The following morning Abigail arrived with a tray of breakfast (bacon, eggs, and toast, with a hot cup of tea), and told me something I didn't want to hear.

"You need to go back to the third floor," she said.

She stood at the doorway with her arms crossed. I had been asleep when she arrived and was trying to sit myself upright whilst rubbing sleep out of my eyes.

"Why?" I mumbled.

"There's going to be an announcement," said Abigail, "That's the most I can say."

"Am I going to like this announcement?" I said.

Abigail gave me a look which told me I wouldn't. Her gaze searched the floor idly whilst I picked at the toast.

"What's this?" she said.

She squatted down by the scorched hand print on the floor.

"Oh," I said, "That was me."

To save time explaining I willed my right hand to bulb. I noticed there was that subtle sense of unlocking I had noticed before just as I willed the bulbing to happen. The room filled with the extra light and warmth coming from my hand. Abigail looked momentarily surprised, and then unimpressed.

"As much as I would love to stand around whilst you take your time, the announcement is in twenty minutes, and it'll take us at least ten to get up there. Shall we?" said Abigail.

"Yep," I mumbled, and got up off the bed. I took the slice of toast with me more as a sign that I was trying to eat than genuinely having an appetite. Even a few nibbles had me feeling full. This had nothing to do with having powers and everything to do with the constant anxiety and dread with me every moment of the day.

I followed Abigail out of the room and we started on the short walk towards the elevator. As usual the sound of her heels, this time clacking, filled the corridor.

"I'm sorry, by the way," she said, taking me by surprise.

I looked down at her but she continued to look right ahead. Her hands were mostly covered by the long sleeves of her sweater; she gripped the sleeves tightly as if to better warm herself in the chill of the fourth floor. She couldn't say more than she already had thanks to the Meters which were listening in on our conversation. For this reason we couldn't talk of plans to leave the facility or anything that could be considered going against the facility.

"It's fine," I said, "I appreciate you looking after me whilst I've been down here."

"It's not like I chose to do it or anything," Abigail said, tucking a lock of her behind her ear and shooting me a look, "I mean, it's either me or Mike that'd have to do it and he's busy with things on the third floor."

"Right," I said, nodding, "Makes sense. Still, I appreciate it."

"How are you feeling?" she said.

"Better," I lied.

"That's great," she said, "You've been through so much."

Not like I have a choice, I thought.

We made a right at the end of the corridor, which I knew would be the last turn before we reached the elevator. All the other rooms on the fourth floor were empty, as if the place were abandoned. It seemed like a waste of space to have so much on the fourth floor with most of it going unused; I had paid attention to see if anything was happening on the fourth floor but besides the odd teenager staying for some medical attention in the ward (which I was strictly not allowed to enter) then it was deserted. I wondered what was happening on the fifth and sixth floors. A nasty tightness, like someone stabbing it, formed in my gut near where I imagined my kidneys to be.

Is Tommy down there? I thought. Robert and Abigail had said as much. Any of the teenagers that were thought to have left, hadn't. Robert and Abigail hadn't explained what was happening to those particular teenagers but I was already imagining the worst: experimentation's, solitary confinement. Over the last few days of being alone with my thoughts it occurred to me that there were no tests being carried out on the third floor like I had expected. I had thought there would be regular things like blood tests and, once it was clear that us mice had powers, tests which tested how our powers worked. Yet besides everyone being monitored on the third floor and having the exercise area to use to get our (fake) Meters back to green, there weren't any tests of any kind. The pain in my gut doubled as I accepted that there must be tests taking place at the facility but ones that we weren't privy to. Ones which the likes of Tommy were most likely the unfortunate recipients of.

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I had decided to change my way of thinking when it came to life at the facility and the trust I had put into the government. I had been sorely wrong to give the government my trust in the first place. Now I believed the facility to be guilty of horrible experimentation's on teenagers somewhere on the fifth floor or lower, and until proven wrong that was my going belief.

The question I had to ask myself was this: were those mice my problem? If Robert and Abigail were to be believed and they were offering me a way out of the facility, could I take the way out whilst also believing that others were being left behind and subjected to cruel experimentation? Even if there weren't evil experiments being carried out on teenagers somewhere below, then at the very least was I not obliged to help the teenagers on the third floor as well?

I had a few ideas for how I might be able to achieve this goal, but they were just ideas not fully formed into something actionable. I needed to give it all a lot of thought and for that reason staying down on the fourth floor alone with my thoughts was proving invaluable. I only wished I dared to write down half of my plans with the pen and paper I had been provided for ease of keeping track of it all (I didn't dare to, however should a Pied Piper officer or facility member of staff see what was written down).

We reached the elevator. Unlike with the second and third floors, the fourth didn't have a checkpoint. There were plenty of cameras everywhere on the fourth floor so it wasn't as if our walk through it was going unnoticed. Abigail thumbed the elevator button and then hugged herself for warmth again. She looked nice in the sweater she was wearing; a welcome change to her usual blazer.

"Brr," she said, trying to warm herself up a little bit. I was feeling the cold a bit myself but didn't want to look like it was bothering me much.

"What were you doing before this?" I said.

"We're not allowed to talk about our personal lives, Burgess," said Abigail, "Facility policy."

"Right," I said, "Sorry."

The elevator opened and we stepped in. Neither of us spoke on the way up to the third floor. When the elevator doors opened and I caught sight of the checkpoint I felt the pain in my gut treble. Worse, I felt a sudden shortness of breath. I stepped forward, shuffling forward like a zombie, but with each step the shortness of breath worsened until I found myself doubled over fighting to take in even small wisps of air.

"Burgess?" said Abigail.

She put her hand on my back. I continued to struggle to breathe and grabbed hold of Abigail's elbow to stop myself from falling over. Blood rose to my face as if I were hanging upside-down and sweat began to drip down my temples.

I'm going to die. I can't breathe. I'm going to suffocate.

These thoughts and similar sprang to mind. I felt as if I were breathing through a garden hose. The more I struggled to breathe in a full lungful of air, the harder it was to breathe at all.

I broke into tears and fell to my knees.

"I can't, I can't," I said, pitifully.

I needed to get away from the third floor. I couldn't be here. I wanted nothing more but to return to the dark confines of the fourth floor where there was at least the slight illusion of safety.

"Burgess, what's wrong?" said Abigail into my ear.

It felt like there was an earthquake beneath my feet, the world around me shaking. I could tell by how the Pied Piper officers were standing watching me from the checkpoint however that it was all in my head; knowing this didn't make me feel any better.

With each passing moment I noticed the Pied Piper officers becoming restless, machine guns in hand. They were on edge after what happened with George and as far as they knew a repeat incident could happen with me at any moment. Maybe they were right. I knew all it would take to make this horrible feeling as if I were dying to go away was to will my power to take over. I would become a monster like George had become, but at least the agony I was feeling would stop.

"Miss Hoffman?" said one of the Pied Piper officers.

"He's fine," said Abigail, "Just give him a moment."

I didn't feel fine. At all. But my life was on the line. I couldn't give the Pied Piper officers an excuse to take me out. I knew they would if given the chance. I could see as much on their faces; they were both afraid and looking at me with disdain; like I wasn't even human.

I reared my head up and by sheer force of will I managed to steady my breathing. I breathed through my nose and though I felt like my head might explode I did my best to look as if I were okay. Abigail led the way to the checkpoint and we presented our IDs, were scanned, and were let through.

The panic attack, that must have been what it was, passed enough for me to breathe steady again. My nerves felt like they were fried. I had been alone for the most part on the fourth floor trying to endure all of the anxiety and dread built up inside me and yet, as soon as I stepped onto the third floor proper the full force of my anxiety had hit me so hard I had felt as if I were about to die.

I wasn't cut out for any of this. And yet I had no choice but to continue onward with Abigail through the third floor towards the exercise area.