"You let that thing stay with children?!"

Genevieve looked up at Kurama, who'd risen from his seat in moral indignation. "No, Mr. Kurama. This occurred before I was promoted to president of Armacham. Any decisions regarding Alma's placement went above my paygrade."

"But you knew this was happening, right?"

"I was given a briefing."

"You must have known this was a bad idea."

"At the time, I was head of the Scientific Review Branch. My opinions were noted."

Kurama settled back into his seat, eyeing her with a wary glare. "And how hard did you fight this?"

Genevieve matched Kurama's angered gaze with a patient one, "Alma Wade had begun to display negative behavior toward the researching staff, deliberately failing any psychic tests that were presented to her. She continuously expressed a desire to be outside, and have more open space. Despite what you may think, we're not sociopaths. It was agreed that Alma should learn to socialize with other children. It was theorized that such positive development might help her be more cooperative with the staff and any further testing."

Kakuzawa let out a snort. "Look how that went."

Aristide turned to Kakuzawa, and the chief noted, with smug amusement, the passing flicker of irritation in the American's eyes. "As I stated, we took every precaution to make sure Alma was secured. Security fencing, cameras, and a team of soldiers on standby 24/7. She was uncooperative before, and a few of the staff suffered for it, but she had yet to cause any major catastrophe."

"But that all changed, didn't it?" asked Kurama, and Aristide finally let out a sigh.

"Yes," she admitted, "It did."

Personal notes of Superintendent Okabe, recovered by Armacham after the incident.

Subject: Sleep Cycle

In the past few months, I've had several dozen different children coming to me, complaining about nightmares. I ask them what it is that they've been dreaming about, but none of them seem to remember what they're dreams are. A few times, I've heard some children say that they remember yellow eyes, and a few remember standing on a hilltop, looking out at a rotted world. I'm not sure what they mean, but that's the only word they can think of to describe it, but even then, their memory is fuzzy. It's one thing for a group of children to have bad dreams, but since when do children all start suffering the same nightmare?

Naturally, these bad dreams disrupt their sleep, leading to a deficiency in their day-to-day performances. I've spoken with the other staff, and they're going to reach out to try and bring in a psychologist.

As for the two "special" cases, they've tended to spend most of their time off by themselves. They're among the few who seem unaffected by the wave of nightmares spreading across this orphanage. I'm not blind to the knowledge of how Alma's unique eye color correlates with the nightmares, but I'm surprised a single girl would have such a great effect on so many children. As mentioned, she doesn't spend much time with anyone other than Lucy.

I'll check in about the psychologist.

"Make the ball move to the right, Alma." With a sigh, Alma made the ball move to the right.

Alma was in the underground facility that had been stationed nearby the orphanage, having been excused from class for a short leave of absence. Lucy had watched her leave with a worried frown. The young psionic was currently sitting in a locked room, with only a table and chair for accommodations, and a large one way mirror, a mirror that, from what Alma could sense, had four different people watching her from the other side, one of whom was her dad. Alma was sitting at the table, with a large flat maze set on top. The maze, which was large enough to cover the whole table, had a small rubber ball inside, which had just rolled to the left courtesy of Alma's telekinetic ability. It was a simple test, quite tame in fact when compared to Armachams usual line of experimentation. The voice from the speaker came back on, telling her to move the ball to the right, and with barely an effort, Alma made the ball turn around the small wooden corner, and watched it roll down the narrow wooden path. Alma suspected that these simple little exercises were only to lower her guard. She would never trust the people who'd brought her here. None of them.

The door opened, and Alma looked up to see her father step inside alone. She automatically tensed up, but her father merely stopped at the other side of the table, where he regarded her with a clinical detachment.

"Your reaction time has improved," he noted, "You beat your last record by a few seconds."

Alma looked down at the maze, and said nothing.

"As I'm sure you know by now, we've been keeping an eye on you during your stay at the orphanage. I told you to behave yourself, and for now, you have. You go to your classes, you treat your teachers well enough, and for the most part, you stay away from the other children...for the most part."

Alma raised her head up to her father slowly, as if having just woken up from a deep sleep.

"Quite an interesting girl, this Lucy," noted Harlan, "It's quite rare to find a human being with horns, although I believe there have been one or two such occurrences in history. It's a shame her features have caused her fellow children to distance themselves from her, but it's not surprising. Humanity has always been an exceedingly shallow species. It's interesting that the two outcasts would find solace with each other."

"Don't hurt her."

Harlan glanced down at his daughter, who glared at him with yellow defiance. He raised a placating hand toward her, "Relax, Alma. Our interest in Lucy is only passing. It's good of you to have a friend."

"How much longer will I be staying there?"

"I'm not sure yet, Alma. We'll have to see how your behavior is at the orphanage, and how it affects the other children."

Alma nodded slowly at this, and Harlan checked his watch, "Anyways, it's about time we got you back to the orphanage. Wouldn't want you to miss dinner, I guess."

"They're serving tuna sandwiches tonight. I don't like tuna."

"Did they tell you that, Alma?"

"No."

"Did you read the teacher's minds?"

"Yes."

Harlan considered this. Alma's telepathy might have developed further than he'd anticipated. This might be worth further study.

"We're done here for now, Alma. I'll have you sent back to the orphanage for now, where you can be with Lucy."

"Good."

Harlan stepped back outside, giving Alma a moment's peace before the brief ride back to the orphanage. He had honestly not expected for his eccentric daughter to find an equally eccentric friend. With the pink hair and horns, Lucy was most certainly a unique case. Out of curiosity, Harlan had looked into her past, but had found next to nothing. She'd been located in a nearby field as an infant, and had been raised in the orphanage ever since. She might have made for an interesting case study, but he knew that they didn't have enough time and money to start a side project. Any chance of making his daughter cooperate would vanish if anything were to happen to the one true friend of Alma Wade. Harlan wondered how much of her inconvenient life had been vented to her horned friend. Alma's telepathy could have made her privy to many company secrets, secrets that she might have shared with Lucy. He did not want to completely entertain the idea of liquidizing a child, as such a thought could be detected by his telepathic charge, but Lucy was a risk. For now though, he'd look into investigating the spate of strange dreams that were plaguing the orphanage, and how they might progressively affect the children. One problem at a time.

Months after her arrival, Lucy and Alma were still fast friends. During free time after classes, the two girls would spend their time together. Sometimes they'd sit at the swings, sometimes they'd sit up at the hills, or sometimes they'd go for a walk. They would talk about anything that caught there interests, from passing clouds to personal history, perhaps finding as much joy in hearing someone else speak back to them, the confirmation that they were friends.

This afternoon, the two girls were out in the woods, walking through the small dirt path that snaked around the back. Any risk of leaving the orphanage was neutralized by the fact that there was a large security fence surrounding the property. Despite this, there was still enough room to walk beneath the trees in a mood of social reflection, and talk about current interests.

"So, how much longer do you think you'll be staying here, Alma?" Lucy asked as she sat down on an old log.

"I don't know," Alma said, trying to balance and walk across the same log, "A year or two, maybe. I don't even think they've thought that far ahead."

"Wow, and they set all this up for you?"

"It's still a cage, Lucy, only a bit bigger than the dog cage they kept me in."

"But not as lonely, right?"

Alma actually chuckled at that, "Yeah, not so much."

"So Alma, what am I thinking about?"

Alma smirked lightly, "That's the millionth time you've asked me that."

"I know, but it's so exciting! I never get tired of how you can do that! So tell me, what am I thinking about?"

"You saw a leaf that had stuck to the side of a tree," she turned and pointed to a tree right behind her, "That tree, specifically. I can see the leaf, as well."

Lucy squealed in delight, jumping up and down, "Yes, YES!"

"You're so weird, Lucy."

"Oh, don't be like that, Alma," giggled Lucy, "We might be weird, but that's not so bad."

"Maybe not when we're together," Alma shrugged, hopping down from the log and walking back to Lucy, "By the way, Lucy, are you aware of your second mind?"

Lucy frowned slightly at this, "Second mind?"

Alma nodded, "There's this...second presence inside of you, Lucy. It's like an extra passenger in your mind that spends all of it's time asleep."

Lucy had no idea at all what Alma was talking about. "Is this...passenger a part of me, Alma?"

"I guess. You share the same brain."

"Oh…...well, that's good, then!" said Lucy, and Alma looked at her, caught off guard by the sudden swing in mood.

"How so?"

"Well, I mean, there's this new part of me that neither of us know about, and maybe one day, you'll get to know her, too. It'll be like two best friends in one!"

"Oh...I hadn't thought about it like that." The idea felt surprisingly pleasing. A whole new friend, ready to be discovered. Any more thoughts were disrupted by Alma suddenly looking off toward the woods, frowning slightly.

"What's wrong, Alma?"

"I sensed something. An animal."

"Aren't there a lot of animals out here, Alma?"

"This one's different. It's hungry, and scared. Also...it's thoughts are more coherent, like it's smarter."

"Should we go see what it is?"

"I don't think it's dangerous. It's very small."

"It's close by?"

"Yeah, this way."

Less than a minute later, the two girls reached a cliffside, with rather intricate statues carved into the jagged stone walls. By the thinning outer area of trees. They saw a small, huddled bundle of brown fur, wrapped up against a tree. As they approached it, the bundle raised its head, and regarded the two taller strangers with wide, frightened eyes.

"I-is that a dog?" asked Lucy.

"I think so," said Alma, "I've never actually seen a dog in person."

"Me neither. I didn't know they'd be so small."

"Not all of them are this little, I think."

"Is he friendly, Alma?"

"He might be."

The little dog had been eyeing the two girls with caution, but flinched when one of them stretched a hand out toward him. He curled back up, but was surprised when the hand gently patted his fur instead. Looking up, he saw the two strangers staring at him with warm smiles.

"He likes it," said Alma, "Pet him again."

Lucy complied, petting the small dog once more. The canine seemed to enjoy the motion, and began to lean his little head into Lucy's hand. Lucy's smile grew a bit wider.

"Alma, he's so cute!"

"He is," said Alma, and now it was her smile that grew, "He likes us." She reached down a hand to pet the dog as well, who rolled onto his back so that they might scratch his tiny tummy. Lucy let out a happy little squeal at the cute gesture, and Alma let out a small laugh. The dog relaxed a bit with the two girls nearby, but Alma could still feel the hunger emanating from the little dog. It would need to be fed soon.

"Lucy, he needs food," noted Alma, "I don't think he's eaten in days."

"You wait here, then," said Lucy, "I'll bring back food, while you make sure he doesn't run away."

"Hurry back, Lucy."

"I will." turning around, Lucy bolted back toward the orphanage with urgent speed, nearly tripping over one or two branches in her urgency. Once she was back, she looked around. Some of the other children were hanging out, but nobody bothered to look at her for long. This suited Lucy just fine. She headed inside, down the abandoned hallway, and toward the common area, a small place with a sofa and chairs, where children could sit and read, or just relax. There were also a few snacks and drinks laid out, in case some of the students were hungry. Lucy had hoped that the room would be empty, as most of the children enjoyed spending their free time outside. But as luck would have it, there was only one other kid in the room, and it was the last person that she'd hoped to run into.

It was Tomoo. The boy was sitting on one of the couches with his head in his hands. He had not looked up when Lucy had entered, and she wondered how much longer her luck would hold. Lucy crossed the room slowly, heading toward the snacks. Once there, she glanced back once more at Tomoo, who hadn't moved, then turned to the food and helped herself.

"What are you doing, freak?" Lucy's back stiffened. She turned around to see that

Tomoo had finally looked up, and was glaring at her from the couch. For the first time, Lucy noticed the dark bags beneath Tomoo's eyes, making him look older and tired. He clearly hadn't been sleeping well. In fact, now that Lucy thought about it, she'd noticed that a lot of kids had that same tired look. Had they not been sleeping well. Her sleep had been just fine. Was Alma slee-

"I asked you a question, you loser." Tomoo had stood up from the couch now, his expression getting angry in addition to tired.

"Nothing," said Lucy, "Just getting some food for Alma and myself."

Tomoo's face darkened at that name. "Alma," he growled, "She's just as much a weirdo as you are. I don't see her here."

"She's waiting outside," said Lucy. She began to head toward the door, only for Tomoo to stand in her way.

"You've been hanging out with that girl quite a lot, haven't you?" he growled, "Who'd've thought you might find a friend?"

Lucy glanced at the door, then back at Tomoo, "What do you care who I hang out with? You have plenty of friends."

"Yeah, and freaks are only friends with freaks," he replied, "There's something seriously wrong with that American. I haven't been able to sleep since she showed up. I keep having nightmares, and the others are as well."

"That's not Alma's faul-"

"IT'S ALL HER FAULT!" Tomoo screamed, "She's getting into all of our heads! It's...it's those freaking eyes! They bore right into everyone...almost everyone."

He took a menacing step toward Lucy. "What makes you so dang special, huh?

"I don't know," said Lucy, "But you better step back. If you touch me I'll...I'll tell Alma that you hurt me."

Tomoo froze up with fear, "You...you think you're so tough, huh? You think that cretin will keep you safe?"

He took another step forward, and Lucy, for the first time she could remember, entertained a dark thought against her tormentor, a notion borne of anger rather than fear. She glared at Tomoo, and suddenly, a nearby chair tipped over and fell. Tomoo jumped in surprise, staring at the overturned chair in shock. Lucy was also astonished, but did a better job of hiding it. She walked out of the room with her food, and Tomoo didn't follow.

Outside, Lucy jogged over to where Alma was waiting with the dog, wondering whether the chair was Alma's doing, or hers. Was Alma influencing her as well? She'd know soon enough. Eventually, she made her way back to Alma, who was sitting with the tiny dog on her lap. Alma looked up at Lucy, unsurprised by her arrival. Lucy figured she could sense her mind before hearing her footsteps.

"I can," answered Alma, and Lucy grinned, happy to be back with her friend.

"I got the food, Alma," she said, and began opening a bag of pretzels. The dog, having smelled the food, leapt down from Alma's lap and eagerly walked up toward her, tail wagging hungrily. Lucy took out a few pretzels and dropped them in front of the cute canine, who eagerly began gobbling them up.

"I'm glad you're back," said Alma, "Was there any trouble?"

Lucy started to reply, then gave her friend a cheeky grin, "Why don't you tell me, mind reader?"

Alma smiled, then concentrated, "You went back, and then you ran into Tomoo. He was stressed, and then a chair fell over."

"Yeah," said Lucy, "Did you do that?"

"No," said Alma, "I was with the dog."

Lucy felt confused, "But then, how did that chair fall over?"

"Don't know. But when it happened, your other presence...it stirred."

Lucy's eyes widened, "You're serious?"

"Yes."

"Alma that...that's awesome! I might have powers just like you!"

Alma stood up with gunshot force, startling the nearby dog into letting out a yelp. Alma ran up to Lucy and grabbed her by the shoulders. She looked seriously panicked.

"You can't have abilities like mine, Lucy. They'll experiment on you, run all sorts of twisted tests!"

"I-is that what they were doing to you?"

"Yes! And once they find out what you can do, Lucy they'll...they'll…"

"Alma, it'll be fine. It was just a chair. And besides, that's hardly the strangest thing about me. I've got pink hair and horns. If they wanted to study me, wouldn't they already have started by now?"

Alma reckoned this was true. She let go of Lucy's shoulders, but she was still unsettled, and it showed, "The people who study me. One of them is my dad."

Lucy winced. She hadn't expected Alma to have any family. "If that's true, then why are you here?"

"Because I was being difficult," replied Alma. She gave the forest a sulky look, "They hardly let me have any freetime. It was just one experiment after another. I kept failing their tests, thinking they'd leave me be, but they only got angrier. Now, I'm here, serving some sort of timeout."

"Do you not like it here with me?" asked Lucy quietly.

"I like you, Lucy," assured Alma, "And it makes me sad, knowing that we won't be together for long. Armacham, the people working there, they won't let me go. It's cruel, being here, having a friend, knowing that it won't last. What's the point of having something good that won't last?"

"Then maybe we should run away."

Alma turned toward Lucy with wide, yellow eyes. "What?"

"We should leave, Alma!" Lucy reached forward, grabbing Alma's hands with her own, "Let's get out of here together! We'll leave, and hide, and they'll never find us! We can even take the dog with us, too!"

"It's not that simple."

"Sure, it is! You've got all sorts of cool abilities! You can read minds, and alter temperature, and other stuff! And I...I have something happening, too. I don't know what it is specifically, but I'm sure we'll figure it out."

"...It would be nice to see the world."

"I know, right?! We could go wherever we wish!" Lucy's pink eyes focused on Alma's yellow ones with a determination that the young American had not yet seen. It was odd, and oddly compelling, "And once we're stronger, we'll be able to do whatever we want, and nobody'll stop us!"

Slowly, Alma felt her own grin begin to form as she considered all the possibilities of Lucy's promise.