***

            THAT NIGHT, I wake up at three in the morning with a single thought on my mind: wondering what Ted Cruz's been up to these days.

            Oh. Wait. No. Not Ted Cruz. Nothing too political. That was just some weird dream. What I wake up thinking about is some good old-fashioned American values: revenge.

            No. Not revenge. Justice. Justice for Thea and all the hell her mom put her through for the sake of some fucked up experiment. Justice for me and all of the other hosts forced into something they wanted no part in. Justice for my dad and the fact that he was pulled into this mess just because he had me for a son.

            Mainly, though, justice for Thea.

            It should be noted that three-in-the-morning minds are often not the sharpest, and I am no exception.

            I roll out of bed, stretching, and carefully creep over my friends — considering that Meredith and Atlas were both drunk from last night and my dad's more lenient than Atlas's mom and Meredith's grandparents combined and the fact that Silas didn't want to be left out, they all slept over here last night, not giving me any choice in the matter. After I pull a shirt on, I sneak downstairs, being extra careful to avoid all of the creaky steps. However, despite all of my precautions, Cerberus greets me at the bottom of the stairs, yapping his head off.

            "Shut up!" I whisper, shoving past him.

            He responds with a particularly shrill yap, following me and snapping at my ankles as I grab a quick thermos full of coffee from the kitchen before heading out.

            It's very satisfying to imagine cutting his throat open and ripping out his vocal cords.

            Despite all of his yapping, I manage to sneak outside without someone waking up. Relieved, I get into my car, only to realize that I forgot my keys. And my pants.

            I curse, heading back inside. Cerberus greets me at the doorway, but so does somebody else — Atlas, in his pajamas, his glasses nowhere in sight, who looks like he's having a heart attack.

            Fuck, fuck, fuck. That little fucker did wake someone up, after all.

            Atlas stares at me for a solid minute. "Um, why aren't you wearing pants?"

            I shrug. "I forgot them."

            He looks over my shoulder (which he has to stand on his tiptoes to do) at the door, then down at Cerberus, who's thankfully silent. He has to squint due to his distinct lack of glasses. "What're you doing?"

            "Heroin," I casually reply.

            "Oh, well, of course." Atlas takes a staggering step forwards, his hands flying to his head. "Jesus. My head's like, actually killing me. I think I'm dying. I'm never drinking again."

            "If you do that, you might die. But I can get you some Advil or something."

            "Okay," he nods, his head still in his hands. "That'd be good. But can you please put some pants on first? It's kind of unnerving."

            I wink. "I've been told that my body can be quite distracting."

            Atlas mimics throwing up. "Shut the fuck up. I'm too hungover to deal with you right now."

            "Be right back, sweetheart."

            I creep back up the stairs and into my room, struggling to pull on a pants without waking any of the little angels sleeping in there. Once I'm finally fully clothed (disappointing, I know), I grab my keys from my dresser and head back downstairs.

            Atlas is sitting at our kitchen table, his head resting in his arms. The sight of it's so normal and mundane considering what I'm about to do, it seems out-of-place. I pour him a glass of water and fish out three Advil tablets from our medicine cabinet, which he graciously takes.

            "Just little ol' me, saving the day, as usual," I tease, sitting across from him.

            "Thank you." He rolls his eyes, setting his glass down on the table. "Can you tell me something?"

            "I can tell you a lot of something," I reply. "What's up?"

            "What are you really doing?" he asks. "Assuming that you aren't, of course, fueling your heroin addiction."

            I sigh. If I don't tell him, he'll think that this is an assignment and try to ruin everything for me. I sigh, swirling my coffee back and forth in my thermos. "Justice."

            "Justice?" Atlas's face screws up in confusion (and probably pain, considering his hangover) as he lifts his head to properly raise an eyebrow at me. "Justice for what?"

            "Thea."

            "Oh. What do you mean?"

            Saying it out loud, it only serves to fuel my anger. But I can't seem to find the right words to say it. I angrily take a sip of my coffee as if that'll help. "I'm going to — I'm going to do something. To Dr. Mendoza. To her institute. Revenge. Justice for Thea."

            Atlas's eyebrows furrow, and I brace for him to yell at me. Instead, he just asks a simple question. "What are you going to do?"

            "Huh?"

            He blankly stares at me. "A plan, Cain. You need a plan."

            I shrug. "I don't have much of a plan, but I have had two cups of coffee and a shot of vodka, so I think I'll be just fine."

            Another stare follows, and I just know he's going to yell at me. He's going to try to stop me, ruin everything, tell me that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, 'cause he's one of those naive philosophical types that actually believes in bullshit like that. But what he actually says surprises me. "I want to come with you."

            It's my turn to stare at him. "What? Are you for real, man?"

            "Yeah. Totally." Atlas nods. "What they're doing is wrong, and they deserve repercussions. Government officials shouldn't be able to get away with corrupt behaviors just 'cause they're government officials. It's fucked up. I'm a hundred percent behind whatever you're gonna do to them. Plus, I want to be a part of your badass sci-fi antihero story, bro. I wanna do something to help."

            "You sound just like my dad." I stand up, pushing my chair in. "All right, then. Let's go. But finish your water first, okay?"

            He nods, chokes it back in a single gulp, stands up, and promptly trips over his own feet. "I totally meant to do that."

            "Of course you did." I roll my eyes, and the two of us sneak back out, doing our best to avoid Cerberus's snapping jaws as he chases us out the door.

            We get into my car, and I back out of the driveway, starting the drive to the Mendoza Institute. The entire way there, Atlas complains about his head, and when I tell him to shut up about it, he starts complaining about my head and fantasizing about what'd be like to chop it off.

            Eventually, before Atlas has any bright ideas to bring back the guillotine, we reach the institute. The gate's still broken down; we easily drive past it. I park just in front of the building. As I unbuckle my seatbelt, so does Atlas, but I stop him.

            "Atlas," I say, my hand hovering just over his thigh to keep him from making any sudden moves in the direction of seat-unbuckling, "you're not coming with me."

            "What?" he asks, his anger raising his voice an octave. "No way! Why not?"

            "Because I've got a plan. Sort of."

            "Wow, that's a first. But what does that have to do with anything?"

            "You need to stay out here so that you don't get hurt because of it, okay?" I explain. "Please."

            Atlas shakes his head, glaring at me. "I came to help you, Cain. Not sit here and wait while you get to do all the badass things. I'm just as capable as you are. What's your plan?"

            "And you will help me: you'll be my getaway driver. Because I'm going to burn down the Mendoza Institute." I say the last part casually, like I'm reciting from a textbook.

            This answer doesn't satisfy him. His eyes dart nervously towards the building looming in front of us, as if imagining it bursting into flames. "I'll be fine. I can get in and out before you even set the fire."

            "No, Attie." My hand brushes against his chin, forcing him to look me in the eye. "I can't put you in danger. I — I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you got hurt because of me."

            His lips tremble, his eyes narrowing out of some kind of suppressed anger, but I know that he understands. "Fine. Just — just be safe, please, okay? Promise me that much." He offers me his pinkie to shake.

            "I will," I seal the deal with our interlocked pinkies and push my door open. "Promise."

            "Oh, and Cain?" Atlas calls.

            "Yeah?"

            "Kick her ass for me," he instructs. "Got it?"

            "Will do." I salute him, then climb out of the car, slamming the door behind me.

            Through the car window, he salutes me back, but his ends with a very rude gesture. I don't appreciate it.

            I laugh at him, taking a deep breath to steel my nerves. Ice fills my lungs, and my breath turns to a gray haze in front of my lips.

            If this goes wrong, at least the last memory he'll have of me will be me laughing. I shove my hands in my pockets and confidently march up to the doors, pushing my way inside.

            An intense-looking girl with choppy brown hair stands behind the counter. When she hears the doors open, she jumps, and when she sees that it's me, her face contorts into something between fear and anger. They must recognize me around here, and her expression only fuels me. Unfortunately enough, she starts to yell for security.

            Before she can get the words out, I shush her with a finger against my lips. "Sh, sh," I insist, holding my hands up to prove that I'm not armed; however, if she knows even the slightest thing about me, she knows I don't need to be armed to be dangerous. "I'm just here to talk, yeah?"

            "Talk?" Her chest heaves up and down. She looks about ready to murder me. "Talk to who?"

            "To God," I reply with a roll of my eyes. "Who do you think? I came to talk to Dr. Mendoza."

            Her eyes flick from my face to my hands back to my face before finally settling on my hands. "Well, all right. I'll take you to her. But if you try anything, I won't hesitate to kill you on the spot, I swear to God. I'm armed. I'm a certified police officer. I've got a black belt. I can cut onions without crying. I'll kick your ass."

            A white police officer. Well, I'll be damned.

            Considering that I have half the strength of a small woodland creature and am built like a long noodle and she seems to be the female version of Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson, I don't doubt that. "Thank you, and that's understood."

            Cautiously, her hand pressed against a holster on her belt, she walks towards me. The next thing I know, she's got her gun pressed into my head (it's a familiar feeling), and she's leading me towards where I know Dr. Mendoza's office is.

            "Remember," she warns, her voice bittersweet and dripping with venom. "One move, and you're dead."

            I try to make a joke to lift her spirits a bit. "Don't tempt me."

            She doesn't respond to that, but instead uses her free hand to knock on the door of Dr. Mendoza's office. Her voice filters out, and I can admit that I'm a little surprised that she's up so late. (What would I have done if I'd gotten here and she was fast asleep?) "Who is it?" she asks.

            "It's me. Nicole." The girl, Nicole, replies, the tone of her voice suddenly drastically different. "Someone came in — says he wants to talk to you."

            "Send him in," Dr. Mendoza tiredly answers.

            Nicole pushes the door open and ushers me inside, following in after me.

            Dr. Mendoza takes one look at me and instantly motions for her to leave. "Thank you, Nicole, but that will be enough."

            "What?" Nicole asks, her voice snapping. "No way. He killed people, Dr. Mendoza. He killed your employees and he kidnapped your daughter. He should be in prison. No way am I leaving you alone with him. I need to be here to — to protect you."

            I suddenly remember that Nicole's a police officer. Yikesies.

            "Your concern is admirable and appreciated, thank you, but I'll be just fine on my own. I can protect myself. I want to talk to him alone," Dr. Mendoza raises her hand again and Nicole, fuming, stalks from the room.

            "Cain." Dr. Mendoza beckons me forwards with a wave of her hand. "Please, take a seat."

            I remember the last time I was here — it seems to be in a different lifetime. This world seems surreal. The distance from the door to her desk suddenly stretches until it's miles long, but I manage to cross it and calmly sit across from her, despite the fact that my insides are boiling with rage. I expected her to be upset, to be angry, to be afraid, to be something. This calm indifference shows that my actions haven't affected her at all, and I hate it.

            "What did you want to talk to me about?" she asks, crossing her arms on her desk.

            I rake my brain for something, but come up dry. I don't have anything I want to talk to her about. I just want to hurt her, that's all. I want her to be upset. I want her to be angry. I want her to be afraid — afraid of me. I want to see her in pain, want to see her wither and squirm and beg for mercy.

            I take a moment to calm myself down. "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind," I finally say.

            She considers this, tilting her head. The action of it's very cold, very calculated, not at all sincere. Just like everything about her. "Quoting Gandhi, are we?"

            "But — and the but's the most important part — justice is blind."

            Her demeanor doesn't change. She frowns, straightening up in her desk. "What are you saying, Cain?"

            "What I'm saying is this: Justice for Thea." I tap on her desk, and a small portion of it bursts into a flickering star of a flame no bigger than a candle. "Your institute is practicing immoral and inhumane activities, and you hide behind the fact that you're a government organization trying to save the world — although you don't make any progress at it, and instead make everything worse — to justify it. But, of course, you already knew this."

            "So?" She narrows her eyes, and there it is: the unfazed appearence, no matter what I tell her. I hate it. I hate her. "You're just like me — an arrogant, egotistical murderer that hides behind politics to justify the blood on your hands. At least I'm trying to do something good."

            I stand up, pacing the room. The tiny flame flickers blue, but continues to burn. Dr. Mendoza doesn't take her eyes off of it. That's not true that's not true that's not true becomes a frantic mantra in the back of my head.

            "I'm doing something good," I respond more to convince myself than to convince her. I'm crashing. "I'm fighting for justice."

            "No, you're fighting for what you think is justice. There's a difference." Dr. Mendoza replies, her hand tracing an invisible pattern on her desk. "Me? I'm fighting for survival. I'm fighting for something good. I know what you're here to do, and burning this place down isn't going to do anything good. Trust me."

            "No." I shake my head, frantic, desperate. I'm doing what I should be doing. "I'm fighting for what's right. You — what you're fighting for is bullshit. We all die in the end. You're just prolonging the inevitable."

            "But when all of us are dead," Dr. Mendoza asks, her voice heavy with unsaid accuasations, "who will be around to enjoy this so-called justice you seek?"

            I don't know how to respond to that. All I can do is stare at her.

            Am I doing the right thing? Is this what's right, is this what's good? I don't know anymore.

            Yes. Of course I am.

            "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind," Dr. Mendoza finishes, her voice cold and dry. "That's it, Cain. That's the entire quote. There are no but's about it."

            Something snaps inside of me. I slam my fist into the wall beside of me, and a large portion of it begins to burn, begins to crumble. Heat courses through my veins, blurring my vision, blurring my thoughts.

            Corruption, I think. What does it mean? Is it me or her? Me or her? Is she the corrupted one, or am I?

            This, finally, seems to shock Dr. Mendoza, which brings a smile to my face. She leaps to her feet, her breathing rapid, her face awash in a shocked sort of fear.

            She stares at me a moment, the crumbling, burning wall behind me turning me into nothing but a darkened silhouette in her vision. Then, she promptly runs from the room.

            Coward. I follow her, calm and slow. Underneath my feet with every step I take, the floor begins to burn. Dr. Mendoza reaches the lobby, and Nicole rushes towards her, and I hang back, waiting to see what happens before I advance.

            "Dr. Mendoza!" Nicole yelps. "What's wrong?"

            "We need to get out of here."

            "Why? What happened? Did he do something?"

            Dr. Mendoza doesn't respond, just heads straight outside. Nicole follows after her, still calling for her, still trying to get her to tell her something, anything.

            Behind me, the back of the institute bursts into flames. I walk to the doors. Both Dr. Mendoza and Nicole are staring at me through the windows, open-mouthed and pale with shock.

            I wave at them, then lock the doors, effectively locking the two of them out.

            They begin to pound on the doors, yelling something incoherent. Watching them panic calms something inside of me, and I have to admit that I enjoy it.

            It doesn't matter if this justice is good. It doesn't matter if I'm doing something good. All that matters is a single thing: I'm in control.

            Within seconds, the entire institute is ablaze. I'm standing in a pool of fire, my hand still on the lock, listening to the gentle, soothing crackle of the flames, the popping and whirring of the building collapsing.

            Dr. Mendoza and Nicole stand a couple of feet away from their door, their chests heaving, their faces ashen. Nicole is looking up at the institute, a look of abject terror on her face, tears glittering in her eyes. Dr. Mendoza is staring at me through the flames, her lab coat whipping about her in the wind, ash raining down on her like a heavy, suffocating snow.

            I look at her — I really look at her — and my smile fades as a million thoughts and a million realizations run through my head.

            How could this ever be considered justice?

            The door suddenly falls forwards, and I walk forwards as if in a trance. The second I step out of the fire, I feel my strength flee me. My limbs grow heavy, and it feels almost like my heart does, too.

            Vengeance, yes. But this isn't justice.

            What's the difference?

            Suddenly, my vision blurs. Bloodstained cotton fills my mouth. My legs fall out from under me, and I collapse in a ball on the ground, feeling my limbs begin to spasm and convulse.

            "Cain!" Dr. Mendoza screeches, and, all of a sudden, she's at my side, frantically dragging me away from the building. That's all it is now — a destroyed building. "Cain, you need to tell me where you live. I need to take you there."

            I struggle to think of it, but I can't seem to remember my address. I can hardly remember any English words. "My friend — he's in a car somewhere here. Just in front of the building. His name's Atlas. He's got nerdy glasses. He'll take you there."

            "What the hell are you doing?" Nicole demands of Dr. Mendoza, and, in my half-conscious state, it looks like she's quite literally spitting fire. "Leave him. He doesn't deserve your help."

            The last thing I'm aware of is Dr. Mendoza struggling to lift me as she coldly replies: "Like hell am I just letting him die, no matter who he is, no matter what he's done. Every life deserves a chance, okay? That's what you need to understand."

            And then, as usual, right when things are getting good, I pass out.

***

ok so as this is a turning point in the story i'm. curious to hear what y'all think of cain and if it's changed at all since the beginning lmaoooo
also this chapter goes out to the other nicole in my life, jaqobis , who i didn't know existed until i was already too far up the ass of the nicole in this book (even tho she's here for like. 2 chapters) to change anything about her. fuck the irl nicole's weeb ass tho.

also dedicated to my babe sepeli0caelestis bc her comment made me add the thing about if something went wrong atlas's last memory of cain would be of him laughing and also i love her