Taking off my clothes and feeling around, my quest for answers should have been as easy as that right?

Why then was I now standing in front of the door to the bath just a second after tugging up the hem of my grey shirt?

When did I walk out, why was my hair dripping on me, and why didn't I remember?

The answer to those questions was too stupefying to be realistic, if not for the fact that I had seen my Overseer hypnotize my seniors and set paper ablaze with his mind, I might not have believed it.

I shifted my gaze to the hand still grasping the knob of the door, recognizing the tie securing the bandage around my wrist as my secret knot. This was more than enough for me to conclude that I had pulled off my clothes and bandages, and taken a dip in bath. And the moment I stepped out the door, I had lost all memory of it.

Somehow, nothing about that surprised me.

I ran my bandaged fingers through my damp hair and let out a long sigh. The Syndicate obviously wanted me in the dark about my identity and I had no problem with that, because for some reason my Overseer was in the dark too.

And according to the few memories that replayed constantly in my dreams, not knowing who I was was the best way to keep my secret safe.

Boy or girl, it didn't matter. I was me, sole survivor of 3-6-2 5-A, and I would continue to be that.

Continue to be that. . .

Until I'm rescued.

What really mattered now was if I'd be let out before my new bedroom turned into a meat locker and froze me to death.

If it came to that, I'd take the glowing orb and find the warmest corner.