Stay awake. Stay awake.Eyes wide. Head up. Legs moving. Stay... awake.

            The wound burned like a hot rod piercing my fragile skin; like every cell had been ignited and set off the others in a chain reaction, focussing on my shoulder. Ever since the train screeched to a halt at the north-western coastline, everything just burned.

            The pain had subsided slightly as I read through the book Barnes had brought me for the rest of the journey. I spared a thought for where the unexpected gift came from, then chose to toss it away, grateful for the distraction.

            But then we had to start walking again. And my body rejected the idea entirely.

            It was late afternoon, and a crisp breeze danced around the residential neighbourhood in the coastal town, taking crinkling amber leaves as tokens and sharing them generously around the parks and pavement with a whistle to accompany the plethora of bird calls. I trudged behind Barnes, ensuring that I could keep an eye on him as the two of us followed signs for the hotel Gabby had booked us a room for. We were close, I had imagined, but beads of sweat had begun racing down my forehead, my clothes choking me.

            "I think it's just a few more streets," said Barnes. "Not far." He squinted his eyes as the sun beamed down on him, casting a shadow along one side of his tanned face.
"Okay," I breathed. Not far. I could clean the wound at the hotel, grab a shower, get some rest and... I wobbled. It was a struggle, but I had to keep going. Stay awake. Stay awake.Keep moving.
"You're awfully slow today, Miss Knight," Barnes quipped, turning around to flash his signature grin. "Do you want me to carry you?"

            I had a witty reply armed on my lips, but no words left them as I opened my mouth. Warm air and a dry wheeze replaced the sentence, and I blinked as the street spun in a grey vortex as the train had done. It had happened before. I convinced myself that it would pass over and over again, telling myself to just wait for me to return to my normal self.

            But then everything darkened. The train compartment did not darken like this, nor was the water so heavy in my eyes that I could not form the words written on a road sign that stood less than ten feet away from me. I barely even noticed Barnes's nonplussed expression as he kept his eyes locked on me.

            "Agent?" he said.

            I held up a hand, signalling for him to carry on. I was fine, after all. I could carry on, even if my hand seemed to gain a few tonnes in weight for me just to hold it up for a second, and I could hear Barnes's muffled curses as I fell forward my face elbows and knees colliding with the pavement. I winced at the impact on my shoulder, though the rest of my body was numb to the pain that should have been caused by the fall.

            I blinked and almost gave in to the temptation of holding them shut. Don't you dare,I scolded myself.

            I had a job to do: an essential mission to complete for Alistair. It was significant. Scotty had died for this! I could not just give up at the sight of one obstacle. I had to force myself to my feet, find the hotel and shock myself back into action with a splash of water. A night of rest would have healed me up nicely. Stress had to have been the cause of the wound's flare up and sleeping would solve the issue. We had an entire day before the ferry left for London – that was more than enough time.

            My mind was convinced, while my body blatantly refused to budge. The last thing I saw before blacking out was a blurred face staring back at me, calling out my name as the sun shone behind him like a blinding spotlight.

***

Open eyes. Bright light. Blurred faces. Pain.

            Closing eyes. Dimming light. Darkened faces. Less pain.

            Open eyes. Bright light. Blurred faces. Pain.

            Closing eyes. Dimming light. Darkened faces. Less pain.

            I winced at the white light that singed into my pupils as I woke. I clamped my eyes shut, turning my head to the side to shield myself as I heard voices, unable to make out any of the words. Their voice was nothing but a muffled whisper in the ringing that filled my ears. Was I dying?

            No. I was not done yet. I drew breath, my throat rough and sore as air scratched its dry walls like sandpaper on wood.

            "She's fully conscious!" someone cried. Male. Panicked.

            My eyes widened into large blue ovals as I scanned the sterile, metal room. There was a sense of familiarity to it. The plain walls... cutting instruments. The metal table and the crimson shine that dripped from the silver.

            I was back. Back in Marcus's lab.

            "How is she awake yet? We gave her a full dosage!" another exclaimed.

            I inhaled a shallow, shaky breath, hearing my rapid heartbeat from a nearby monitor. My eyes narrowed to sharpen my vision and get a better grasp of the environment. What was happening? How could I escape?

            A dark hand reached out to me. I slapped it away and snatched the nearest item of equipment to arm myself. I swung it towards the figure, and was violently yanked back by two more. I thrashed around, clawing and kicking blindly for any means of escape.

            Then something jabbed my neck.

            I stopped, my eyelids lethargic as they opened and closed. I took another feint breath, my heartbeat slowing. Just keeping fighting it, I ordered. Fight just a little harder.

            I shut my eyes again, feeling my weight gently drift back down into the bench as my body subdued in a deep, motionless sleep.

May 2006: Surrey

Shoulders slumped, I sat on the cold table, a scowl etched onto my weary features. My bitter eyes stared at the instruments laid out on the silver tray in front of me as I refused to even look at Marcus's thoughtful frown. He examined the scarlet syringe with sick interest, cradling it between his fingers to move it carefully to the silver tray.

            Marcus turned back to me, sighing heavily as he grabbed my arm once again to strap a cotton ball with disinfectant over the minute puncture wound. No matter how regular these appointments had become – replacing the once-dreaded meetings at the dining table – I hadn't grown used to this. With every needle he brandished before me, my stomach turned even more to the point that any sharp object or sign of a chemical made me flinch. Science lessons at school had become a pained experience, and more than once my teachers had found me hiding at the back of the library for the hour. I stopped doing that when threatened with a phone call to Marcus, and learned to bite the bullet and sit through the lessons no matter how uncomfortable it made me feel.

            "At least you don't make a fuss anymore," Marcus tutted as I angled my head away. He got no response from me. Words did nothing as Marcus was just as talented at evading questions as he was in science.

            "My work is important, Amber."
I tensed. For months, I had not heard him use my name whether to me or Doctor Arnold; I was nothing but 'the girl' or 'she.'
"This could change everything," he went on.

            His voice reeked of a vile passion I had been hearing of for months. In his own words, his work could change the course of humanity. I was to imagine a world where viruses had no effect – where disease was nothing but a war of the past. I understood what he wanted, but that idealism was only a mask used to conceal the ugliness of the means it took to get him the results he wanted. If he succeeded in achieving his goal, it would be nothing but a monster painted gold; a trophy carved by a hundred tortured beings.

            I had not seen Lucas again. After Doctor Arnold's attack, all mention of the man had gone. I feared he was killed, but overheard mentions of a potential second facility to expand the work of the doctors. It would have been optimistic to think he had been let go.

            "Why do you need me?" I asked. Despite daring to speak, I would not break down my barrier and face him while I talked.
"Time will tell," he said. Cryptic. Again. If I was going to be kept there forever, he might as well have answered my questions. Vague answers weren't enough for me anymore.

            I opened my mouth to retaliate but clamped down the snarky reply as the prickling pain on my right cheek resurfaced – the remnants of the last time I argued with Marcus. Only that morning I could still see the redness standing out from my pasty skin, and did not want to sit with another bag of frozen vegetables pressed against my cheek.

            His accomplished smile pierced into my back. He knew he had taught me well. My strings had been tightly wrapped around his finger, allowing him to pull and control me how he wished. Everything I said and did from now on way by his bidding and no-one else's.

            "You should go back to your studies," he said, quietly and softly as he put away his things. "Your last exam was english literature, if I am correct. Remind me of your score."
I was robotic as I replied, "Ninety-eight-point-five percent."
The sigh of disappointment was heard on cue, the chill of his icy eyes lowering the temperature of the room. "What happened to the other one-point-five percent?" he asked, a mocking tone threaded into his wintry voice. "Did it just vanish?" I clenched my jaw. "Did it disappear into thin air without a trace?"
"Like mother?" I muttered, my voice a hostile whisper.

            The ounce of confidence I had soon diminished as a fist wrapped around my neck, Marcus viciously turning my head to face him. Although a man of science with a relatively thin frame, Marcus was incredibly strong.

            "What did you say?" he growled, the vibrations of his throat sending shivers down my quivering spine.
I gulped, mustering all the courage I had left. Maybe it was bravery or complete lack of care that made me question him. "Mother disappeared awfully quickly. A car accident, you said. She didn't know about this, did she?"
"Why you little—"

            The lab door burst open and both Marcus and I sharply turned our heads in the direction of the dark staircase that led to the first floor of the house.

            "Doctor Arnold, what is it?" said Marcus. There was no response.

            My stomach jumped. Could this really be...?

            A gun cocked and I stiffened.

            "Doctor Knight, don't you dare move!" a voice barked.
Marcus scrunched up his face, eyes darting towards me as he glared. "Is this your doing?" he hissed.

            The man standing in the doorway before us was Marcus's age, his gun raised at eye-level ready to fire.

            This was who I was promised.

            My face cracked into a smile. After all the words Marcus drilled into my head, every sound, every syllable telling me there was no hope for things to change, that one moment of doubt in him bared fruit and help finally came.

            I had succeeded, and it made me smile for the first time in years.

            "Miss," said the intruder, "Do you know someone by the name of Mrs Oswald?"

            I nodded. Her son, Sammy, was the closest person I had to a friend in school, but we had lost touch over the past year. After a particularly bad argument with Marcus, I broke down in front of the school gates. Mrs Oswald spotted me from her window opposite the school and invited me inside. Feeling hopeless and alone, not considering the threats Marcus had made against me, I let it all out. All the hate, the grief, the anger and the heartbreak fought its way out.

            She promised to help me... and she did.

            "Mrs... who?" Marcus gawked, dumbstruck for the first time in his life.
"She called for help. She is the one your daughter reached out to."
Marcus clenched my shoulders in fury, nails digging in. "What have I told you about talking to people?" he snapped, lost in his own rage.
I took a breath with renewed, hopeful confidence sparked by the man that stood before Marcus. "I am an inconvenience," I reminded him. "I'm just doing my job."
"You reckless brat—"
"Is that any way to treat your own child?" Marcus had struck a chord with the intruder. The doctor I called my father frowned at him, holding his glare as he looked back to me, quietly contemplating. He thought I was trained; thought I was hopeless. By pushing me so far into despair, he made me not care about the consequences. His own arrogance cost him this.

            Marcus dragged me from the table and spun me around, gripping my shoulders.
"If you care so much," he said, "take her."

            With harsh strength, he pushed me towards him. His grey eyes widened in shock, but he caught me with one of his arms as I tripped into his blazer. One armed hand still on Marcus, he checked to see if I was alright, then diverted his attention fully to focus on the scientist as I backed up behind him.

            Marcus stared at him, perplexed. "Who are you?"
The stranger remained vigilant with his weapon. "An agent of MI6," he stated. "The irregularity of this case had the local authorities contacting us for advice."
"And what would you name be, agent?" Marcus's lips twitched; he was challenging him, even now. Always one to feign superiority till the end.
The agent kept still. "That's classified."
"You mean you are reluctant to tell me."
"I mean that I am intelligent enough not to give my name away to an enemy of the agency."
"So you are a blind follower?"
"And you are furious at the fact that you have been outplayed by your own child."

            My spine shivered but neither Marcus nor the agent flinched. "You are panicking, Doctor. I can see you searching for any final method of escape. I assure you, there is none."
"I am not entirely powerless," said Marcus. His confidence was so misplaced that I frowned. He was backed into a corner. What more could he do?

            The agent clenched his jaw but held his guard.
"Your partner is in handcuffs upstairs, your research has been seized, and you were outed by your only child. You have lost control, Doctor Knight. There is nothing more for you."
Marcus's lip quirked as a brief, distasteful laugh made me shudder. "No matter how many you arrest, no matter how much research you destroy, no matter how many subjects you save, my work will always continue."

            Marcus looked to me and understanding struck. "Lucas."
"Lucas?" The agent frowned.
"He was here," I explained. "He was a test subject, the only one kept here, but I haven't seen him in a long time."
Marcus smiled. "I am afraid that Test Subject Fourteen is long gone."
The agent sent me a comforting glance. "I will have my Director send a search party to find him. This work cannot be allowed to live on. Everything must be destroyed."
"Not all of my experiments will be put to an end," said Marcus.
The agent tutted. "Your confidence is misplaced.
"And your ignorance is comforting. Please, do continue making a mockery of yourself. It is highly amusing."
"We will find all of your experiments, Doctor."
"I don't doubt that," said Marcus. "I don't doubt that all."

            The agent swallowed then whistled, signalling for three armed guards to rush down the stairs.

            "His partner's loaded in the van," said one of them.
The familiar agent nodded. "Thank you."
The second agent's gaze fell on me for a second before addressing his supposed superior, "Is she going to be okay?" he whispered.

            I looked away so he did not see me bit down a wince. The agent sighed.
"I will make sure of it."

            The second agent walked away, and I was approached by the first. I felt his hands press on my shoulders as he turned me around, much gentler than Marcus had done. He bent down to my height, the look in his eyes as comforting as the graceful dancing smoke of a candle lit in winter.

            "My name is Alistair Wight," he said. "What is yours?"
"Amber," I replied lowly.
"Amber." He nodded. "Thank you for seeking help for this. You have saved a lot more lives than your own."
"Mrs Oswald saved those lives," I croaked. "Not me."
"Opening up in the way you did took bravery. You are strong for doing so. The credit is yours."

            Thinking of Lucas and countless others just like him being freed from this nightmare was a reward in itself, but the moment I saw Marcus being escorted from the shadows, bound by handcuffs, my body and mind was consumed by a vast emptiness. I could not stay home alone – did not want to, either – but I had nowhere else to go. I had no more family that I knew of, no friends to count on, and the demands for adoption of twelve-year-old girls were tragically low.

            "What will happen to me now?" I asked, hesitant.
Alistair looked down, knitting his brows in thought, then squeezed my shoulder is assurance. "As of now, I honestly don't know." I knew it. "But I promise you that you will find certainty. I will ensure your safety from now on. Don't forget that."

            I had many reasons not to trust people, and yet I put my faith in him. He saved my life and showed me compassion in a world where I thought none had been spared for me. I remembered those words every day since, and knew in my head and heart that I owed a lot to the agent who, even after losing his own family, still held enough humanity inside of him to care for a girl he had only just met.

            I owed him everything for that.