I have not had the dream in a very long time, so its reappearance takes me by surprise. As always, I struggle to escape it before I am drawn too far in to fight the nightmare.

~*~

At sixteen years old, I stand at the top of our staircase, eavesdropping on the conversation from a safe distance. My parents are standing a meter or so from the base of the stairs, my younger sister shouting at them as though the volume of her voice will impact the success of the discussion.

"She was bullying me! I have told you before, nothing could make her stop!" The eleven-year-old's hands go to her hips as she continues to scream, her strong accent making the words seem twice as sinister as they should.

"Natalia, you know what you have done is unforgivable." my father roars, equally as infuriated, "Did you stop to think? Did you forget how wrong, how sinful it is to kill another person? You are a child, and already you are a murderer!"

"I didn't kill her!" Natalia fumes, "I used the gift to make her do it! There is a difference!"

"No," my mother is crying, and from where I stand I can see the path of the tears as they make their way down her cheeks, "I do not care that you have ... a gift. I did not, will not, raise a murderer." Her eyes fall to the blue-and-white carpet underfoot, an expression of utter anguish etching itself in every line of her face.

"I didn't-" My sister's face is a brilliant shade of red, her hands leaving her hips to flail madly through the air.

"Enough!" my father cuts in again, "You persuaded her to jump off that bridge, Natalia, it is your fault she is dead."

"It was only a suggestion. I planted the idea in her head; she could have chosen not to-"

"Get out!" my mother shrieks, "I never want to see you again."

My sister scowls, her eyes narrowing in pure anger as she regards our parents. I do not notice at first what she is doing, not until both of the adults' expressions transform.

Our parents' stare straight ahead without blinking, their gazes as emotionless as the looks conveyed on their faces. Any trace of the previous horror, grief, or anger has been completely erased as my sister works her magic.

Natalia smiles.

"You will forget I was ever here." my sister orders, "Forget that I lived here, that you knew me. You only have, only had, one child."

With that, my sister turns away from my parents, moving for the stairs. As quickly and quietly as I can manage, I slip into the nearby closet, staying there until she has packed all her belongings and run back downstairs again.

~*~

I wake up as angry as always from the dream, momentarily forgetting where I am in the haze of fury.

Natalia had not known I was home that afternoon, having watched me leave for a friend's house several hours before. I had gotten home before her, though she had not come to look for me when she arrived.

I often find myself wondering whether, if she had known I was there, she would have commanded me to forget her existence just as she had done my parents.

I hate my sister every day, more than I have ever hated anyone else in all of my time on the earth.

Why did Natalia have to be the one with the mutation of Superiors? Why couldn't I have been born with the power of mind control, or another greater talent?

In a way, I am glad my sister has not reappeared at any point in the last twenty years. I am afraid that if she did, I might find a method of torture that would make her regret what she did to our parents, make her regret being one of the undeserving.

Only the worthy should be gifted with a talent, as those people will recognize their potential. They will understand why they were the chosen ones, how to use their power in the proper way.

The worthy ones will understand how to get what they want out of their abilities with the least amount of resistance along the way.

A headache is beginning to form at my temple, and with an irritated sigh, I stumble out of bed. Opening my door, I find myself in one of the lab's many plain corridors, the white walls seeming to close in until each hallway looks the same as its predecessor.

A clock eventually informs me that it is a quarter of four, and for a length of time I wander aimlessly through the silent laboratory.

The scientists and subjects, I decide, must still be sleeping soundly.

My theory, however, is quickly disproven as Eryn steps through a nearby doorway.

She doesn't notice my presence at first, gaze trained on the pages of what appears to be a textbook of some sort as she simultaneously makes her way down the corridor in my direction.

"Research?" The sound of my voice makes her jump, and I cannot hide the smirk that follows.

She looks at me, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth as she contemplates a response.

"You're up early." She ignores the question, closing the book without marking the page.

"That was not very smart of you." I comment, taking note of the action, "Most people would care enough to use a bookmark. It will take you ages to find that page again."

Eryn shakes her head, her expression unreadable.

"Most people don't have a photographic memory."

"A photographic memory?" This time, I am the one to frown, "That must be quite useful in research. Are you able to remember all the material you read? Is that one of the reasons you decided to work with Kristenson? To help his cause, maybe?"

"I didn't decide to-" Eryn begins, trailing off as she glances around fearfully, as though afraid one of the other scientists will appear to question her, "No."

I frown, adding her reaction to the list of things I may later be able to use to my advantage.

Is she being forced to stay here?

Is she so valuable to Kristenson that it could be a possibility?

I find myself on a quest for information, interrogating Eryn ruthlessly on the status of her research, the other scientists' research, and the death of the subject whom Olivia considered her friend.

To my annoyance, Eryn is as willing to talk to me as the walls around us might be, her answers more complex than the title of her neuroscience textbook.

Eventually, I grow frustrated and bored with her responses, ending up where I started in front of my bedroom door. I want answers, at the very least one hint to the reason behind Superiors' powers. Why, I wonder, is it so hard for me to catch a break on this journey? Why can't one person give me a direct answer, some concrete way to get the results I want and to get them as quickly as possible?

Someone will answer my questions, or soon suffer the consequences of being inferior.

~~~~~~
A/N:
Another short chapter, though the next few will be a bit longer.
So, any thoughts on the dream? Anyone expecting something like this in his backstory?
Next chapter is Rose's POV, and I'll hopefully have it finished before Tuesday.