I couldn't get anything straight in my mind except that I was some sort of non-human human who'd never been born or been anything but what I was now. And ten times? They'd erased Henry from me ten times? But we'd always gone back to each other . . . that part stuck in my mind, amidst all the other outrageous things they'd told us. If everything else was beyond my understanding, at least I knew that what I felt for Henry was real, had always been there, since the start of us. Whatever we were, we were meant to be with each other. All the fabricated chaos of the world we'd known was reflective of the chaos of how we'd come to be. What it all meant . . . who knew? I knew only what I felt and remembered. I couldn't recall anything past the few memories I'd regained. I had no reason to believe these people were lying to us, but there was something missing in their picture. I couldn't quite put my finger on what they weren't telling us, but as I lay there on that bed in a fetal position, trying to fathom what all this meant, I knew that there was more, and I dreaded whatever that might be. And then there was, of course, Henry.

They hadn't decommissioned him . . . yet. That's what she'd said, almost as if she'd been threatening me. Whatever they said about me and Lucas--we were their perfection or their beautiful creation or whatever--Henry wasn't. The others hadn't been. And they didn't seem to have kept those others. Henry was in acute danger; I was sure of that. Their acclaim meant nothing if he weren't with me.

And what did they intend for us, as well? Me and Lucas? Well, they'd conveniently omitted that part, but locking us in rooms didn't portend anything positive.

After some time, when the initial shock of it all had worn down a little and I'd begun to recognize that I didn't want these people, this place, their praise, or whatever they had in mind for us, I got up to search the room more in depth. I was furious at myself for letting them separate me and Lucas, and without him, I had no hopes that I'd find a way out. They didn't seem like the sort who'd go lax on security. And as far as I could tell in my search, the only exit was through the door, and it wasn't budging. There was likely a guard outside it as well. I went to the glass wall and examined the landscape outside. The afternoon sun glowed in the sky, and I wanted desperately to be out in that fresh air, on a hoverboard, with Henry, speeding over the lake. The desire was so strong that I felt I'd go crazy if I had to stay in the room any longer. But hours passed, and nothing changed. I tried to find a way to communicate with Lucas through the wall--I was sure he was in the room next to mine. I tried to find something that I could use to break free. I was so good with locks, but the door didn't even appear to have one. I wracked my brain, but nothing occurred to me.

Then something changed. Early evening, on a block-of-a-table that was next to the bed, a tray with several items on it appeared when the top of the cube slid aside and the tray raised from some hidden compartment. The items on the tray consisted of a few pills, a glass of water, and a note advising me to take whatever the pills were.

Their first mistake was in assuming I'd take some random pills--they had to know there was no way I'd do it. Their second mistake was in showing me how the tray appeared in the room. But these people made no mistakes . . . was this another manipulation? Probably. I was pretty sure it was. But maybe, just maybe . . . it wasn't.

Placing the tray on the floor, I got to work on the table and within a few minutes had the top pried off. There was an elevator shaft of sorts in there, large enough for something like those old fashioned dumbwaiters. It was small, but if I went into it feet-first, I might be able to shimmy down into the shaft and find out where the thing ended. It was risky; if I got stuck, who knew what would happen? But again, there was nothing else to do. I had to try.

So I took off my shoes, lifted myself up and over the edge of the table and, heart palpitating, lowered myself into the shaft. I splayed my feet left and right to give myself some leverage, so I wouldn't just slide straight down the chute. It's walls were slick metal, and I was glad I'd decided to go barefoot. The bottoms of my feet had enough grip to keep me from slipping. I used my hands, as well, though they were more damp with perspiration. Slowly, slowly, I lowered myself, hoping that no one on the other end would send the dumbwaiter back up (a terrible prospect, considering my position). But the chute wasn't as long as its darkness had led me to believe; my feet touched the top of the dumbwaiter within about five minutes, and I was able to stand on top of it, though I had no room to bend my body and look at what I stood on. I thought for a few minutes about what to do. I could see a dim light around the bottom of the chute, which indicated that I was indeed standing on top of the dumbwaiter and that there was an opening of some sort in front of it. Obviously, standing on it wasn't going to get me anywhere. So I shook myself back and forth a little, and the dumbwaiter moved. I could shove it out through its opening, I thought, and then swing down and out through it myself. Which is exactly what I did.

When I climbed out of the shaft, nerves on edge from the enormous clatter the dumbwaiter had made when it'd fallen, I found myself in some sort of industrial-looking space. Huge refrigerators, shiny metal tables with tools of various sorts on them, nothing that looked like the living space we'd been in, which must be right above. The lighting was low, and I couldn't make out any people. Someone must have sent up the tray and gone off to do other things. Across the way from me, I saw another dumbwaiter, which must lead up to Lucas's room. I briefly considered trying to go up and get him, but I had no idea how much time I had, and as much as I cared about Lucas, getting to Henry was my priority. If I could find Henry and possibly Amirah, if I could help them, we could come back for Lucas.

Mind made up, I proceeded into the depths of the strange kitchen, seeking a door or a stairway, some means of exiting. Along the way, I did a double-take when I passed a series of sharp tools on one of the counters. I had no pockets, not even any shoes to store anything in, so I just grabbed the two largest sharp things I saw and walked with one in each hand. I'd never stabbed a person, but I'd do it if I had to, I was sure of that.

Grasping the tools firmly in my hands, I moved to the end of the deep room and at last found the stairs I'd been hoping to find. Up I went, my eyes on the curves of the stairwell above me, ready at any moment for some person to lunge at me, so I was surprised when one came at me from behind. I hadn't anticipated anyone down there with me, but I clearly hadn't explored it enough. The person raced up the stairs. I heard before I saw them, and they were so quick I knew I had no time to lose. I flew up the rest of the stairs, barely evading the person's hands, but at the very top I threw my sharp objects to the ground, spun about, and shoved the person so hard that they fell over the railing and all the way down to the ground at the bottom. They hadn't guessed I'd turn like that.

Picking up my weapons, I looked for a door of some kind at the top of the landing but instead saw what looked like a wall of falling water. It was another illusion screen, and I slipped through it and out into the atrium, the vast space where Lucas and I had originally arrived when we'd left the go-cart tunnel. Looking quickly at where I'd just come from, I saw that the doorway blended effortlessly into the illusion of a never-ending walkway, just as I'd thought it was when first stepping into this place. So behind me were a stairwell and an industrial kitchen and the quarters of Sabine and Enrique and the two rooms for me and Lucas. There must've been more, too, but I thought I'd take my chances across the way, where it appeared the atrium stretched eternally to the right. That must be another illusion, and if it were, perhaps I'd find Henry there. Wouldn't it make sense to separate us?

I quickly crossed the entryway, glancing out the glass dome, where it was revealed that night had fallen, but I had no time to look at stars or moonlight glistening on the lake. People were probably already on the move, trying to find me. I didn't know how far I'd have to go before the illusion wall gave way, but it wasn't far--about equidistant from the opposite one--and I was soon through it.

On the other side of the illusion was an open space that converged into a long hallway across from where I stood. The space was much like the kitchen in its pristine and industrial look, but it was much better lit, bright white in fact, and there was little equipment of any kind. There were screens on the walls and what resembled a desk of some kind, but no people were visible. I couldn't believe my luck and just went straight for the hallway, where I began trying doors. I couldn't get through any of them, though. None appeared to have any manual or digital locks that I could work. I began to grow frantic, even more so when I heard shouting in the distance. I had to find Henry, and fast. I couldn't bear the thought of being taken back to that room to wait for whatever was coming. One thing I knew for certain--I wouldn't go quietly. I'd fight with what I had.

Just as I was contemplating fighting, a door to my right opened, and out stepped a woman. She wasn't like the others, the disguised ones with the guns. This was someone in protective gear, like she'd been working with chemicals. She looked more like the woman that'd greeted me and Lucas at the White Bear tunnel. And she wasn't after me; in fact, she was as startled to find me as I was to see her, but she immediately knew that I wasn't supposed to be there.

She made a motion to lift her wrist and speak, so I lashed out at her with one of my sharp tools and she stumbled backward. But then I had a better idea--hurting her wouldn't help me.

"Where's Henry?"

She shook her head at me as if to play dumb. "I don't know who--"

"Don't lie. I swear to you that I will push this thing into my chest and cut out my own heart while you stand here watching if you don't open the door he's behind right now."

"No, no!" she cried, raising her hands to stop me as I turned one of my sharp pointy things inward. "Here! This way."

Down at the end of the hall, she lifted a hand and waved it in front of the door. To my joy it slid aside, and though the woman stood apart so I could enter, I pushed her in before myself and told her to close it, which she did in a bit of a panic.

I should've taken care of her, then--I should've at least knocked her out. But I was completely absorbed by what I saw in the room I'd stepped into. It was dark, in the way that an aquarium chamber full of jellyfish and squid is dark. The blinking lights and soft purrs of various mechanized equipment lined the walls and floors; hoses descended from the ceilings and connected to rows of long horizontal glass tubes wrapped in metal bands. The tubes were full of gelatinous liquid, which was glowing a sickly shade of yellow-green--just like the tank at Oliphant had been (had they been manufacturing the stuff there? Was Oliphant a cover? I had no time to delve into those thoughts). There must have been twenty of the tubes, although at least half were dark and perhaps empty, but the ones that weren't empty . . .

The entire space around me seemed to pulse in conjunction with the blood moving through me. I could hear a rushing in my skull as I stepped down from the platform on which I stood and into the room proper. With hesitant steps, I approached the first of the lit tubes and looked down into it to see a perfect image of myself, hair afloat in the liquid, features frozen in a soft smile. And next to it was another me, and next to that another . . . and at the opposite side of the room were the generations of Henrys or Lucases or whatever they'd been called. I crossed over to the males and paused as I stood over the nearest, placed my hand on the top of the tube, which was cool to the touch, and gazed down at the perfect sleeping form of Henry. But . . . this wasn't him. I didn't feel that this was him. And I had to trust my intuition. With measured footfalls, I moved down the row, placing my hands on each of the eerie casings--three of my beautiful Henry, and yet none of them felt like him. But then there was an empty one--maybe it'd been Lucas's?--before I reached the last. And even though the person inside the last was identical in every way to the others, I knew in my very core that this was Henry. Even approaching the tube, my body flushed with heat, and the fragmented pieces inside me began to shift back together. It was him!

I had to move quickly, now that I'd found him, and especially as I realized, suddenly, that I'd entirely forgotten the woman who'd led me here. A quick glance told me she was gone. They had to know I was here, now. But how did I open the thing? It was covered in buttons. One panel at the end, though, near Henry's head, looked to be the most important. Nothing was labeled, but I had understanding of machines, didn't I? Putting my only weapons down onto the ground, I closed my eyes, took deep breaths to calm myself, and placed trembling hands on the panel. Its current spoke to me, rippled into my fingers, up my arm and to my brain, and when I opened my eyes again, I knew to press an inconspicuous green button, enter a brief two-digit code of 4-3, and pull a small lever to the right.

The tube immediately began to drain around Henry's form. The liquid was sucked loudly out of it into a hose, exposing first his nose, his forehead and cheeks, his eyes and lips, his chin, chest, shoulders . . .

With speed, I jogged across to the other side and located who I thought was Amirah--across from the empty tube that I'd assumed was for Lucas. I quickly worked the button and lever on her tube, and then I hurried back to Henry's. By the time I reached him, he was fully exposed; the tube was free of gelatinous material. But he wasn't moving. In haste, I located a panel on the top of the tube, unlatched it, and watched as it hissed, steamed, and slid back. When the cloud cleared, I stood on my toes to look inside, saying Henry's name aloud. He was naked except for a sort of fitted white shorts, and his whole body was coated in a jelly-ish residue, but he was as still as he'd been when the tube was filled. I was shaking with too many emotions to name, but worst was the terror of Henry not waking. The one thing I knew could rouse him, though, was my touch.

Reaching a tremulant hand over the side of the glass, I brushed the tips of my fingers on Henry's cheek, pushing aside the clear gel, and then I stood on the tips of my toes to more fully extend my arm, and suddenly, the entire palm of my hand was pressed against his forehead, and the familiar electric static fizzled between our skin. The warm, radiant sensation moved up into my hand, through my arm, into my chest, and at the same time it reached my heart, Henry began coughing wildly, turning over onto his side to clear the gelatinous material from his lungs.

"My preparation interrupted for this?"

Whipping around, forced to break the connection, I found that I was surrounded by a myriad of dark-clad figures. Sabine and Enrique were at the forefront, dressed in bathrobes and pajamas and dripping with some sort of orange liquid that looked similar to the gel Henry had been entombed in. Sabine was calmly toweling the gel off her hair, but it was she who had spoken. She was clearly annoyed.

"We've really done it, this time," Enrique gushed, an entirely unfitting grin on his ridiculously cheerful face. "The resourcefulness of this one--the determination!"

"Well, yes," drawled Sabine, a little less convinced, "but she also had the luck of our incompetence. Someone will be out of a job, tonight."

I stood in suspense. My weapons had been kicked aside, and Henry, though making sounds of waking, was not yet cognizant. I longed to turn and touch him again, but I was rooted to where I stood. "Please . . . please don't do this to him. He--he doesn't deserve this."

"No one deserves anything, Layla," Sabine said, handing her towel to someone nearby and approaching me slowly. "We get what we're meant to get, that's all. Henry proved to be too weak for our purposes. Even after all we did to develop him--"

"To develop him?" I cried, hot tears forming at the hopelessness of the situation. "You tortured him! You made him do terrible things. You hurt him."

"All to strengthen him," Enrique interjected. "But we know how difficult it must be from your end to understand the necessity of it."

"Telling someone they're a murderer--that strengthens them?"

Sabine and Enrique exchanged one of their enraging glances. "Layla, you're right. We realized the hard way that just telling Henry something, making him think he was something--it didn't cause him to be that something. One has to develop that cold-bloodedness on one's own." She smiled, and I realized she was speaking about me. "We put you into the Circuit--one of our many such lucrative entities along with your Oliphant (when you do the sort of work we do, law enforcement can be convinced to look away)--in order to teach you that you could be brutal, that you could be cruel. While it at first didn't seem to work, in retrospect, I'm fairly sure you wouldn't be where you are now if we hadn't started you where we did. Out of all the simulations we put you through, this was by far the most involved and, as is obvious, the most successful."

I looked at the floor. I felt so helpless. "Not for Henry. You told him he killed Mr. Hines . . ."

Enrique stepped forward to be abreast with Sabine, put his hands on his knees and crouched a little as if he were literally talking down to me. "Sometimes our independent contractors get a little too close. We can't risk their live wires."

"Nor this live wire," Sabine snapped, no longer talking to me but to everyone else. "She needs her purgative, and we must complete our preparations. Unfortunately, we'll have to sedate them both. Call Gareth. I don't care if you have to wake him." She turned back to me. "We'll see you in thirty-six hours, my dear."