One day after another passed at the facility. Each day I wrestled with the implications that the staff at the facility might be the ones deciding when our Meters went orange. Did it mean the Meters themselves were fake and there wasn't any spontaneous-combustion to worry about? Or were the spontaneous-combustions real but the staff used changing the Meters as a convenient way to stop us teenagers, us mice as the Pied Piper officers called us, from having conversations which questioned the legitimacy of the facility and the Pied Piper's Return evacuation as a whole? Or, also likely, was I so bored at the facility that I was looking for problems that weren't there and was simply making up something to worry myself about?
All of this indecision left me in a state of not knowing what to do. So I took each day at a time and let the routine of exercise, eating, sleeping, and hanging out with Jay, Amar, and George occupy my attention.
I had seen less of Tiffany after the day I questioned her about her changing appearance. Any time we saw each other our conversations were brief; she would tell me where she was going; either to go exercise or rest in her room, or to hang out with Blain, Mikayla, and several others elsewhere on the third floor. I had anticipated an invite to join Tiffany in this new friendship group but the offer never came. Any other time I bumped into Tiffany she also had the excuse that she was too busy to hang out because she had taken up a cleaning job on the third floor to make some extra money.
I could now trust myself to go to the exercise area and jog normally, having enough stamina to continue jogging for several hours if needed without the need to coil. It was slower, and not nearly as fun as coiling; but that didn't matter, what was important was that my Meter turned green eventually, and it did.
Two weeks to the day since Tiffany and I had arrived at the facility I saw her early in the morning whilst I was on my way to the exercise area because my Meter had turned orange. There were a handful of teenagers sitting around idly talking; presumably they had finished up in the exercise area and decided it was easier to wait until breakfast was ready in the cafeteria rather than go straight back to their blocks.
I spotted Tiffany before she saw me. She was standing near the cafeteria counter with a mop in hand, the floor around her glistening wet.
"Hey," I said, approaching her.
"Hey, Burg," she said.
She stopped moping and smiled at me. She looked so different to how I had first met her. The subtle changes which I had questioned her about before were now undeniable. Her hair was now down to her shoulders, and her face popped with model-esque beauty. As beautiful as she looked, a part of me hated this new look on her; as improved as she looked she didn't look like the real Tiffany I knew anymore. The changes to her face had increased each day, subtly at first, but had since become the sum of all the changes. I had tried to talk to her about the changes but any time I tried she shut the conversation down. I still wasn't sure if this new look of hers was intentional or somehow accidental; no doubt the power that we all had was the catalyst of the change.
"How's things?" I asked, not really knowing what else to say.
"Yeah, alright," said Tiffany, "Off to the exercise area?"
I nodded, "Yeah," I said, "How's work?"
Tiffany shrugged, "Boring," she said, "But at least I don't have to break into the two-k for the things I need."
She chewed on the nicotine gum in her mouth as if to demonstrate where some of the money she earned was going. Silence built between us.
Aren't you going to say something? I thought, Didn't we agree to stick together here? Why are you treating me like a stranger?
"Well, I guess I better get going," I said.
"Yeah," said Tiffany, "Don't do anything crazy, okay?"
"I won't," I said, "Probably."
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Tiffany smiled and rolled her eyes. I continued on my way. There was an icy feeling in my gut after speaking with her. As nice as she was to talk to, there was something cold about every conversation with her now.
I ran for several hours in the exercise area working up a good sweat but otherwise losing myself to my thoughts. Several times I yawned and was thankful that my body didn't seem to need a good night's sleep like it used to. A good night's sleep was harder to come by these days because of George. Every night since I had gotten to know him better George had begun to have night terrors. Without fail at some point in the night I would be woken up by George screaming and wailing just like when I had found him having a panic attack before.
It had gotten so bad Blain had requested to move to a different block, leaving just George and I to B-9. Each morning George apologized profusely about his night terrors; he felt helpless trying to stop them from happening. He had asked Mike for help with this issue and sessions were arranged between him and Abigail for him to have someone with psychiatric training to speak with. It didn't seem like the sessions were doing any good, though George mentioned he felt better talking through things with Abigail; they had an hour session every three days.
George had received his pen, pencils, and lots of drawing paper to occupy himself with. The things he drew and put up on the interior walls of B-9 however concerned me. He liked to draw morbid things; like people in the midst of screaming, or crying, or with extra limbs or eyes growing at places they shouldn't on their bodies.
"It helps me put everything I'm feeling down," said George when I asked him about it. At my request he agreed to take the pictures down, and instead kept them under his bed in an ever growing pile.
When he wasn't drawing, working at the kiosk, or having his night terrors, he would hang out with Jay, Amar, and I in B-8. The conspiratorial conversations about what might really be happening at the facility and the evacuation in general had devolved into talking about anything but that. It wasn't clear to me if the others were simply not interested in figuring out what was really going on, or if they had decided not to fret themselves over it.
Jay and Amar were much more interested in talking about their powers. They had become obsessed with using their powers to a degree that had started to make me very uneasy. For one thing B-8 was always cold, like the inside of a fridge, because Jay continually used his power to bring down the temperature of his body. His arms and hands were so cold in particular that they had a continual layer of frost over them. It didn't look painful for Jay, on the contrary, he admired the frosted look of his hands as if they were laden with fine jewelry.
Amar wasn't much better. His eyes constantly changed from one colour to another, even becoming complex spirals and fractal shapes. He seemed to take delight in the shock it caused others who passed by B-8. On top of his obsession with changing the look of his eyes, Amar's chubby build had thinned down a lot over the last two weeks; most likely due to all the exercise but, due to the speed at which he was losing the weight, also from the use of his power. Both didn't use their powers outside of B-8 (they didn't coil when in the exercise area), but that didn't temper my concerns because they hardly left B-8 save for quick trips to the cafeteria, to the showers, or to go to the exercise area.
After I had finished running for several hours in the exercise area I stopped by B-8 to find Jay and Amar just like how they had been for the last two weeks. Amar was sitting on his bed and even from across the room I could see his eyes flashing as if a rave were taking place inside his head. Jay sat cross-legged on the floor admiring his frosted arms and hands, from which icy vapors were rising.
"Guys," I said, speaking my mind before I could stop myself, "Don't you think you're getting carried away with your powers? Don't think you should give it a rest for a while?"
They both looked at me as if I had insulted their mothers.
"Hey man," said Jay, "If you don't want to hang with us then that's up to you. We're exploring our powers. If you don't want to join in then – bye."
"Amar?" I said, trying to get him on my side at least.
"There's no problem," said Amar in his usual monotone, "We're just learning to control our powers."
"But you're not," I said, "You're both becoming obsessed."
"Okay, bye," said Jay, looking back to his hands.
"Guys I'm serious," I said.
"WE DON'T CARE!" Jay screamed, "NOW PISS OFF!"
His face was livid and bright red, spittle foaming at his lips. I just stood and looked at him in complete shock. Amar's eyes changed to a cold, glowing white, offering no help.
"Fine," I said, shaking my head, "Whatever."
I moved beyond B-8 and decided to leave them to it. They don't mean it, I thought to myself, they're just becoming obsessed. They're not controlling their powers, their powers are controlling them.
I had to do something about it. Speak to Mike or Abigail, maybe?
"Burgess O'Bannon please report to C-1," said a man's voice from the speakers throughout the third floor.
Oh crap, I thought, what now?