As promised, the next installment of Darkness! First off, a huge thanks to my friend Aethelgythe for betaing this and thank you Karrashi for the cover!
For those that are new, I highly recommend reading Darkness of the Soul, first. But I never read anything in order so go ahead if you must.
I plan to update weekly updates, however, I have a hectic schedule right now so there may a chance I fail to do so.
I hope you guys enjoy what I have in store.
Disclaimer: I own nothing from Hasbro, and spoilers for the Transformers: Prime, but I assumed if you are here, you have already watched it
Warnings: rated M for heavy angst, graphic violence, and scenes of torture. Yep, this is going to be an edgy one.
It was cold. Frost formed a thick layer on the window, making it almost impossible to look out to the world beyond. Not that there was much to see. A white, rolling landscape stretched as far as the eye could see. It was interrupted by sheer cliffs and jagged walls, making it all the more difficult to navigate in. And so all the more difficult to be located. The peaks of the mountains cut into the heavy cloud cover that spread across the sky. Snow drifted down in agonizing slowness, adding to the ever-growing blanket across the hard, frigid ground.
It was certainly colder than the last location. The man had been through worse.
Even though there was no impressive view, he stared out the window, lost in thought. Feet shoulder-length apart, arms behind his back, hands clenched in tight fists.
Months of dedicating his work into a single operation, only to be blown away in a single night. All those resources, all that security, all those men—gone. It filled him with enough fury that his heated blood combated with the frigid air around him.
He underestimated his enemy. He underestimated NEST. He underestimated Lieutenant Colonel William Lennox.
Obviously, for someone so young and inexperienced, he knew how to effectively lead the men under his command—and how to properly deploy the arsenal given to him. The robots were an unexpected variable. He wasn't aware the US military was in possession of so many. He wasn't aware of their capability.
They had leveled an entire compound—full of trained, skilled soldiers, and an arsenal of the most advanced technology in the world—in a single night. Now he was forced to move the remains of his forces to the other side of the planet. They could avoid detection in this area, for a time. Long enough to complete the project, at least.
MECH would live on. And Silas would see its mission succeed.
A world where the people were not pawns of a government that did not care, but ruled by machines. Flesh would not wasted on the battlefield. A world, where they fought instead.
Suddenly there was a respectful knock at the door.
"Enter," the commander barked, without turning.
There was a squeak of hinges as the door swung open, followed by footsteps. Light, tentative.
"Silas, sir," the newcomer saluted.
The ex-Navy SEAL soldier already knew who it was, but he confirmed it by looking over his shoulder. The guest wore khaki trousers over polished shoes, and a buttoned up, pale blue dress shirt. He almost looked like he was ready to walk into a meeting, if the white, pristine lab coat did not ruin the illusion.
The man may have been lean and broad-shouldered, but Silas was well aware he was no fighter. Instead, his calloused hands were steady as a rock and deft fingers moved with unmatched precision. The salt-and-pepper, short-cropped hair and crow's feet spreading from his eyes told he had been in his profession for a long time, and had decades of experience to sharpen those skills.
Michael DiBiase, Silas believed. A surgeon before a freedom fighter. The MECH leader made sure to know the names and ranks and professions of each and every one of his men. They had vowed to fight and die for his cause, after all. Even though he was well aware some had less noble intentions than others. Fortunately, DiBiase was not one of these men. The doctor knew only to bother him if it was important. Very important.
"What is it?" Silas asked, calmly but still full of authority.
"I have the results from the lab work, sir," DiBiase reported.
It took a few moments for the militiaman to realize to what he was referring. Oh, that. He had almost forgotten about it. He had been quite busy.
"And?" Silas inquired, finally turning to face his guest. He was greeted with an outstretched manila folder.
"We found something quite intriguing."
Silas quirked a curious eyebrow, but unfolded his arms and tentatively took the folder. He opened it up, flipping through the ink-covered white papers inside. As leader of MECH, an organization built by state-of-the-art technology from the world's greatest minds, Silas wanted to call himself a man of science. But biology was not one of his strong suits.
Still, he humored the surgeon as he looked at a picture on the first page. It was just a bunch of red circles—red blood cells. At least he thought. Some of the circles looked funny, and the picture was speckled with dots.
"What am I supposed to be looking at?" Silas asked.
"Red blood cells," DiBiase answered. "Infected red blood cells."
"Infected with what?"
There was a pause and the doctor shifted his weight. His next words were slow, careful. "I… do not know, sir."
Silas's eyebrows knotted ever so slightly. That was not what he wanted to hear. Likely why DiBiase looked so nervous. Regardless of position, everyone knew the consequences of failing their leader. However, instead of showing his temper, the MECH leader kept a calm and patient tone.
"Some new disease?" he guessed. Silas thought about it. "Alien?"
"We're still researching that. But from our understanding, the infection doesn't seem organic. We were able to isolate some of the material from the erythrocytes. The molecules appear to be in some sort of lattice structure—similar to crystalline materials." At his leader's hard stare, DiBiase repeated himself in simpler terms, "It… looks like a crystal, impeded in the blood. Probably why it hasn't been terminated by the defense system's leukocytes—er, white blood cells."
The commander stared down at the picture, analyzing what he had been told. The old war veteran found himself looking back on his high school lectures. An inorganic substance that invaded cells. That sounded like a virus. An alien virus, then? But he never heard of a virus being a crystal.
"Is that all?" Silas pressed, trying not to make his disappointment known. He had gathered the greatest talents in the world, and this was all there was to show for it?
"Well—" DiBiase shifted his weight again. "There is another anomaly about the infection." The MECH leader glanced up at him without moving his head. "The crystals… they share the same lattice structure we studied at the former site."
It took a full minute for Silas to digest what the man just said. He thought old age—and years of war—had finally ruined his hearing. Then—
"You're saying—"
"Yes, sir."
No, impossible. He stared back down at the picture in his hands. Crystals, impeded in human blood. Crystals, that weren't from this planet.
"That much energon exposure would kill him," Silas realized. Not even his scientists could be exposed to it more than a few minutes, without facing the consequences of it.
"It would," DiBiase agreed. "But… it doesn't seem to be degrading the host's blood cells."
Finally Silas narrowed his eyes into a confused squint. "How is that possible?"
"I… do not know."
Very few men had said that to the terrorist's face and lived. Fewer had said it more than once in the same conversation. However, seeing DiBiase's perplexed expression—and something else in his eyes—he realized killing an incompetent fool would not solve this mystery. Especially at the doctor's next words.
"I would need another sample to investigate it further," the surgeon explained, quickly offering a solution. Then suddenly an odd, twisted look crossed his face. He opened his mouth, as if to continue, but no sound came out. He closed it when that look disappeared.
Silas cared less about the strange event. The gears in his head were already turning, already plotting out the next course of action in the war. He doubted he was being played, men valued their lives too much and DiBiase was not the type to fool another. His profession as a surgeon prevented him from lying.
He needed a sample.
He needed that brat.
Silas glanced down, looking at the name in bold font in capital letters, jumping from the pale paper.
DARBY, JACKSON.
A wide, satisfied grin spread across the man's face. Perhaps the boy could actually contribute to MECH's mission. Perhaps, he could be the link between man and machine that Silas had been looking for, for years.
Maybe, the key to the completion of Project Chimera.
Jack woke up alone. He always woke up alone.
His phone did not ring impatiently, with that cool, but comforting voice that would fill the line. There was no energetic revving of an engine or urgent blaring of a horn. The teenager always woke up to silence.
No deep, gravelly voice would greet him. No cold, but impossibly gentle touch. No possessive, protective warmth.
The boy always a pang of something in his heart, and he did not know why.
Jack reluctantly opened his eyes to see bright, late morning light filtering into his room. Like always, he had the urge to drift back to sleep, but he knew it was futile. Those restless thoughts immediately stirred to life, the same ones that he battled every night.
The teenager turned over in his bed, hugging the blankets over him. He was greeted with his alarm clock, complete with the exact time and the day's date. His stomach twisted. It was the one day of the year that always filled him with eager excitement and heavy dread. When—
Jack immediately shoved down the thought. No, he needed to move on. Trying to distract himself from the morbid thoughts, he lifted himself up into a sitting position. With a yawn, he spread his arms out in a languid stretch, feeling stiff muscles pull taut and the bones of his shoulders popping into place. The teenager reached out for his laptop, opening it up and resting it on his thighs.
Sure enough, his social media was filled with messages. Jack took the time to reply to every one of them, especially to the names he recognized the most.
Are you still up for today? Miko asked.
I'll see you later! Raf cheered.
Still, Jack felt that sting again, when he failed to see any of the short, crisp messages that used to greet him. When he failed to hear that reassuring voice.
The teenager quickly shut the laptop and moved out of bed. It didn't take him long to get ready, washing away the sweat that had accumulated over the night. Sure enough, he stepped up to the foggy mirror, only to see a dull reflection of himself.
Jack knew he'd lost weight. His once lean torso had turned skinny but thankfully it was not horribly noticeable. His skin was turning pale, despite the desert sun that burned constantly outside. Dark bags were under his eyes, that he didn't know how to hide them.
The teenager spent most of his nights chasing sleep. He couldn't relax in the dark anymore, because every time the light was taken away, he would find himself in that horrible place. Where endless tunnels went on and on and on, with no hope of the light. Claustrophobia would seize him in a vice grip.
When he did manage to settle in bed, it would take hours for exhaustion to set in. He would find himself trapped in a cycle of depression, thinking of the same dark thoughts over and over and over. His sleep offered no escape.
Jack didn't have pleasant dreams anymore. They were always nightmares. Where a deep, powerful darkness would consume him, suffocate him. Where he saw the burning, ruined, charred remains of a once great and proud city. There was a sadistic laugh, that sounded louder whenever he screamed. Sounded louder whenever she was dragged away from him.
Sometimes Jack would wake up in a cold sweat, or gasping for air. Sometimes he would wake up to his mother's face, summoned by his terrified screams.
Only he could make the awful nightmares go away.
That dark, powerful presence that would fill his mind, shoving away his thoughts and emotions and dreams. Until there was nothing left but an empty, blissful void.
Jack's hand curled into a fist. Part of him hated it, hated him. Part of him yearned for the familiar figure to return. Even now, the boy felt the pull in his heart, his soul, towards the one he wanted to run away from, but could not escape. The one he could never escape. A bond of blood, that could never be broken. All thanks to the substance that was supposed to destroy him, and almost did, but instead sunk into its new host.
As the boy slipped into a pair of jeans and pulled on a sweater, he wondered how his life came to this. A matter of years ago, his biggest concern was his grades in school. Then it only took a single moment, on a single day, delivered by cold words, that tore apart his simple life. He was so lost in his self-pity, he didn't even notice the bike—didn't notice her—until she crashed into him. Then the next thing he knew, Jack came face-to-face with him. He found himself at the monster's mercy.
And this is what it had come to. Jack was alone. His friends were gone. The Autobots were gone.
His newfound family was taken away from him, because they had sacrificed everything to save him, not from his clutches, but ones that made a mockery of everything he believed in.
MECH. A terrorist organization hell-bent on destroying government and its society, just so they could built it up in their own image of a "New World Order." They wanted to use them—his friends—to do it, not even caring of the destruction it would cause. Of how many innocents lives would be taken.
It only made Jack feel so much worse, the moment he realized that the Autobots' efforts were all for nothing.
Silas escaped. MECH was still out there. No doubt plotting another scheme.
Jack swallowed. It was all his fault. Silas had captured him, just because he knew the boy had access to Cybertronian technology.
It felt like that night, the night when United States forces had stormed the paramilitary base, had happened only a moment ago. Jack still saw the details clear as day, as she came for him—rescued him. However, looking at the date, he confirmed what he already knew.
Had it already been three months?
It was weird how quickly things continued on after the Autobots left to negotiate with the US government, in order to prevent an intergalactic incident. School went on as usual, work was the same, and Jack blended into the background of people. It was almost like how it was before, when the boy had just moved to the small desert town, before he met the Autobots. The only difference this time, was that he still had Miko and Raf.
They tried their best to stay positive. Miko still listened her Bulgarian shriek metal and Raf still meddled with his laptop. The teenager still hung out, to talk and laugh. Sometimes they slipped, bringing up the topic, and sure enough, it immediately filled the air with a heavy, uncomfortable silence. Jack noticed they still eyed the pick-up loop whenever they stepped out of school, looking for their rides, their guardians, their friends. Jack always did, too.
But now even the teens' time together was limited. School had ended for summer vacation, and without any entertainment, without the Autobots, without any life or death scenarios, another month had passed slowly.
Jack looked back at the glaring date on his clock.
Three months since he last saw and spoke to his best friend, his partner, Arcee. A month left of summer. And it was the day his father died.
Staff Sergeant Jonathan Darby. The Army Ranger was supposed to come home. He even made it back to base, and packed to make the long journey from the other side of the world. But then they came.
The helicopter was escorted onto the landing deck, the humans none the wiser to what it really was. What its true mission was.
Now Jack was bonded to the one responsible—albeit indirectly—of his father's death.
The army brat felt the cycle of morbid thoughts quickly crawl to the surface of his mind. He almost fell back into it, almost forgot why this day was supposed to be special. Then he saw it.
It was on his nightstand, just beside his digital clock. Either Jack was so tired from his rough sleep or he was so focused on the numbers, he had failed to see it. It was a little black box, just small enough to rest in his palm. It was cool and smooth in his hand, and the boy quickly realized the obsidian metal was not of earthly origin.
Cocking an eyebrow, he turned the perfectly symmetrical cube between his fingers. Allowing the pad of his thumb to brush against a switch. Immediately there was a distinct clicking sound, and Jack widened his eyes as the little black box changed shape. The top half folded away, and a pale, violet light shone forth.
The teenager's mouth gaped at the object nestled in the flexible mesh. It was a solid, smooth crystal, ending in two sharp points on either end, in a diamond-like shape. It was attached to a thin, flexible chain, composed of the same metal that made up the cube. It was a necklace, Jack realized, but it wasn't feminine or masculine. It was a simple, modest design, allowing the particular crystal to display its significance.
It was already tingling against the teenager's palm, and he felt his heart beat a little faster. Underneath the hard, cold surface, a violet hue pulsed from the center of the crystal. Emitting a dark, wicked, evil power, yet Jack found his tight muscles uncoiling one-by-one. It was the very thing that flowed through his body, after all.
Dark energon.
The military brat realized what the odd trinket was supposed to be, and just as quickly realized how it got there. He must have left it behind, from last night's visit. Jack honestly didn't expect him to remember, or even care.
The teenager glanced at the date.
July 3rd
His birthday.
Jack smiled.
"Thanks, Megatron."
After ten full minutes of considering, Jack threw the chain over his head and tucked the shard of dark energon underneath his shirt. Thankfully the cotton was thick enough to hide its pale glow and though it tingled against his skin, it was not distracting.
The army brat wasn't fooled by Megatron's gesture. The Decepticon leader was far from the type to present a gift just to spoil someone else. It was just another way to claim him, a physical incarnation of the warlord's possessiveness over his human pet. The fact it was dark energon was no coincidence, either. It was a reminder, of the essence that linked them together.
The Blood of the Chaos Bringer, Megatron had absorbed it and it had practically brought him back from the dead. Jack still didn't know what had compelled the tyrant to share it with the teenaged boy. His body had initially rejected it. Tried to expel the poison that it was, but the dark energon had sunk into his blood, his heart, his soul.
Now Jack and Megatron shared a bond of blood, and he still didn't understand how it worked. He could only feel a pull in the back of his mind, reaching out to another's. When he reached out, pressing against it tentatively, he felt a stir of emotions that weren't his. Sometimes they invaded his mind, overlapping with his own.
Jack mostly felt Megatron's anger or his annoyance, which he suspected was mostly directed at the Decepticon leader's incompetent subordinates. It put him in a bad mood more than once. Other times, the army brat would be lost in his own thoughts, only to feel a stab of pain burrow into his skin. He would either seethe or yell out, gripping at a wound that was not there. Every time it attracted odd stares, the boy wanted to sink into a hole.
That was nothing, compared to when Megatron decided to take a nap. Being practically an immortal being and a workaholic warlord, the Decepticon did not have the same sleep schedule as the teenager. Jack would go for days, sometimes weeks, without an incident. One moment he would be alert and wide awake, only for a powerful wave of exhaustion to wash over him. It was the only warning he got, before he sunk into unconsciousness.
Most of the time, he was in the safety of his own home, so there was no real harm. However, Megatron wasn't against sleeping in the middle of the day. Even if it was an inconvenient time for the human.
Once Jack was in the middle of a final exam when the room spun, and before he could fight it, he slumped out of his chair and onto the floor. He woke up in the nurse's office, the woman incredibly confused why he passed out for no apparent reason. The only conclusion she could come up with was that he was stressed and sleep-deprived. It still didn't save him from being the class joke for the remaining week. The other time was at work, when Jack had fallen unconscious in the meat freezer. If his co-worker, Kyle, hadn't found him and dragged him out, he would've been sent to the hospital for hypothermia.
It annoyed the teenager more than anything, and didn't hesitate to vent his grievances. Megatron only found it funny.
The teen could only hope there wouldn't be another incident as he stepped into the garage. Instantly his heart clenched at the sight before him. It was cold, dark. Empty. No familiar, curved figure met him. No purr of an engine greeted him.
Instead, there was only a collection of shelves pushed up against the wall, covered in forgotten tools and junk. Alongside the bicycle he had since middle school. No gorgeous paint, no sleek armor. Just bars of metal welded together and covered with rust, it was a sorry excuse of a two-wheeler. Raf had offered him a ride, but the other boy lived on the other side of town, and Jack felt guilty to make him go out of his way. He probably needed the exercise, anyway.
Even with that thought, the army brat was slow and reluctant as he walked it to the street. It took him far too long to make it to the center of town, as compared to the matter of minutes it took with her. His legs were pulsing with soreness by the time he pulled into the parking lot. He was really out of shape.
Jack didn't want to do anything special for his birthday. All he wanted was a quiet afternoon with his friends, to be normal, and not to worry about time, or nightmares, or deadly aliens.
Raf suggested pizza, and that was just fine with Jack. His friends had already gotten there first, even sitting at a table with an extra large (yes, extra large) cheese pizza between them. At least, that was the last image he saw before crushing arms wrapped around his torso.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
"M-Miko, can't b-breathe," Jack wheezed.
The Japanese girl seemed oblivious as she released him, only to half-usher, half-drag him over, skipping all the way. She wasted no time, either. The teen hadn't even fully settled in the booth when a box covered in brightly-colored wrapping was tossed in front of him.
"Open it! Open it!" Miko demanded, practically bouncing on her seat like a restless toddler.
Jack only grinned with a huff, but did as he was told, only he didn't believe his eyes. It was the unreleased album of his favorite band.
"H-how did you possibly get this?" the teen gasped, flipping it over in his hands, like he was trying to find the tiniest flaw to prove it wasn't real. It wasn't supposed to come out for weeks.
Miko shrugged. "I know people."
The military brat decided it was better not to know and moved on to Raf's present. It was that new video game he had been eying a year before its release, though he said he preferred to save the cash. Both gifts in his hand, Jack could only stare at them.
"So, what do you think?" Miko pressed at his lack of reaction. "You like them?"
"Y-Yeah, of course," the boy insisted, quickly blinking out of his trance. "It's just that… it's really thoughtful."
The crystal on his chest tingled.
"Well, duh, that's what friends are for."
"Yeah," Raf agreed. "We wanted to do something special, since, you know… it's summer."
Instantly Jack's lightened spirit became heavy. It was true. They were already halfway through the summer. The Autobots were gone, and the teenager wondered how many days they had left with each other.
Miko's exchange program had ended that spring. The student had ranted, screamed, compromised, and pleaded, but her parents in Japan did not budge. They had become aware of their daughter's rambunctious behavior, especially her dropping grades and the number of detentions—and suspensions—she had received. They deemed that the American culture was having a bad influence on her, and refused to renew her application. Miko had convinced her parents to let her stay for the summer, but now it was a waiting game until they grew impatient.
Raf came forward with his own news. His mother found a job in Ohio, and rather than flying back and forth, she deemed to take her five children along with her. Including Raf. He, too, only had until the end of the summer, until his family made the long journey.
Away from Jasper, Nevada.
Leaving Jack alone.
The military brat forced a smile. "Yeah. Thank you, guys."
The first few minutes of the following conversation was tense, the heavy reminder on all of them. However, as time went by, moving from one random subject to the next, Jack became distracted again. Until—
"So, when do you think we'll see them again?" Miko asked, like it was a curious question.
"What do you mean?" Jack blinked.
"The 'Bots. We haven't seen or heard anything from them in weeks. I mean, not so much as a phone call. It's not normal."
The teenaged boys frowned, and it was Jack that decided to explain patiently, "Miko, you know the deal. The 'Bots can't talk to us anymore."
"And why not? Because some stuck-up, know-it-all in a suit told us so?" The Japanese student crossed her arms defiantly, a gesture Jack knew all too well when the stubborn girl made up her mind. "They're our friends!"
The army brat bit the inside of his cheek, trying to fight his own frustration. A year. A year they had spent with the Autobots, taking rides from school, hanging out at the base, and going on missions across the globe. They had originally taken the children in to defend them against the Decepticons, but soon they had gained a certain fondness for their charges.
The Autobots were more than just their guardians. They were their partners. Family.
And once again, Jack's family was taken away from him. When the Autobots first arrived to Earth, the U.S. government was terrified by the highly technologically advanced race that could easily destroy their country with a flip of a switch. The military had signed a peace treaty, even forming a coalition task force consisting of both humans and Cybertronians—NEST.
However, one of the agreements of the treaty was that the Autobots were forbidden from having contact with civilians. One reason was to prevent mass panic, and Jack was quite sure the government did not want their enemies to know about their newfound assets. And it was according to the treaty, Jack and his friends were civilians.
"I know, Miko, but, it's… it's way over our heads," he tried.
"But we have to do something!"
Jack gritted his teeth, feeling that suppressed anger bubble up his chest, but he knew it was unfair to unleash it on Miko. Still, he couldn't help raising his voice a little as he demanded, "What can we do? We're in high school."
"So?"
"So there's nothing we can do."
Miko shook her head so hard that the boy thought it would fall off. "That's not true! We were with the 'Bots for a year. They can't just forget about us!"
The teenager swallowed, and the growing fury was quickly replaced with a much more painful emotion. Just a single phone call—or something—to hear his guardian's voice would have been more than enough. However, the wish was cruelly ripped away as Raf spoke up, his voice small and tentative.
"I tried calling Bumblebee once, but… he didn't answer," the young boy confessed lowly.
"Bulkhead's dodging me, too," Miko replied, almost resentfully, like her friend was merely pettily ignoring her and not cut off from ever speaking to her again.
Jack didn't want to admit he had been so desperate once to try to contact Arcee, but only got the same result. But he couldn't.
"We can't talk to them anymore," the teen forced out, each word painful. Instantly his friends frowned with downcast gazes, eyes turning shiny in the incandescent light.
"I know," Raf murmured in a low whine, "it's just that…"
He trailed off, and Miko was the one that spoke the words all three of them were too afraid to say.
"I miss Bulkhead…" she whimpered.
Jack's heart twisted and it hurt to swallow the lump in his voice. Oh, how he missed Arcee. He missed going on rides, how effortlessly she would move, the speeds she could reach. He missed bickering with her, talking with her. He missed his best friend.
Jack talked with him, sure—sometimes hours at a time, even. But it wasn't the same. No one could replace his girl.
The teenager's stomach knotted and glanced at the remaining slices of pizza. His stomach churned at the grease covering the sticky cheese, and he lost the will to force himself to eat.
Jack had learned to eat without an appetite. Not only had the dark energon sunk into his body, but it was a heavy weight in his stomach. It was a long, unpleasant process. Jack could only eat a little at a time, but he tried to force himself to eat more and more. Sometimes he ate too much, or the food just didn't mix well with the poisonous substance, and the boy would lose the progress he had made.
Only the dark energon settled in his stomach. Jack hated it. He hated that it was the only thing that fill the void in his gut, his soul. He hated how he would crave it, even though he didn't want it. The worst part of all, he knew that was exactly what Megatron wanted.
The shard felt warm on his chest.
Jack collected his gifts and pushed himself off of the booth. He thanked his friends, sincerely, but couldn't force any more conversation. He walked out of the restaurant, and out towards his lonely bike. The teen looked down at his feet, and he almost didn't see it.
It was a flash in the corner of his eye, but it made him freeze all the same. No, it couldn't be. The army brat told himself it was just another trick of the eye, that he had been mistaken dozens of times. Even with that in mind, Jack glanced up anyway. His breath caught in his throat.
No, it couldn't be.
Sleek, shiny curves of deep blue, gleaming under the hot desert sun. Streaks of light pink slashed through the cool color, but not distracting. A pair of fully-pumped, jet-black wheels, one pointed in his direction.
Jack blinked. Then again. And again. Waiting for the hallucination to disappear.
But it didn't.
The teenager dared to turn and took a step, and another. Slowly, cautiously, like if he moved too quickly, the mirage would vanish. But it stayed solid, even as he paused a foot away from it.
No, it wasn't—
"Arcee…"
"Hey, partner."