As they approached the Sector Four Boundary Marker, they began to come up with a plan.
"How will we remain out of sight?" Phoebe asked, "Won't they be looking for us?"
"I've got that under control," Byron said, "I can project a mental image to everyone within eye's sight, making them see something else. However, this will take up the majority of my concentration, which will leave most of the talking to you two."
"Talking?" said Mark.
"We're going to enter the Sector Four Work Center and ask for Stephen Jaxon. They will likely point us in the general direction if I was wrong and if he's alive and working."
"What if you were right?"
"I'm glad you're recognizing the probability of my precision. In the case that Stephen is dead or captured, we'll have to fight our way out and look for Stephen a different way."
"Wonderful," replied Phoebe sarcastically.
They approached the Work Center slowly. So far there hadn't been any incidents, but, to Mark, it felt like the calm before a storm. For some reason, he felt tension building around him, as if the entire Sector was holding its breath.
But, when they reached the Work Center, what they saw surprised them. In front of the main entrance was a squad of police cars, sirens flashing. Security guards ran in different directions. In the distance, Mark could see a pillar of smoke rising behind the Work Center.
"Byron," Mark whispered. Byron looked up and understood. He began to walk towards an alley. Phoebe and Mark followed him.
"I've got it under control," he said, "Just follow me and keep quiet."
They did so, and Byron led them straight to the main entrance. When they tried to go inside, a security guard stopped them.
"We apologize for the inconvenience, sir," the guard said, "But there's been an incident, and the Work Center is closed until further notice."
Byron reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "Byron Peters," he said, "Secret Services Agent, Level Three. My colleagues and I have been sent here to investigate." The guard studied the card for an excruciating eternity in a few seconds.
"Byron Peters," the guard said, handing the card back, "Former Secret Service Agent." The guard pulled his pistol from its holster.
"Shibboleth?" said Byron.
"You're under arrest," he said, aiming it at Byron's forehead. Suddenly, his eyes went wide. He lowered the gun. Mark looked behind them. There, standing, grinning was a man. Or, at least, he had the general physique of a man. He had two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head, but the similarities stopped there. Where normal human lips would be was a thin crack in his face, the line turned upwards in a sickly grin. His eyes were yellow and bloodshot, seemingly glowing. His skin was yellow and covered in something…not flesh, it seemed more like scales. His hairy was thin and stringy, tangled and twisted. His long fingers ended in claws.
Even though he didn't look like much to Mark, the man…creature…thing still seemed to intimidate him.
"Is there a problem, officer?" the man said, his voice high, grating on Phoebe's ears.
"N-no, sir, n-none at all," the guard said, dropping his weapon, shaking in fear. The man seemed to be outputting some sort of field, some kind of aura, of pure fear. Phoebe could feel it, and it was obvious from the guard's constant quivering that he did, as well.
"Good," the man said, "But I don't think you're telling the truth." The guard nearly fainted.
"However," the man continued, "I'm feeling generous today, so, not only will I let you live another day, I'll even take these three off your hands."
"Oh, t-thank you, s-so much, sir," said the guard, slinking away on the verge of tears.
Now Phoebe didn't feel as much afraid as she did disturbed.
"Come with me, children," the man said, beckoning to them. Phoebe looked at Byron, who informed her, despite his puzzled look, to do as he said. They followed close behind them man. A crowd had gathered around the Work Center, but they parted as soon as they saw the man and his companions approaching. The man smiled evilly at them as he walked through; as if he were their master and they were his slaves. He led them into an ally, not speaking to them, almost as if he didn't acknowledge their existence. When they reached the ally, he turned to them on his heel and looked at them.
"So you're the ones Sector Zero wants," he said, grinning. Phoebe, Byron, and Mark were silent, eyeing this strange man intently.
"I must say, you're going for quite the bounty, now, even though it's been barely twenty-four hours since you've made your public arrival," he continued.
"Are you going to turn us in, then?" came Phoebe's reply, without her authorizing it, "Because you might think twice about it."
"Oh, but I have," the man said, "I've thought more than twice about it. More than thrice, even. And, no. I'm not going to turn you in, or kill you, even though it is tempting. I could do it so easily. In fact, I'm going to help you."
"Help us?"
"Absolutely! Not only have I swooped in and rushed you safely away from the grasps of the government already, but I shall also send you speedily on your way."
"You know were Stephen Jaxon is?" asked Byron.
"I know where he is," the man said, "But, no, Byron Peters, I will not help you find him. Unless, of course, you were willing to pay me something in return." Phoebe didn't think it possible, but the man's smile became even wider, as if he was playing with puppets and having the time of his life.
"What price?" said Byron.
The man stopped smiling and frowned, as if thoughtful. After a long pause, his smile came back on and he said enthusiastically, "A box of hot chocolate mix!"
"W-wait, what?" said Byron, wondering if he had heard right.
"A box of hot chocolate mix!" the man said again, laughing. Phoebe was sure she'd need hearing aids after this; the sound was so loud and incredibly horrible. "I do so love that stuff!"
"So…wait, let me get this straight," Byron said, blinking, "If we bring you a box of hot chocolate mix, you'll help us find Stephen Jaxon?"
"Do we have an agreement?"
"Um…ok?" said Byron, still confused, "But from where?"
The man rolled his eyes and said, "Duh! We're standing behind the market!"
Byron took a nervous step away from the man.
"Trust me," said the man, "You don't want to break this deal! Don't try to run off."
The three walked off anxiously.
Byron felt disturbed. Was this the life he was going to live now? Trying to run, but running in to strange characters and troubling people?
It wasn't just the man's appearance that had unsettled Byron, though. When Byron tried to get into the man's mind, he had run into a brick wall. Or, rather, a dark pit, for there seemed to be nothing there. It was as if this man had no mind, thoughts, or memories at all. His consciousness was an empty void.
Byron looked behind him. He had walked a considerable distance ahead of Mark and Phoebe. They were talking, laughing, in the distance behind him. How? How could they have come out of such a harrowing experience this joyful?
Byron knew why. He had felt that way once. When he had been with her-no. Not the memories again. Byron looked ahead of him, losing himself, going deeper into recollection.
Veronica was her name. The one Byron refused to think of. The only one he had ever been close to. They had been friends since who knows when. They had excelled in the Sector Seven Academy at incredible rates, and both, preferring studying to being social, had collaborated with each other, helping one another in their education. Soon they had formed a bond that would be hard, but not impossible, to break. They had even built a part laboratory, part underground bunker together, a project that lasted for years, but, when finished, became their sort of hideout, a place to get away from the world outside. But his discoveries down in this lab had led to a disaster.
A hand on Byron's shoulder jolted him awake. Byron brought his arm up, ready to fight if necessary. Byron took in his surroundings. During his Dive, as he called the instances where he swam deeper into his past, he had walked into the market the man had told him of, and was now standing in an aisle, a large assortment of drink mixes, including hot chocolate, laid out to his left and right.
Byron looked behind him to the person who had grabbed his shoulder. Instead of seeing a police officer or security guard, as he had expected, he saw a familiar face. Before him stood a seventeen-year-old boy who was roughly the same height as Byron. His short, black hair stood up in all different directions and dark circles hung below his eyes. He wore a loose fitting shirt and jacket.
"You," said Stephen Jaxon, "You're the one who talked to me."
"You're alive!" Byron cried, "This is amazing!"
"What?" said Stephen, obviously confused at the nature of Byron's outburst.
"We thought you were dead!" said Byron, but that didn't clarify things for Stephen, "How'd you do it?"
"Wait, what do you mean?"
"You power, your ability," Byron said, "You survived the attack! I found you, and you were running, but then the soldier appeared, and I thought he had shot you because you disappeared."
"I have no idea what you mean," Stephen said, "But I want to know the same thing. You were the one in my head, how'd you do it?"
Byron held out his hand, finally getting ahold of himself. Sometimes a Dive could make him anxious. "Byron Peters," he said, shaking Stephen's hand, a reluctant look in the latter's eye. "What I meant was this: I am a telepath, meaning that I can look into other people's minds and read their memories. There are others like me; except they aren't telepaths; they're a Pyrokinetic and a Ferrokinetic-wait, where are Mark and Phoebe, anyways?"
"Byron?" he heard the voice of Phoebe. Turning around, Byron saw his two companions turning and walking down the aisle. The wording of that thought brought a mischievous smile to Byron's face.
"How convenient," Byron said.
"Who's this?" said Mark.
"This is-"
"Stephen Jaxon," the newcomer said.
"You're alive," said Phoebe, surprised.
"What's so amazing about my existence?" said Stephen, frustrated that he was getting no answers from the three, but only more questions.
"I found your thoughts," said Byron, continuing his explanation, "You were running through the halls of the Work Center, and it looked like a soldier shot you. Just before he did, however, your mind disappeared. It was like I was shoved out. So now my question to you is this: How did you do it?"
Suddenly, Stephen wasn't there. He had disappeared. "Like that," came a reply from behind Mark and Phoebe. They jumped and looked behind them. There, standing behind them as if he had been there since their arrival, was Stephen Jaxon.
Byron smiled. "Teleportation," he gasped.
Stephen was, all of a sudden, back in front of Byron.
"What?" he said.
"Wow, Mark," Byron said, looking at him, "You seem to have found your match in linguistic singularity." Mark scowled at him, receiving a chuckle from Byron.
"Teleportation," Byron said more seriously, "The ability to spontaneously appear and disappear at one's wish, sometimes allowing the user to also transport other objects or people along with him."
Stephen looked at Mark. "Is he always like this?" he said.
"Worse," mumbled Mark in response. Phoebe punched his shoulder.
"Stephen Jaxon," said Byron, ignoring Mark's attempts to insult him, "There are others like us. We hope to gather them all and then leave."
"Leave?"
"Leave the country. Discover what's out there-"
"Can I help you?" came a voice from behind them. A worker had come up behind them, a polite smile on her face that quickly reversed when the four looked at her. "I know you," she said.
"Do you?" said Byron, "No, we're doing just fine, thank you." The woman nodded, backing away nervously. She left the aisle quickly.
"We need to leave," said Mark, Byron nodding his agreement. The woman would soon alert the police to their presence.
"Wait," said Stephen as they began to walk off, "You want me to come with you?"
"It would be a good idea," said Byron, "But the choice is yours."
Stephen stood, a decision placed before him. "I assume it'll be dangerous," he said, more asking then stating. Byron nodded. "But it'll be just as dangerous here," he said, "If not more so."
Stephen sighed, seeing no other choice. If he stayed here, in Sector Four, he would have to live every day hiding and savaging, but, if he went with this group, he would be, someday, safe, outside the country. "I'll grab what food I can," he said, "Meet you outside, behind the store."
Byron began to object, but, suddenly, shouts were heard throughout the shop. Police had arrived and were beginning to search for them. "Go with him, Mark," said Byron, knowing that they'd need some sort of food for their journey to Sector Five. Mark wanted to argue, but Byron's look told him that they didn't have time. Byron and Phoebe walked off, leaving Mark by Stephen's side.