Nights had always been my favorite time of day, even back at the School. It meant that all the whitecoats were gone (or at least most of them-- there were some workaholics that stayed late into the night), and also no more tests to see how far I could run before collapsing, or how I would react to some chemical. It was quiet. It was peaceful.

But out here, it was even better.

The air tasted different at night. Back at the School, it always tasted like antiseptic, but out here... I don't know how to explain it. It just is.

And there was a moon, and lots of stars... whoever invented those was a genius.

My dreams were starting to get on my nerves. Why did I keep having dreams about that... what was it called? A Slicer? Yes, that was it. I hadn't heard about any sort of morphers besides the Erasers, but I guess I'm not the expert on these types of things. Andrea never talked about the other experiments much. That was fine with me-- I had enough troubles of my own to worry about without learning about the suffering of others. I guess I sound selfish. Maybe I am, but can you blame me? I didn't want to borrow trouble, and I couldn't have done anything anyways.

The only problem with night was that it was rather chilly. And I was still wearing my hospital dress from the School. Not very insulating.

I had to find something.

I snuck very, very quietly out from behind the dumpster, letting out the occasional squeak to make sure I wasn't about to run into anything.

It was almost silent. I crept down the sidewalk, keeping myself alert, listening out for any footfalls... especially those made by Erasers. They have a rather distinct gait, a smooth, gliding lope. I'd memorized the basic pattern as a survival mechanism.

All clear. I kept walking.

Now, where would I find something less conspicuous to wear?

I turned to see a large box sitting by the doors of a church labelled 'Charity'. Peering in, I saw that there were brown paper grocery bags full of clothing. Well, I certainly could use some charity, and if they were giving it away anyways...

I grabbed a powder blue sweatshirt with three little cartoony monkey heads on the front. It had a hood-- handy for hiding larger-than-usual ears. I snagged some jeans as well. They looked about my size. Darting away to a more secluded area to try them on, I started thinking again.

What if this Slicer was real? Why did she look so much like me? A bit older, true... but still. What if she was my sister or something?

Maybe these dreams were some weird power manifesting. I'd heard that the whitecoats were learning how to genetically engineer stuff like telepathy. Frankly, however, I couldn't see the use of my dreams besides freaking me out.

I slipped into my new outfit. When the hood was on, though, everything sounded muffled, so I took it off. I depend a lot on my ears, and I feel half-blind without them. I decided to wear the hood only during the day, when people might see.

Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced my skull. I grabbed my head with both hands and collapsed before blacking out.

I have her scent, now. That bat-girl.

I know what bats smell like. They put me in an dark enclosure with some, once. They wanted to test my night vision as well as my hunting ability.

I hadn't been fed for two days prior, to make sure I'd cooperate. The bats' squeaking really got on my nerves, and I caught a few. I discovered that I had no particular fondness for bat.

However, when I was full, I shifted back to my human form. The squeaking wasn't so loud anymore.

The whitecoats were displeased. An Eraser would have kept on killing, just for the sake of killing, or at least to quiet the infernal squeaking. I wasn't aggressive enough for the whitecoats.

But that is in the past. If I never see another whitecoat again it'll be too soon.

For now... I'll track Batty. I'll find out who she is, why she looks like me, and why she haunts my dreams.

That is my nightmare-- because I am no good as an experiment, I seek at least to be a good human. I can look human. Heck, I can look like a supermodel. But she never can. She will always be a freak.

For now, I will remain in feline form. It's better for tracking.

"Unnh..." I sat up cautiously. Well, it seemed the dreams didn't really care whether I was asleep or not.

Wait a minute... she calls me Batty!?

Yeesh. I might be a little odd, but I'm not crazy.

If she's tracking me, though, it means we'll probably meet up. Then maybe we'll both get our answers.

That is, if she doesn't just tear me apart. She might not be as aggressive as an Eraser... but the whole tearing-apart-bats-and-eating-them thing kind of creeped me out, what with my being part bat and all.

Still, there's hope. She did say that she wasn't fond of bat...