It all made sense one night.

He woke up from his sleep due to a pricking sensation in his hands. His room was aglow with a faint bluish light when he opened his eyes. Looking down, he saw energy playing within the palms and fingers of his hands.

The voice – it had been a form of temporary psychosis induced by a change in him, a change that came slowly but steadily. He had been coughing up metallic granules these past two weeks, too. His doctor thought he was just getting sick and had even scheduled an MRI out of concern. Now, it was clear to him why.

The new had broken down the old in preparation of its takeover. The liquid bionics – it had transformed everything within him. In the process, it revealed many things he wouldn't have known otherwise.

The rush of something new and vibrant thrilled him. It restored his confidence, and it gave him a sense of joy and peace.

The energy blinked out upon his mental cue, retreating back to its depths where it continued to build with the rest of the inexplicable, wondrous new things.

He went back to sleep that night and had the best rest he had ever had in a long time.

. . .

Knock, knock. Then, "Leo? They said you wanted to see me?"

He looked up from his book. Unlike the other residents at that time of the day, he was dressed in his favorite jeans, shirt, and hoodie. Beside him was his backpack, filled with the very few belongings he had been given throughout his stay.

From the look on the doctor's eyes, he could tell these inconsistencies didn't go unnoticed.

"I did, Dr. Winslett. Do you mind sitting with me for a few seconds?" he said, smiling.

"Sure," said the kind doctor. He pulled out a swivel chair then sat down. "How are you feeling tonight?"

"Feeling great, actually. I've been getting a lot of sleep." He grinned as he joked, "You haven't been slipping any more of that good stuff in my dinner, have you?"

The doctor smiled. "No. You've been doing well on your own," he said. Looking him over, he commented, "I guess that wretched coughing finally stopped, huh?"

"Oh, it has. Thankfully it has. It had been keeping me up."

The doctor nodded. Finally, he said, "You're dressed really nicely. Is something special happening?"

"Yeah. I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me. You have no idea how much I appreciate it," he said sincerely. "I know I told you this the last time we had our session, but I think I've let go of everything I have to let go."

"Yes, it seems like you have."

"I appreciate your patience. You worked with me even when I was going completely nuts."

"Well, I wouldn't say you were going completely nuts. You were just frustrated. Frustration can drive us into doing things we normally wouldn't."

"Dr. Winslett?"

"Yes?"

"Do you also believe that it was because I was jealous of Kira?"

The doctor took a deep breath. "No," he said honestly. "I actually believe that you love your little sister."

He smiled at that. "Can I ask you to be honest one more time? There was no attempt for a visitation, was there?"

The pleasant expression on the doctor's face evaporated. "Mrs. Davenport came three times when you first got here, but you were in the isolation room," he admitted. "Your oldest stepbrother came as many times, but he said he didn't want you to know he was here. He said he just wanted to check on you, to make sure you were okay. Those clothes that you have on, he brought those for you. He said he wanted you to have something new."

He smiled. "Well, I'll be sure to thank him," he said.

"So, was that all of you'd like to talk to me about?" asked the kind doctor.

He glanced at the clock. 8:56 PM. "I'm sorry, Dr. Winslett," he said. "I didn't realize I was keeping you here too long. Your family's probably waiting for you at home."

"It's all right. I did say I'm here to talk when you need me. Before 9 PM."

He laughed with him.

"Why don't I get Cecil to help you put your things back in your cabinet, hm? It's almost bedtime. I'm sure she'd assist you," the doctor said, getting up.

"Actually, I have a different request," he told the older physician. "I consider you an ally, Dr. Winslett. I don't want you to get caught into what will happen next. I don't want you to get in trouble for it either."

"What are you talking about?"

He hopped to his feet. "Remember everything that you will see, all the details," he said. "They won't understand, but they will have an idea."

"They? Who's 'they?'"

"They'll come soon enough. Probably an hour or so," he said. "I'm sorry. I guess you'll have to stay here longer than I thought. Please tell your wife and baby girl that I apologize when you get back home. You have my promise that the three of you will be safe."

An unsettling feeling descended upon the doctor then. He attempted to bolt for the door to call for help but stopped when his feet became cemented to the floor.

He didn't like seeing the older physician scared. There was really no need to be; he had every intention to keep his promise. He did understand why he would be alarmed, though. He was caught off-guard, after all.

Slipping on the straps of his backpack, he picked up his book. "Electromagnetism, doc. Only this one you can use on people," he said. He headed towards the door, but not without stopping to face the panicked doctor first. He smiled to allay his worries. "I just don't want any more people to get caught in it. You understand, right?"

The doctor only gazed at him fearfully.

"It will deactivate in a bit, I promise," he assured him. "Thank you again for everything. Have a good evening."

Without looking back, he continued on his way out of the hospital. An alert went off a few minutes later, but by then he was already outside. A pair of campus guards attempted to run after him, wielding Tasers while yelling for him to stop. He kept going.

When the supercharged needles whipped through the air, he spun around and caught them by hand. He looked at the guards, warning them to let go. They didn't do so. When the electricity reversed in direction, it hit them.

They were curled up on the ground as he continued on his way. The voltage wasn't lethal. It wasn't even very harmful, just enough to stun them until he was way out of their reach.

He breathed in a lungful of air while he walked. It had been a while since he was out there. He had forgotten how different city air smelled and even tasted like. It definitely wasn't as filtered as the one inside the facility. It was more toxic, he was sure, but at least it had character.

He could detect numerous things in it: faded black smoke from exhausts of poorly-oiled engines, contaminated oxygen from the trees being overworked by an industrial environment, a very vague aroma of roasted chicken and freshly chopped peaches wafting from a health-conscious woman's home. They were all both repulsive and captivating.

Maybe he would stay somewhere out here tonight, where he could be in the middle of everything that was thriving and everything that was wilting away.

. . .

Stealing was wrong, and he knew that. Nonetheless, he had to resort to it. He had to eat. It was a necessity that required actions he wasn't happy about. He could make excuses, say his relapse into psychosis within the two weeks following his exit from the hospital was to blame, but he wouldn't. That would just make him a liar, and the refusal to take responsibility would evidence spinelessness.

The truth was that many times, he did know what he was doing. When he geoleapt to restaurants' kitchens at night after they close, when he snuck into a high school pretending to be a student to get lunch, when he phased through storages in groceries to stock up on what he needed the next morning. He was aware on all of those instances.

But he needed to survive. He had every intention of repaying those he owed someday, but at the moment he could only keep tabs. Last he heard, a manhunt had been issued in order to locate him.

Manhunt. It still sounded as if he was a wild animal that needed to be locked up in a cage.

He had no desire to run away. He wasn't running away. He had begun to comprehend the scope of what he could do, and he was really only avoiding them because he didn't want to see their faces. His psychiatrist had taught him the importance of identifying and staying away from triggers. He didn't think it was a good idea to face several when he was in the worst mental state possible.

Gao was wrong. The unstable formula had been the best. Really, once he discovered how to steady his system, he would be in tiptop shape. He could begin living a new life.

Steady. System. Maybe he did know how—and where—to do that.

. . .

A deafening alarm wailed all over the building, and it woke him up. He sighed. He knew he shouldn't've spent so much time shaving. Maybe he wouldn't have taken so long if the razor had been sharper and easier to access.

He stepped out of the capsule, feeling so much better. Those fourteen hours of sleep wasn't something to frown upon. It was just what he needed. He was kind of surprised that he had that long, actually, but he guessed security wouldn't notice him so soon anyways. How would they, when the CEO of the company hadn't allowed them to see what was truly in that floor?

The schematics of the advanced capsules in there had been stored in his head, and it made parting from the one he borrowed much easier. He would just get the materials to make one for himself later, after completing a job or two. He had been eyeing a beautiful location where he could build his own home, someplace no one ever knew existed. Maybe he'd install it there and sleep for days on end without anyone interrupting him.

A group of guards awaited him as he left the room. Like the campus police, they wielded weapons, too. Hands up, one of them commanded. We've apprehended the suspect, another reported.

Apprehended. Shouldn't they use it only when he's already in cuffs and under their mercy?

He smiled. He kept walking.

Stop! they demanded.

We will shoot! they warned.

No, he thought. No, you're not.

The walls on each side pulled each of the men upwards like powerful magnets attracting metals. They writhed and wriggled from its grasp, but to no avail. It would not let them go.

More men came, but the selective invisible magnetic field he had activated yanked them out of his way. Walking through the mural of people, he was reminded of the glow in the dark stars that children stick on their bedroom walls, only these ones were moving and quite agitated. It wasn't very pleasing to look at, but at least these presented no trouble.

He stopped in his tracks when someone stepped in his way. Adam, dressed in that black mission suit that he was sure only he wore now. The oldest Davenport child looked different. He was sporting a five o'clock shadow and looked every bit of his twenty-four years of life. He seemed bulkier, stronger. Then again, it may just be the dated suit he had on. From the looks of it, it had undergone several repairs just to fit him.

He probably did that in hopes of the team coming back together one day. Shame. Reports of the new team had been all over the news. From the looks of it, his little sister and little brother weren't coming back.

The twenty-four year-old caught sight of the men stuck on the walls and was appalled. "Leo. Please. Let them go," he asked.

"If I let them go, they will try to hurt me." He shook his head. "I don't want to be in that position."

"They won't hurt you."

"They won't. What I'm afraid of is what could happen if one of them decided that they will."

When he made a move towards the elevator, the older bionic shifted to block him. "Don't make me do this," Adam said.

"I can't make you do anything you do not want to do, Adam," he said.

For a long time, he only gazed at him, trying to figure out what had happened.

Suddenly, a security personnel ran in from behind the corner, ready to attack. Unfortunately for him, he was quicker. Firing a current of vibrational waves, the man flew backward, accidentally hitting the older bionic.

The chain reaction caused the twenty-four year-old to crash against the glass window. As it shattered, he flew out into the open air, but quick reflexes had him holding onto the narrow metallic ledge outside.

After assessing what had happened, he walked towards him, stepping over the unconscious man from security. Then, he squatted down. From that high up, the evening breeze was strong and disorienting. It was refreshing, though. It definitely counteracted the humid California weather that had been prevailing these past three days.

"Leo," Adam gasped, trying to fasten onto the ledge as much as possible. "Leo, help – help me."

He surveyed the twenty-four year-old's hands with interest. Blood, on curves between his index finger and thumb and some creases in between his fingers. He must've gotten hold of shards of glass in his panic before finally grasping the metallic ledge. His hands were steady, but they tremored slightly as he swayed along with the wind.

He stared at him in the eye. Fear. Uncertainty. Hopelessness. Pure adrenaline. He was reading those off from him.

He knew what lending them, any of them, a hand eventually led to. So, "No," he said. "You're all more than capable to save yourselves."

The twenty-four year-old's brows furrowed. "What…"

"How many times did you come visit again? Three times?"

"It's not—"

He patted his hands, and the act cemented the older bionic's hand on the ledge. "You have three minutes before it wears off. Don't worry; someone will be here by then." He smiled at the surveillance camera then waved. The founders of Davenport Industries were watching. "Thank you for checking on me and bringing me clothes. You're a good man, Adam Davenport," he told the twenty-four year-old.

After his magnified senses alerted him to an oncoming speedster, he rushed out of the building in a quickness that surpassed what they had on record. It was nowhere near the speed of light, but it sufficed to get him out of there.

Triggers. He no longer called his family that. They didn't have that power over him anymore.