The hum of hovercars flying past fills the air, merging with the bustle of the city around me. I turn a corner, tugging my hat lower over my curls.

Five days. It's been five days since I woke up with no memories. Only five days and I'm already ready to scream into the void.

It's not fair. All I wanted was silence and solitude after the Storm Cell team caught me. But now, after four days of quiet, I can't take it.

In my empty apartment, all I can hear are my thoughts. My questions. My doubts. Fears. Trepidations. There's nothing to distract me, to drown them out, or even offer a sense of comfort. I am alone in my head full of static and open-ended questions. Alone in my quest for answers. Alone on my side of the battlefield.

A sigh glides through my teeth and I flick my gaze upwards. Grey and white shapes confidently slice through the fading blue sky like trophies standing on pedestals and weave together in a chaos of metal and glass.

Light flashes off the window-paneled buildings, streaking orange light and razor-edged shadows across the sidewalk, making the pigeons fluttering here and there mere silhouettes.

My steps slow to a stop, hot breath fanning my face. How many times have I seen this view before? It should be familiar to me, like my memory of sitting at a worn kitchen table, gazing at the CDs hung in the window as they catch the light, waiting for words to fill my homework pages.

And yet, this view is separate, foreign, impossibly other, just like that memory is. These buildings were known to a former version of myself. They aren't mine, a known feature in my life; they are new and unknown, just like these questions about myself.

A heavy sigh trails out of my mouth, many more lodged in my lungs, and the static churns in my veins where answers should be. Shaking my head, I step into an alley between a drugstore and a bakery, pass the dumpsters, and lean against the smooth concrete, gaze cast to the sky.

My rules flip through my thoughts, followed by all the ones the heroes have given me that I am currently breaking. I am not supposed to be wandering around the city, and I am certainly not supposed to be hanging out in an alley on some unknown street far from home, but here I am.

I know it's a bad idea. I know I should go home. But at the thought of going back to my empty place to face another night of mindless tasks, my feet root themselves in place. At least out here, there's something new to look at.

Even if it's garbage.

Another sigh escapes me. Was this really what my past self envisioned my life to be? Was this even intended? Rule three: work alone. No exceptions. Perhaps...it is. Maybe. Possibly.

But what kind of life is that? What would make me choose to be alone in my mission instead of working with someone? Trust issues? I close my eyes, searching my memories.

Ghostly laughter echoes in my mind, full of smiles, camaraderie, and my old name—my old self—Elias. Again, my memories are happy. Content. Perhaps a little lonely—I am alone a lot, standing at the edges of the crowd or studying in the library, in my memories—but not betrayed or neglected or hurt.

Why did I turn into a villain? What made me reject all the hero promotion Ten School taught me? What made me choose this—no memory and endless questions—over a life that seems to be happy?

Perhaps...that's all it is: seems too. Perhaps there is something underneath it I can't see or remember. There...has to be, right? But there are no clues scattered between my memories. No shadows of doubt or frustration towards the system. I even said it myself, long ago, when Mom asked me. I want to be a hero, just like you. I want to help people.

So what changed? I groan and rub my face with my hands. This isn't productive. Maybe...I should go home. Or talk to someone who could tell me something about myself, like David. Don't talk to heroes, a part of me protests. Don't fall for this again.

But how else am I going to get information? Wait around and wait for it to fall on me?

An old habit raises its head, twitching my fingers. Opening my eyes, I tap at my holowatch and select the projection option. Flicking through the options until I find the coin, I select it and a holographic dime lands in my open palm.

Tossing a coin for non-harmful decisions is one thing I remember clearly from childhood. Anytime I couldn't decide something simple—like which flavor of ice cream to eat—Mom would hand me a coin and tell me to toss it, and whatever it landed on, went. It's a simple action, but my brother and I adopted it as our own.

I remember my brother's friends being in a tizzy that we trusted a coin to make our decisions, but we didn't mind. There is something freeing about not being the final decision maker for simple things.

Heads, and I'll talk to David. Tails and I'll go home. I toss the coin into the air, watching as the hologram flickers and seems to hover at the top of its arc. Snatching it, I slap it onto the back of my hand.

Tails.

Acid stings the back of my neck but I push it away. It's for the better. I work alone—Blank Slate works alone. Talking to people just for fun isn't...isn't what I do. Besides, I tell myself. You weren't going to talk to David if it landed on heads. That'd be silly.

The static parts and a memory emerges, magnetized to the front by a piece of context.

The girl dusts off her pants, straightening and fixing me with a glare. "I work alone."

I let my outstretched hand drop. "Why?"

"It's better that way." She flicks her hair over her shoulder, eyeing me up and down. "That way no one can betray me."

"Isn't that lonely?"

"Of course not! I have myself." Her eyes flash purple as she meets mine.

Something flutters in my chest and my breath catches. Her eyes are so purple and clear, like polished amethyst, and I can't look away as she steps into my personal bubble.

"What is it to you?" She tilts her head, a careful movement as if it was practiced over and over.

My voice sounds far away as I answer, the sounds of the cafeteria buzzing into silence. Her eyes are just so clear and that purple...it's beautiful and almost deadly, like poison. "...You just seemed alone a lot. I thought you could use a friend."

She quirks a lip, features softening—it's almost a smile. Almost a win for me—and steps closer. "Funny you'd say that. I...suppose teamwork makes dreamwork." Her voice is light, like a soft-footed cat, but at the same time strong as iron and rich as velvet. "Want to be my exception?"

"Of course." The words slip out of their own accord, and, as they leave my lips, something purple sinks roots into my mind.

She smiles and leans back on her heels, satisfaction flickering through her eyes.

My heartbeat thunders in my ears, overtaking the last threads of the memory. Who was that girl? Why does she seem so familiar? And what is with the purple? That part of the memory is distinct and vivid, not at all faded and discolored from age or my power.

Her eyes...so vividly purple... something twists in my chest, fluttering a trapdoor in the expanse of static for a breath. I blink and it's gone. What? What...whatever it is, it's important. Terribly important. But why?

Like everything else, I have no answer, but unlike everything else, I have a suspicion. But, before I allow it to take shape in my mind, I need to confirm something first. Shaking my head, I push off the wall and stuff my hands into my pockets. Off to google I go. Again.

As I near the entrance of the alley, a soft breeze tugs at my clothes. Near the entrance is a carving etched into the wall. It's two curves arching around each other to make a swirl, with a pupil in the middle of the circle the curves make.

A tingle races down my spine. Gang symbol. Megabytes. I definitely should not be hanging around here. Turning away, I quicken my steps. The shadows are thick and the light strips along the sidewalk grow brighter by the moment. The road beyond is empty; most people are home by now, and I—

A hand claps over my mouth and jerks me back into the shadows. The chill of a blade touches my neck and warm breath slides past my ear.

"Well, look who's unlucky tonight."