Oscar really hated his phone. In fact, he had half a mind to throw it off the top of the mountain The Acropolis was built into. But that wouldn't solve anything. Ghost would just find some other way to contact him. He was sure of it. Plus, he didn't have any of his contacts saved. So, getting rid of the thing was out of the question.

He still hated his phone.

The pressure that had been building behind his forehead threatened to implode his brain. Ever since Ghost popped up in his sister's bedroom, he'd been walking on eggshells. Checking his shoulder, distancing himself from his friends. He was spending less and less time at The Acropolis.

Sooner or later, they would start to suspect his treachery. He just hoped it wouldn't come to that. He had too much to lose. More than they did.

The last forty-eight hours had been the most stressful days of his life. And he had survived a battle on a frozen island against a band of superpowered terrorists. After that day, he thought he could do anything. He thought he could be anything.

How wrong he was.

He desperately wished to go back to those days when no one knew who he was. Fame wasn't for him—and neither was being a hero, apparently.

Now everyone knew who the real heroes were—and who the frauds were. They had drawn a line in the sand for him and he was left standing on the wrong side. To make matters worse, he was now being blackmailed by Ghost. That line in the sand had turned into a massive, bottomless abyss that he had no hopes of getting across.

Sighing, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked aimlessly down the halls of The Acropolis. He had snuck out of the common room without anyone asking him any questions. It wasn't like he would have had any answers for them anyways. He wasn't a good liar, not in the slightest.

However, as he learned a few days prior, he was a decent thief. Years of being a prankster and overall nuisance had bestowed him with a unique set of skills—skills that included nabbing things from places he wasn't supposed to be in.

When he was twelve, he had nicked the answers to a math test the day before the exam. His thievery only got worse after his parents died a year later. He stole things from school, stores, anywhere he could sneak his way into.

So, when Ghost tasked him with obtaining a copy of The Vault's schematics and a schedule of the prison's patrol units, he figured it would've been a piece of cake. After all, he didn't even have to break into The Watchtower—considering he was of high enough clearance. He figured the files would've been in some file cabinet somewhere in the room.

How wrong he had been.

Everything was digital. After getting inside The Watchtower, he had found himself sitting in front of a computer screen for half an hour. He couldn't find the blueprints anywhere. Eventually, Dennis—one of the few Atlas agents he spoke to on a regular basis—asked him what he was looking for.

He never even got the chance to answer before the man checked the computer screen. When that had happened, he nearly dissolved into a cloud of smoke. Luckily, Dennis seemed to be just as dumb as he was.

The guy helped him find the blueprints, the patrol schedule, and even showed him how to print them out. He deserved a Nobel Peace Prize.

Now that Oscar was thinking about it, he was sort of indebted to Dennis now. Without his help, Ghost would've killed his family. He scowled at the thought.

Maybe that's why she had chosen him. He was the weakest out of his entire group of friends—both physically and mentally. He was easily swayed. Spineless, even. His sneer deepened.

As he continued down the bright corridors of Atlas' headquarters, the phone in his pocket chimed with a text. Groaning, he pulled the device out. He didn't even need to look at the screen to know who the message was from.

He scowled at the words in the green text bubble:

I'll be calling you shortly. Make sure you're alone. I'll know if you aren't.

A pit formed in the base of his stomach. He feared he would end up throwing up the panini he had for lunch. Swallowing hard, he responded back with a brave:

Okay.

He kept his head down as he hurried through the halls. A few agents greeted him when they passed by, but he pretended he didn't see them. His heart pounded as he moved toward the elevator at the end of the hallway. Sweat beaded above his brow. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know they were all shooting him strange glances.

For someone trying not to look suspicious, he was acting awfully guilty.

That didn't matter at the moment, though, as he had already pressed the button for the basement. He tapped his foot impatiently as the lift drug him through the stony canals built into The Acropolis.

With a sharp chime and a blast of mildewy air, the glass doors slid open. Shuddering, he emerged into the basement. The doors snapped shut behind him, the sound sending volts down his spine. Goosebumps rising along his arms and neck, he shuffled forward with his hand wrapped tightly around his phone.

The Dungeon—which was the unofficial name for the basement—was easily the creepiest place in the entire compound.

Cobwebs hung from the ceiling like haunted banners. Fluorescent lights drooped down from their fixtures, threatening to crash to the ground. Cardboard boxes full of old equipment, uniforms, and weapons were strewn everywhere. Machinery hidden behind metal doors whirred as Oscar rubbed his arms.

Releasing a shaky breath, he glanced at his phone just in time to receive a call from an unknown number.

Screw you, Caller ID.

His quivering thumb hit the answer button immediately. "Hello?"

"Good work today," Ghost's warbled voice said.

He clenched his jaw. "You didn't tell me you'd be breaking into the prison."

Ghost scoffed. "What did you think we'd be doing?"

He pursed his lips. She had a point. What did he think they'd be doing?

"Anyways, that doesn't matter," she continued. "I have another favor to ask of you."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"My team is planning an attack on Crane's next rally. In order for us to complete our task, we need your Atlas friends to stay out the way."

Oscar blanched. He shifted his feet and stuffed his free hand into his pockets. "Er, about that. They sort of...already know about your plan." He cringed as he waited for her reply.

But it didn't come.

Silence followed. It had gotten so quiet on the other line that he thought she hung up. His heart started to freefall. What if she did hang up? He immediately checked his phone. A breath of relief escaped his lips. She hadn't ended the call. She just wasn't saying anything.

"Uh...hello?"

"How do they know? Did you tell them? I thought we had an agreement, Oscar."

"What? No, no, no. I didn't even know what you guys were planning until you told me just know. How could I have told them?"

She paused. Through the quiet, he could tell she hadn't believed him. Gulping, his brain shot into hyperdrive as he tried devising a way to change her mind.

"If I told them, do you think we'd really be talking right now? You and your team would be arrested and thrown in The Vault by now. Atlas has state of the art tracking technology. They'd be able to find you in an instant."

He crossed his fingers, hoping she believed him. The lives of his sister and uncle hung in the balance. And he wasn't home to protect them. If Ghost decided to retaliate, he would have been powerless to stop her.

"You gotta trust me. I'm telling the truth."

"I believe you," she finally said. She cursed under her breath. "Well, this puts a bit of a wrench in our plans."

Relieved, Oscar nearly collapsed onto a nearby box full of old Atlas uniforms. While listening to Ghost mumble about her group's strategy, a question surfaced in his head.

"Er, if you don't mind me asking, why are you trying to kill Crane?" he asked. "I mean, yeah he's a sucky politician, but you can't just kill him. We've got...laws and stuff, you know? Democracy and all that."

"Democracy is a sham," she replied. "The government controls the government, not the people. We're powerless against them. Or, at least we were. But Kismet gifted us with the power to change the status quo. Neutralizing the threat that is Alastair Crane is only the first step into creating a new world order."

He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he listened to her rant. He wasn't a political person; not in the slightest. He couldn't even name the first five presidents without consulting the internet. But some of what she was saying made sense. The government was oppressive. And if Senator Crane got his way, his freedom—and his friend's freedom—would disappear. They would be soldiers for battles they had no business fighting.

He didn't want that.

But he also didn't want to help someone kill someone else. Even if it might've been for the greater good.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much of a choice.

"We are the future, Oscar," Ghost told him. "It's about time the world catches up."

He bit down on his lip, pondering her words.

"I'll call you when I have another task for you. Make sure to keep your mouth shut. If you tell anyone about this phone call...well, I think you know what'll happen."

The line went dead before he could even answer.

He lowered the phone from his ear and stared at the blank screen for a few moments. The inside of his head felt like someone had stuffed wads of cotton balls in it. He didn't know what to make of that conversation. He didn't know what to think of anything at the moment.

He had no idea what Ghost and her group were planning. In some ways, that made the entire thing worse. He knew just enough to know people were in danger, but he had no real way of helping them. Telling his friends and Director Shaw was out of the question. There was no chance of him putting his family in danger.

No matter how guilty he felt, their lives would always come first. Always.

#

Victoria was the last person he had been expecting to run into.

But, there she was, standing in the middle of the hall with a few other Atlas agents. He slowed up as he approached them. With his eyes wide, he tried searching for another route to his dorm room.

There wasn't one. He was going to have to pass them.

Grumbling under his breath, he kept his eyes low in hopes they wouldn't notice him.

"Oscar?"

He froze, his jaw clenched. Who had he been kidding? Of course they would've seen him. It wasn't like he could turn invisible or something. Forcing a smile, he turned around and faced them.

"Hey," he drawled with his brown eyes darting around. "What's going on, my dudes?" He internally facepalmed.

Why did I say that? I never say that!

Victoria arched an eyebrow at him while the other agents simply laughed.

"You alright, Oz?" she asked.

"Yep! Never better. Why are you asking? Do I not look alright?"

"You just look a little frazzled."

"Me? Frazzled? Pfft." He let out a nervous laugh and slowly backed up. "Well, it was nice talking with you, but I've gotta—"

Victoria took a strong step toward him. Her sharp features were devoid of any expression. He stared into her face, searching for a clue as to what was actually going on beyond her scorching blue eyes.

"What were you doing in the basement, Oscar?"

A shudder traveled through his body. It took every ounce of his willpower to stay rooted to the spot.

"Who said I was in the basement?"

"You realize the elevators say which floor the lift is coming from, right?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah, I knew that." Rubbing the back of his reddening neck, he quickly thought of a lie. "Er, I was just having a look around. Haven't been down there in months, you know? It's a really interesting place—"

She took another step toward him. "You're lying."

"What? No, I'm not." His cheeks flushed. He felt the sweat starting to coat his skin as he averted his gaze from her. "You're tripping, girl."

"What aren't you telling me, Oscar?" she pressed. Her glare softened like ice underneath the harsh light of the sun. "You can talk to me. You know that, right? I'm your friend."

He bit down on his tongue, careful not to let anything slip. The agents behind her stared at him with skeptical looks on their hardened faces. His stomach crumpled into a ball. He felt bile rising up his throat and he fought hard to keep it down.

Could he tell her? Would she rat him out to her dad? Or would she actually help him?

He wasn't sure. Victoria wasn't known for being a nice person. Or the most forgiving. If she learned that he had given Ghost those files about The Vault, she probably would've killed him herself.

But maybe she could help him? Maybe she could somehow find Ghost and her crew and lock them up.

He looked up at her. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, one of the other Atlas agents' phone went off.

"Hey, Vic," they said. "We've got a mole?"

Oscar's entire body stiffened as if he'd been dunked in a pool of freezing water.

During the group meeting with Director Shaw, they had hinted at the presence of a rat among their ranks, but nothing had come of it. He had thought it would stay within the confines of Director Shaw's office. But now it was out and spreading like a toxin.

He felt his throat constrict.

Victoria faced her comrade. "Yeah, we talked about it at the meeting. We're not sure who it is yet, but once we find out, whoever it is will wish they never betrayed us."

Oscar let out an internal scream that manifested into an odd smile.

Well, that answered that. There was no way he could tell her. Not now. Not ever.

Victoria faced him, her eyes narrowed slightly. "Who do you think it is?"

"Who do I think it is?" He shrugged. "Er, you know, that's a good question. I...wow, let me think." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You know, I'm not sure. It could be one of those new guys we hired. Or maybe a janitor or something. Who really knows?"

She nodded at him. "Yeah...who knows."

I gotta get out of here.

"Well," he began, "it was really nice chatting with you, but I've got to go. We've got a big mission in a few days' time and I want to make sure I'm well-rested."

"You're right," she told him. "I'll talk to you later, Oscar."

After giving her an awkward wave, he bolted for the other end of the hall.