Everything Hailey warned him about had come true.

When he returned to his room, his body moved according to Hailey's orders. First, he retrieved a piping hot container of green mush from the MEAL slot which he shoved it down his throat, then he tossed the container in the DISPOSAL slot, chugged a bottle of water, and moved to the bed. Without control over his own body, he was unable to remove his clothing before his arms and legs were flat against the bony mattress. A strap from his undergarments protruded into his rib, but he couldn't move to readjust it.

That would leave a bruise later.

But then Trace remembered seeing his reflection, at how healthy he'd looked. The Modifier had somehow cured his vitamin deficiencies. Could it prevent injuries as well?

The second he had this thought, the Modifier sent an electric current to his brain. Like flipping a switch, he fell asleep. Just as Hailey ordered.

#

A young girl, perhaps just old enough to attend her first years of public school, looked into Trace's eyes. She was not even inches away–one subtle movement and their foreheads would touch.

Her eyes were the purest blue he'd ever seen. Her skin was pale and supple, undisturbed. No birthmark or blemish ruined her.

Her small lips moved but Trace couldn't hear her. When she realized this, the blue in her eyes darkened. Sadness filled them, along with a deeper emotion that someone so young shouldn't be able to communicate yet.

Something about her alarming expressiveness made him want to pull her into an embrace and tell her not to cry, but he found himself immobile.

"What's wrong?" He tried to ask, but the words didn't come out. His throat tightened with a dryness like thirst for water in an endless desert.

The girl shook her head, as if in denial about something, while tears streamed down her cheeks. And then she turned and ran away from him, into an endless abyss of white. He watched as she ran, her small body growing smaller, still. And he made no movement to chase after her.

"Trace," a voice hissed to his right. He turned his head quickly to the sound, but not quick enough.

A hand clenched around his throat, pinching beneath his jaw, and lifted him into the air. Trace looked down at whoever this was, and found that he didn't recognize her. She wore a white cloak and white gloves, white shoes and a black mask. But it wasn't Shallomar. He remembered her voice.

He urged his arm to reach for the hand buckled around his neck, but found that he had no control over his body. Panic set in as sweat bubbled beneath his hairline and along his arms.

The woman snickered. "You have no right to care for someone like her." She nodded back to the little girl, who was now a speck in the distance.

Trace opened his mouth to speak, to ask one question. But once again, nothing came out.

"You're pathetic here, you know. And you dare to call yourself a Phantom assassin," the woman spat. She lowered her hand slightly so the two were eye level. Her piercing black eyes glared into Trace's, seeing deep into his soul. "You won't last these five days. I'll make sure of that."

Her hand released him and he crumpled to the white floor, gasping for air. He still couldn't manage to regain control of his body, so he laid there, still like a log, despite desperately wishing to move.

And then it dawned on him: where was he? Where had he dropped into? And who was this random woman patronizing him? The last thing he remembered was. . .

"You're probably aware by now that you're dreaming," the woman said plainly. Trace looked up at her: arms crossed, expression bored and eyes trained on him. She sighed. "Which means your real body isn't here, and you need to figure out a way to convince yourself to move. If you don't, we'll be stuck here for a while."

A dream? But it all felt so real. This must've been the work of the Modifier. Though dreams were already rare for Trace, when he had them in the past, they were nothing but a scramble of nonsense that he would forget seconds after waking up.

Still, he entertained the thought. If this was really a dream, could the Modifier have limited control over his body here? Could he free-roam in his own mind? The thought that Phantom might control his subconscious terrified him momentarily, but then he remembered that this wasn't the purpose of the device. Its purpose was to control bodily movement, to create physical obedience, which had proven successful thus far.

Trace remembered the small victory he'd had in twitching his fingers. Had Hailey noticed? And if she had, would she care?

Taking a deep breath, Trace glanced at his hand. He concentrated on it, urging it to move. Come on, come on, he thought. He looked to his feet. Move! But nothing  happened.

"You really don't believe this is a dream," the woman said flatly. Her observation made Trace's face grow hot, though he didn't understand why he was expected to believe this random lady that appeared in his subconscious, if that was even what this really was.

The woman sighed again, stamped her foot, and the expanse of white around them turned purple. She clapped her hands and her outfit changed from white to yellow, clashing brilliantly against the violet.

"Things that can't possibly happen in real life can happen here, in your subconscious. Which is why it's the perfect training ground for you while you're getting accustomed to your Modifier." The woman snapped her fingers and the expanse above them was filled with gray clouds, moving mindlessly across the purple. "That's the purpose of this dream."

This made sense. Stomping, clapping, and snapping things into existence were all unfathomable. Maybe she was telling the truth. But that didn't explain why she'd attacked him in the first place.

He glared up at her and for a moment, he felt that the memory of her hand around his neck would be enough to get him off the floor to confront her. This emotion stirred in him, puzzled him. Where had it come from? It wasn't dissimilar to how he felt when Hailey had registered him motionless.

"Why don't you try speaking first, boy?" The woman scoffed. "Don't concentrate too hard on moving or you might actually hurt your real body."

"Who the hell are you?" The words came out crisp and clear and bitter. They rang around them, heavy with hostility. Trace didn't show his shock at how intense he sounded.

The woman laughed. "Great! I was beginning to think you were mute or something." She clapped her hands once more and the room returned to its endless abyss of white. Then, she bent down and stuck out her white glove for a shake. "My name is Alexis. I'm your trainer."

Trace didn't move to shake her hand, didn't even try to. He glared at her. "Why did you provoke me as soon as you could?"

Alexis laughed, standing "I thought it would help speed up this process. Get you on your feet faster. I love an honest fist fight, you know." Her eyes glinted with sincerity. "But it doesn't seem like it worked. Or if it did, you're still somehow too trapped in your own psyche to believe you can do it."

"What happens when I regain control?" Trace never looked away from her annoying face.

She shrugged. "That's up to you. Of course, I have the ability to end this session whenever I please. It's the privilege of being an Escort."

Trace scoffed. "You? An Escort? Don't make me laugh." This really was a dream if someone so childish could pass for an Escort.

Alexis's eyebrow twitched, but her tone seemed undisturbed. "As soon as you get your butt off the floor, this dream will end and we can start working on training tomorrow when you're asleep again." He couldn't see her mouth, but he could tell she was smirking under the black leather. "Trust me, you'll practically be begging to be put to sleep after your first official day under the Modifier's control."

"I doubt that," Trace mumbled. But if what she said was true, he could end this by moving any part of his body. He just had to try harder.

But no matter how much he concentrated on his muscles, screaming mental orders at them to budge, nothing happened. He was beginning to exhaust himself.

"I'll give you a hint real quick, which is extremely generous of me, by the way." Alexis lifted her hand to her face and pulled the mask down. She was frighteningly beautiful, with a delicate jawline and bright, red lips. And she was younger than she sounded. Younger, even, than Wyze. As her lips parted, the words almost slipped past Trace—he was hypnotized by their movement, revealing a row of straight, white teeth beneath. "The girl at the beginning of this dream was someone you know. She might be the key to regaining control again."

Right, the little girl. But Trace had no idea who she could have been. Just that he felt a strong motivation to hold her close and not let her cry.

As if his thoughts summoned her, the girl materialized before him. Her face was small and confused as she shot looks between Alexis and Trace, searching for answers. She looked scared.

"It's okay," Trace said softly. Then, without thinking much about it, his arms reached up and pulled her down to him, wrapping her up against his chest.

#

He awoke with tears in his eyes. His body was in the same position throughout the night, different from his normal tossing and turning he would normally do to get comfortable. The dream stuck with him, vivid and very real. So real that he felt like he hadn't slept at all, yet didn't feel tired.

His immediate instinct was to get up and stretch, but his body unsurprisingly didn't comply. He was stuck in bed until Hailey willed him to get up.

Without movement to distract him, the face of the little girl swamped his thoughts. Her haunting blue eyes brought a looming sadness that filled him with something cold. He felt strangely connected to her, though he couldn't remember who she was if he had really known her. But if it had been enough for him to want to hold her, to protect her, to get him to move on his own again, she must've been someone important to him.

Hailey's voice cut into his thoughts through his Modifier, causing him to lose his breath for a second. Get up and eat your breakfast. We have some chores for you to do today.

We?

His body jolted up, all aches and pains ignored by his movements but still very much there. He winced as his body carelessly moved to the MEAL slot and retrieved the piping hot container of green stuff, burning his hands in the process. But his brain wouldn't tell his body how to react, no matter how senseless and painful these actions were.

As his hands forced steaming mush down his throat, tears rolled down Trace's face.

He was beginning to wonder how he would possibly survive five days like this.