She must have placed the device back onto Oliver's head, because when the scene changed again, they were in the same room, and the man was once again strapped to the bed. There were several new machines beside the bed, each one as equally terrifying looking as the next, and the poor man was wired up to every one of them, the majority connected to the mechanical device on his head.

If he was frightened, he certainly had long mastered the art of hiding it. Now more unkempt and gaunt in appearance than ever, he really did look almost bored more than anything else, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the bed sheets.

Also in the room were two nurses stood by the door, the young man she recognised to be Cary Loudermilk manning the machines, herself, and a dapper looking gentleman wearing a fez occupying the metal seat in the corner. The latter seemed reluctant to be in proximity with the patient, not even looking at him when he spoke to him, though he seemed more than content to force an unnecessary derision in his tone whenever he spoke, his smile melting into his many chins.

"Ah, Oliver," the man said thoughtfully, tapping a pencil on his clipboard. Glancing at the lanyard around his neck, Melanie ascertained that he identified as Doctor Farouk. "I've flown many miles for the chance to meet you. I specialise in parapsychology, you see, but rare butterflies like you are notoriously difficult to catch."

"I believe we've met once or twice," Oliver replied musically, and Melanie caught sight of her past self and Cary Loudermilk glance at each other in confusion. The past Melanie, like Farouk, was stood well away from the bed, her hands permanently attached to the keyboard in the wall as she recorded the session occurring.

"Not in person," Farouk muttered, and his dark gaze raised to look at the prone man on the bed in a manner disturbingly hungry in nature, as if all he wanted was to devour him whole. "It seems you've been reluctant to share your powers with the Divisions, so I've organised a little stress test in order to get a better idea of your strengths. We've already established the psychic shields -"

"You'd know them better than anyone -"

" - and the telepathy, but what else?"

"There's nothing else. Can I get a drink or some sort? Maybe a splash of vodka to help me along?"

Farouk stood, then, his thick brow furrowing with displeasure. Regardless, he smiled toothily again, looking every bit like a shark on the hunt, and moved lithely over to the crass bed, small eyes set so intently on his prey that Melanie was sure he didn't blink the entire time. His small, wide hands gripped onto one of the metal bars tightly after setting the clipboard down to the side.

"You will let me in," he said with a slight growl, reaching forwards to affectionately adjust the device on Oliver's head. "Let's break down those shields, hm? If you're lucky, you might even forget all those years it took you to learn how to keep others out, but then he came along and made it look so easy. Ah!" Farouk straightened and pressed a finger onto a monitor attached to one of the machines. The lines being digitally drawn across it every second had spiked momentarily. "Was that anger, Oliver? Isn't it beautiful to see it? Isn't it better to feel it? Don't worry, I'll be sure to find him once I've gotten through to you, if only you'd tell me where he is."

Apparently unimpressed, Oliver looked at Cary and Melanie and pulled a slight face, seemingly more incredulous than anything else.

"Damn it, Jim, I'm a scientist, not a psychic," he quoted, clearly ignoring the thinly veiled threats spared him by the doctor.

Farouk scratched at his bald head. "What?"

"You don't know Star Trek? Ugh, and you call yourself a timeless concept. Can I get that drink now?"

The older man just laughed, holding onto his great belly as he did.

"Mister Bird, you seem to be mistaken. I work for Division Three! Loudermilk, start the device – and why don't you explain it to our comedian of a friend here? It's sure to thrill him."

Cary turned and began fumbling with various buttons and switches on the smallest of the machines. The horrible thing looked more like a torture device from the thirties, and it began whirring loudly once switched on and charged.

"It's a modified ECT machine, designed to r-recognise certain patterns and waves in the mind. We've identified the … the part of your brain that activates when defending itself. It's the best way to dismantle a telepath's shields, but also the most risky. I've explained that to Doctor Farouk."

"Ah!" Oliver exclaimed. "I like it! Very clever, Mister Loudermilk. I'll buy you a drink every day for the rest of your life if you don't use this marvellous machine on me. I'm sure you've considered that the mutant gene has designed itself to activate in periods of extreme stress, even performing beyond what a person is usually capable of."

"Yes. That's why it's risky," Cary explained nervously, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Especially with the telepathically-inclined."

Melanie suspected what was to come next. Tugging at Ptonomy's hand, she guided his face into her belly so that he wouldn't have to watch it and have the memory etched into his mind forever. Whereas before the vision had melted into the next, Melanie was forced to watch helplessly as Oliver's head snapped back and his body stiffened, and then after several long seconds of whatever torture they were inflicting upon his brain, he gradually collapsed back down and coughed a mouthful of blood over the pillow.

"My thongue!" he slurred accusingly at Cary, who appeared suitably fretful.

"S-sorry," the young scientist stuttered, before turning his gaze back to Farouk. "Anything?"

"No. Don't stop, you idiot."

This time, Melanie darted forwards and tried to touch the machines to turn them off, but her hands vanished straight through what should have been cold, hard metal. She tried to grab Cary Loudermilk as he initiated the procedure again, but he was oblivious to her presence and as immune to her touch as everything else within this nightmare. Horrified by what she was seeing, she returned to Ptonomy and once again pulled him close to her, panic building as the minutes passed.

Then, she heard her own voice.

"You're killing him," past Melanie proclaimed firmly, approaching the bed. "He'll be of no use to anyone dead."

Loudermilk just looked at her fearfully. Doctor Farouk hadn't seemed to hear her. In fact, the gargantuan man seemed well and truly entranced by the vision of suffering, staring so intently at Oliver's face that he didn't seem to be altogether present. Whatever was going through his mind just then was clearly thoroughly unpleasant in nature, but nobody could really know the true extent of it, save for putting two and two together.

Amahl Farouk was a haunted man, but even ghosts had to move on, sometimes.

One of the machines started beeping aggressively. The one measuring brainwaves began flashing red, soon to be followed by the room's lights, which flickered heavily to the extent that Melanie was near enough disorientated. Seconds later, some sort of alarm in the room began blaring, only adding to the rapidly building chaos.

Oliver began shuddering violently and the skin of his face became redder and redder until blood began to pour from both nostrils, staining the white of his gown, and it was then Cary Loudermilk turned and pushed the lever on the machine back into the 'off' position. To his evident horror, some sort of malfunction in the machine prevented the end of its cruel purpose, no matter how many times he slammed the lever back against the metal.

Screens began flickering. Broken code replaced the nonsensical images upon them. Though Melanie had no idea what Farouk had meant by breaking down psychic walls, she could tell by the apparent glee on his face that his plan was working, and he was getting too close to achieving whatever his foul goal was. Far, far too close.

Thankfully, her past self had the sense to act.

"That's enough!"

She watched herself run and grab the metal chair in the corner. In a stupendous show of rebellion, the seat of the chair was brought down so hard on Farouk's head that the man was actually sent flying down onto his side. Once the chair was firmly discarded on top of him, Melanie seized the inhibiting device on Oliver's head and yanked it off.

And then she remembered.

In that moment, she was no longer watching the memory as an outsider but actually remembering. She remembered with such clarity that it took her breath away.

She had seen into Oliver's eyes. The Inhibitor being removed allowed his power to break free, and she had actually felt it wash over her like a sheet of freezing water, unable to tear her gaze away from him because his gaze was glowing that familiar white-blue and she could see everything within it. She could see her own reflection, only she seemed happier than she truly felt because she was watching herself in a different time.

Was that … her mother? Why was it that she hadn't actually been able to remember anything about her own mother until now? Why hadn't she been able to remember anything about Oliver? She knew him.

Or, she knew of him, at least, because she had done her research beforehand. Newspapers, mostly.

Oliver was once an angry young man. Frustratingly brilliant, there shouldn't have been anything holding him back, but there was always that furious spark in his otherwise gentle, clever eyes, something that wasn't entirely him but was at the same time. He went missing, eventually, and he seemed to do that rather often.

He had been arrested several times at protests. He burnt anti-mutant propaganda in the streets, performed loud and abrasive poetry in broad daylight, but by the time he had really gained a voice, the world had been convinced that mutants didn't really exist. They were just a conspiracy theory, and to them, Oliver was a scientist who had gone completely mad. Delusions, depression, breakdowns, or so they said. The scientific community shunned his research on the future of human evolution.

He was a mutant, without a doubt. A freak of nature. It wasn't until she met him that she realised what he really was.

Polite, eccentric, and disarmingly charming. Even when strapped down and facing the true wrath of the government.

Melanie had been keen to turn a blind eye to his work, but she was also one of the few reluctantly attracted to it. Her mother had possessed certain gifts deemed suitably supernatural in nature, but those gifts had also seen her taken away to a mental institution when Melanie was young. She died there, and Melanie's father told her it had been heartbreak that killed her. She didn't understand until she was older, because she was scared of understanding, scared of mutants and their terrifying prowess.

It wasn't heartbreak. It was injustice.

It was murder.

It was the same injustice afflicting every mutant locked up within this institution. It was the reason she had gone there in the first place, but something had caused her to forget.

She knew who she was, now. Regardless of whether the people were mutants or genuine patients, they deserved the same right to freedom as she, the same respect, the same opportunities. This place was no institution at all, but an elaborate waiting room. They were being groomed to be obedient weapons, but if they didn't reach their potential by a certain age, they were taken away to be exterminated.

The white light enveloped her, much like it had all that time ago. Unleashing Oliver's power had obliterated her memories, scattered them but never too far beyond reach, because now they were slowly being pieced back together like a jigsaw puzzle. As the seconds passed, she found herself crying, then laughing, and then crying again, because she hadn't thought it strange that her memory of life before the institution had been completely blank.

It hadn't been blank. It had been beautiful.

Bonjour!

"Oliver?"

It's me. Your mind is looking more radiant than ever, you know.

Choking on her next words, she reached out, but she couldn't see anything. Nothing but light. Ptonomy's trip into Melanie's mind had been hijacked, or so it seemed, but all the presence could conjure now was empty space – nothing like the beautiful meadows and oceans from before. Even her own body didn't seem to exist, save for her mind floating in whatever this place was. The thought made her highly uncomfortable, to which Oliver responded:

Oh, this? I know, it's a bit boring, isn't it? I'm not really in the right headspace for creating. This might be the last time I can talk to you, actually.

He said it so nonchalantly, but Melanie knew what he meant. His time was running out.

Can I just clear things up a bit? Ptonomy is in the process of restoring your memories. You saved my life by taking the Inhibitor off, but exposed yourself to, well … Fortunately for us all, you were only left with amnesia.

"That man - "

Don't worry about him. I know you're about to apologise, but don't. The Divisions taught you to fear people like me, and they know how to manipulate that fear, too.

"I saw you as an experiment."

You've changed.

"It's unforgivable, Oliver."

It's forgiven! You're already thinking of ways to get me out. It'll be easier for you to focus on the lower-level mutants around you. Some is better than none, after all. When you get out, have a drink for me, will you?

"No," Melanie replied brazenly, and if she could see the man, she would fix a stern glare upon him. "Actually, it would be better if you joined me. That seems fairer, doesn't it? We could get to know each other in a place that actually exists, as beautiful as the dreams have been."

Are you asking me out? Man, of all the times to be locked in a dingy little cell. Maybe you'd like to go for dinner and a dance?

"You'll need to tell me how to help you, first."

There was a slight pause.

You know that feeling when, uh … Well, like when you've locked your keys inside your house and all the windows are closed? And you just kind of wander around a bit, hoping a way in will magically open up? That's kind of how I'm feeling at the moment.

Another pause, during which Melanie offered her sympathy through thought, even if not completely aware of what Oliver meant.

I knew I could bring together the best minds to save the lower-level patients, but the rest of the facility is impenetrable. The Four Dragons must become three. I feel like … I'm disappointed I won't see you again, Melanie. If it weren't for this nonsense mind of mine, you and I would already be free as birds.

Melanie suddenly felt a great sadness, but she also felt incredibly resolute. Confident, even, now that her memories were falling into place and she remembered who she was. If he were there with her, she wouldn't have dropped her gaze for a second. She would have simply raised her head with boldness.

"The impossible is never out of the question, Oliver. If it were, you wouldn't be talking to me in my mind, would you?" She paused for effect. "The world needs minds like yours."

And yours.

"Don't do what they want by giving up."

How she wished she could see him, reassure him with a kind smile, but she reminded herself that her job wasn't to rely on smiles alone, but on words. She was a therapist, and maybe that was why Oliver had sought her mind again regardless of her former opinions concerning mutants; she was good at what she did. She knew it, and she knew that she could save the poor people being experimented on by the mysterious Divisions.

Melanie did, however, yearn to see him again. The more she remembered, the more she realised how much time she had spent in that horrible little room.

I want to see you, too. I've brought you to where I am but you're nowhere in sight.

"I'm here," she reassured him, wistfulness in her tone.

I think my mind has literally scattered. Fascinating, isn't it? Maybe that's why I can't get back in. It'll take me some time to sort of … rearrange myself. You might be waiting a while for that date you mentioned, but I'm still holding you to it.

"And it'll be worth the wait, I'm sure."

Ah, Melanie …

He said her name like it was poetry.

Where the hell was she supposed to start?

Falling back into routine proved painful, but it was an opportunity to find time to think knowing full well that her work with the patients wasn't actually doing any good, because that was what the Divisions wanted. They had reassigned her, in a sense, likely not wanting to release her back into the public just in case her amnesia lifted and she told the world of the cruel institution in the wilderness.

Ptonomy had been oddly silent since their encounter. Melanie wasn't entirely sure what had happened to him when Oliver had pulled her from her memories and into the dream-world beyond, but the boy seemed deeply contemplative and far too eager to resume taking the sedatives that kept his powers under control. The therapist sometimes watched him as he slept, and often she whispered comfort, assuring him that there would be a time he'd be free.

It didn't take long for answers to find her. They came in the form of an old colleague, a man who she had failed to recognise but a few days past. She had, in fact, worked with him for about a year or so. He had handled the physical aspect of the job: the machines, measuring brain-waves, inventing devices to keep mutants controlled, whereas she had dealt with the talking and the secret database only she and a few select others had held access too.

She recognised the knock on her office door immediately. Dropping Mister Bird's file back into the drawer, she jogged over and opened it to all but pull the poor man inside, barely allowing him the opportunity to greet her.

"Do you remember?" she asked immediately, closing the door to grant them privacy.

Cary awkwardly adjusted his glasses and glanced quickly about the spacious room, looking at one of the lamps on the wall for a few seconds as if unnerved by it.

"Well – It all just, uh … One moment I was looking through files, the next I was seeing another place and time entirely, except it was through your eyes, not mine. He must've … Oh, I don't know, it doesn't matter. My memories all came flooding back once it was over." Briefly pausing, Cary gnawed anxiously on his lower lip, gazing intently at Melanie with a furrowed brow. "Before that, uh, I dreamt of a talking lamp and it asked me to talk to you once things started making some sense. Weird, right? Now it does make sense. You're one of us, now."

"One of you?" Melanie dared ask, raising an eyebrow.

"I had no idea what I was getting myself into, Miss Stone. I wanted to help these people. My devices were meant to help them, but they were used … used incorrectly, modified, used to gain information or suppress a person. Doctor Farouk made it clear that if I turned against him, he'd start experimenting on me. I just had to … uh, wait. I knew there was a way I could get them out, I just didn't know what it was yet."

With a sigh, Melanie turned towards her window and rubbed her forehead, trying to get her head around it all. Somewhat absent-mindedly, she reached out and touched one of the flowers lined up on the sill. They were finally starting to open up to the sunlight, just about displaying their impressive array of colours.

"The higher-level mutants," she began, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to call the memory back to her. "They were all ..."

"Telepaths in one way or another. Doctor Farouk was hunting them. Why? I really have no idea, but I get the impression he was … Oh, I don't know! I think the Divisions hoped that Oliver would be their answer to Professor Xavier."

Xavier. Melanie could remember that name. Amongst the Divisions, Xavier was the name of their greatest enemy, a mutant of such formidable power that he could force entire crowds to their knees if he wanted to.

But he didn't want to, and that's why he was such a threat.

"Was he?" she asked quietly, turning back to the young scientist. Cary looked away for a moment, apparently finding it as difficult to remember the final details as she.

"No. He was d-difficult, in more ways than one. I'd take the Inhibitor off for two seconds and everybody would be singing Frank Sinatra! Not taking his situation seriously was his way of keeping us out, and he was very good at that. Nobody had a clue whether he was as powerful as Xavier or not."

Melanie suddenly heard girlish laughter coming from the corner of the room. Unnerved, she turned her head to see that nobody was there.

"Do you ..." she said, somewhat unnerved. "Have you been seeing or hearing things that aren't there?"

Cary followed her gaze, and then he shifted rather uncomfortably, rubbing one of his arms.

"If that isn't normal for you, then I'd put it down to the five telepaths beneath us who are suffering. They're all wearing Inhibitors, but suppressing the subconscious proves more difficult. You're just good at perceiving and piecing together what you see. Are … Oh! You must be a telepath, too! Of course!"

Alarmed by Cary's bold assumption, Melanie reluctantly looked away from the spot she could have sworn she heard familiar laughter.

"I'm not a mutant," she responded uneasily. "The gene wasn't passed to me."

"Oh, then -"

"My mother was an empath. Oliver must find it easier to walk well-used roads in his current state."

The laughter came again.

Melanie knew her mother's laughter. It was one of those overly-loud, tinkling laughs, and always kind. This noise, however, seemed to be making a mockery of it, as if the memory of her own mother was laughing at her, distorted or even twisted beyond normality.

Trying to ignore it, she abruptly picked up the file from her desk and held it in Cary's face, shaking it a little to signify its importance. The scientist reluctantly pried it from her fingers and began reading through it.

"I found this in my desk a while back. I know I didn't put it there, Mister Loudermilk. It's classified information! I know that you couldn't have done it, either, having been exposed to the same amnesia. Is there somebody else on our side?"

Cary thoughtfully flipped through the pages before closing the file. The information within was near enough useless, because they hadn't actually ever been able to glean anything of use from the jewel in their collection of telepaths. His mind – that wonderful, expressive place – had been as difficult to crack as a diamond, and even when shattered whole, the pieces were still finding their way back together.

"We never found the one that escaped," Cary reminded her, visibly struck by the idea.

One had escaped, hadn't they? Melanie did her best to remember the incident, but it proved difficult. All she could recall that the least powerful mutant they had imprisoned within the hidden Institute of Parapsychology had also been the only one to actually escape. The man hadn't been a true telepath, nowhere near the level of the others, but he had remarkable gifts in other areas. His true talent was that of deceiving the senses.

The entire facility had been put into lockdown. There was a small chance he could have escaped, but there was also the possibility that he had stayed. Hidden, of course, and watching from the unknown, but undoubtedly on their side. Had Oliver convinced him to help with the escape, too?

"Walter?" she attempted. "Was that his name?"

"Yes, that's the one. He hasn't been seen since."

"Then there are at least three of us, not including Oliver."

"Four," Cary corrected eagerly, warranting Melanie's immediate curiosity. "My younger sister. She was there when Oliver lost control, too, only the memory surge has made her feel a bit sick, actually. C'mon, Kerry, we're all on the same team, here!"

Now completely confused, the therapist gaped at the man questioningly.

At least until one side of Cary's body glowed white and somebody else walked straight out of him.

It was far too easy to remember just why she had feared mutants. A new feeling, however, was a sense of awe, or even admiration upon witnessing the impossible, which oddly complimented her doubt regarding the human phenomena.

So, Mister Loudermilk was a mutant, too. Or was it 'mutants'? Melanie wasn't exactly sure how the gene had affected them, and she was momentarily too awestruck to try and figure it out. Eyes wide, she gazed upon the young lady who Cary called his sister.

The girl was no more than fourteen years old, at least in appearance. She was wearing a spiked leather jacket, an intense amount of eyeliner, and a forced expression of severe nonchalance. She immediately made her way to Melanie's large desk and sat on it to swing her legs back and forth, greeting the therapist with a slight hand gesture.

"We're, like, twins. Or something," Kerry said flatly as a form of explanation. "Hey, I've been really bored the past few weeks. Can we go fight some evil government guys yet?"

Melanie really was seeing the impossible. Nonsense, she thought, but the nonsense was proving preferable to the false reality she had been living for however long.

It was harder to consider that soon they would all be in a fight for their lives.