overcome; we've waited, patiently, but now, it's time. For you, our most ingenious creations, to fulfil your roles at the centre of our operation.

'With your help—and this, McKenzie, should hopefully answer your question—we'll hit the Futurists and we won't just hit them hard. No.' Cotton's smile returns, this time, with a sting of venom. 'We'll crush the life out of them—so hard—that they'll never sully the surface of our planet again.'