“So, what happens next, here?” I said, moving on. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but I was starting to feel antsy. “Or was your plan to just sit here until we get surrounded by...whoever these people are?”

“Anybody want some coffee?” Rightie’s voice called from the kitchen, footfalls ringing off the linoleum. He stepped into the living room. He looked exactly like the last time I’d seen him, minus the jacket. “I just made a fresh pot.”

Sater put up a hand. “I’ll take some.”

“Are you people insane!?” I blurted out. I jumped to my feet.

“Easy, killer.” Sater said. His gun was out in a flash.

“You’re not gonna shoot me.” I said. I was beginning to put that together. “Whatever any of this actually is, it involves me. How, I don’t know. Why you guys seem to hate me so much, I also don’t know. But I do know this: you people need me. You’re desperate.”

“You can still Sync In with a bullet in your knee.” Sater said, lowering his aim. “No skin off my nose.”

“I’m not syncing in.” I said. “Get it? I’ve been in rehab for too long. If I go back now, all my progress goes away. I’ll have to start over. The—“

Pain. White-hot pain.

I cried out, grabbed the side of my face.

—withdrawals will come back?

I gasped, panted. I took a step backward, putting some distance between myself and my captors. “Something’s not right. This doesn’t make sense.”

Sater looked over at Tanya, uneasy.

Tanya took a slow, tentative step toward me. “Winter...Winter, I need you to calm down.”

The headaches had been the first phase of my withdrawal symptoms. The first symptom to be eliminated, with time, during my treatment. There were a number of aches, pains and issues involved with rehab, but none of it so sharp and painful as those headaches in the first couple months. The same headaches that had acted like a ticking clock in my head during my time as a User, telling me it has time to go back for more. To Sync In.

“Or what?” I said. “Why should I calm down?” I took another step backward, toward the front door.

“What exactly do you think is going to happen when the government catches us?” Tanya said.

“Hands in the air? You have the right to remain silent? You have the right to an attorney? Oh, by the way, here’s your free phone call?” Tanya gave a slow head shake. “Don’t think so. The three of us—my two colleagues and I—know way too much. Dead on sight. Guarantee it.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I said, “But I’m not sure I care.”

“Okay, fair,” Tanya said, holding up her hands. “Makes sense. But what do you think is going to happen to you? How are they supposed to know just how involved you are with us? Do you really think it’s just going to be a slap on the wrist?”

“I think I’ll be saved from three crazy assholes.”

“Okay,” Tanya said. “Yeah, we’re assholes. But you know there are facilities with higher security than Aberdale, right? Better safe than sorry, as far as the government is concerned. I mean, that would be your best case scenario, right? Relocation. Maybe to that place down in Santa Fe.”

That gave me pause. And not just because she was starting to make sense.

I’d witnessed several patient transfers from the Santa Fe center, and there was one word I’d use to describe two out of three of them: catatonic. Aberdale staff brought those people in on stretchers, with an extra nurse to wipe up the drool.

Apparently, they used different drugs, down there. Experimental ones. It’s enough to make you wonder where exactly we’ve decided the cure becomes worse than the disease—if I hadn’t wondered every day of being inside Aberdale, already. Though to normal, everyday people, it probably doesn’t matter.

“So,” I said. “I should just trust you. The people who drugged me.

“Winter,” Sater said, talking slow. “That...wasn’t us.”

I blinked. “What?”

“It’s true.” Rightie said. He was standing cautiously on the outer edge of the room. “We weren’t the ones who had you put under for transport. All we did was intercept.”

“That...that doesn’t make sense. Why would…”

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“We’ll tell you everything.” Tanya said. “In fact, you’ll see it for yourself, soon enough. You’re right. We do...need you.” Those last two words seemed bitter in her mouth. “But you need us, too.”

“What I need to do,” I said, edging another half-step toward the door, “is get out of here before this place turns into a Michael Bay movie.”

“Before you do,” Tanya said, her hands still raised, as if I was the one holding a gun, “take a look at the monitor.” She nudged her head in the direction of the desk.

I tilted my head, trying to keep every one of them in my line of sight. Soon though, my attention was completely absorbed by what I saw in the camera feeds.

Something strange was happening. The approaching SWAT teams had come to an eerie stand still. They were stuck in place, like mannequins, or toy soldiers, or a frozen game of Call of Duty that had pulled off the server and was about to crash.

Then, the squad leaders raised a hand, gesturing with two hands in the direction of the vans. They lowered their guns and began to march quickly and efficiently toward the edge of the property.

The throbbing pound of my heart against my ribs began to slow. Normalize. I swallowed.

“What was that?”

Tanya lowered her hands. Her body was loose, relaxed.

“They’re not gone.” Tanya said. “Not completely. They’ll keep an eye on us. But for now, they’ll let us be.”

I took a step toward the couch. It felt like my breath was coming back. Like my body was remembering, “Hey, maybe I don’t need to go full tilt, all the time. I should take it easy. Pull up a chair. Recoup some of this adrenaline.” Something like that.

“They took the bait,” I said slowly, working through it. “You convinced them you have incriminating evidence. And they’ll have to track you in order to get it. Whereas if you all get shot now, in this house, it’s a loose end. The data is still out there.”

Tanya shrugged. She didn’t seem all that pleased or surprised that I was keeping up. Now that I wasn’t bolting out the door, she wasn’t in much of a hurry to explain it to me.

“But,” I said, sinking into the couch. “Why tell them? Why not just get the evidence?”

“Because—” Sater paused to take a steaming mug of coffee from Rightie. He blew on it. “It’s not enough. We have proof the Dart was used, but no concrete ties to the Feds. Not that they know that.” He blew on his coffee again, took a sip. It was straight black. “That’s why we have to catch them in the act. It’s a trap.”

“Wait-wait-wait,” I said, leaning forward. “These Rithium-hackers, people who have a way to kill you inside the game—these are the people you’re ‘trapping’?”

“We have our own ace in the hole,” Tanya said, pulling the “Black Dart” out of her pocket and holding it out in front of me. “Or did you forget that, already?”

“Do you know how many hackers the Feds have?”

Tanya didn’t answer.

“Could be one.” Rightie said. He had one hand in his pocket and held a coffee mug with the other. “Could be two or three. Could be a dozen.”

“Helpful.” I said.

“They don’t exactly walk around with neon signs above their heads,” Sater said. “They try to keep a low profile. Most of what we know is from observing the aftermath. That, and what happened to…” He broke off, seeming distracted for a second. “Point is, there’s a lot we don’t know.”

“Perfect.” I said. “I suppose I should thank you for making me a part of this.”

Tanya plopped into the couch across from me. “You’re welcome, Kit.” She hissed my name, spitting it, making sure there wasn’t any left on her teeth. “Anything for you.”

“Seriously,” I said. “Have we met?”

A snarl formed on Tanya’s face. She opened her mouth to say something, but Sater cut her off.

“Look,” Sater said, turning to me. “Just how difficult are you going to make this?”

That made me pause. I could feel the tension in the room, all of them watching me. But that was nothing compared to what I felt inside. My insides were pulling, going taut, like a rope with a two ton weight at the end.

I’d like to tell you that I wanted to get away. That I was still considering dashing out that door, willing to face the risk of possibly getting shot, even if it meant being forced to Synchronize anyway, bleeding out from a gunshot wound in the process. I’d like to say that I wasn’t willing to give in to these people’s demands. That I didn’t want to get pulled back into this lifestyle. But that wasn’t true.

I doubted that it would be possible for the four of us to take down this government project, whatever it was. I also wasn’t sure I even believed that this Black Dart stuff was real. But there was one thing I did know, even if it was something stirring deep down in the lower levels of my consciousness.

I wanted to go back. In every sense of what that meant. Once you’ve Synchronized, everything else in life pales in comparison. It somehow feels less...real. Despite the circumstances, and despite what it might do to me, I wanted to have that experience again, even if it was for one final time.

If you find that disappointing, I have to ask—what exactly were you expecting?

Still, as I sat on that couch, I couldn’t help but think of this stuffy old greek myth—that I probably only know because of those stupid Aberdale classes anyway—where this guy convinces Hades, the mother flipping god of the underworld, to let him have his dead girlfriend back.

Hades, who seemed like a pretty cool guy in my book, says, “Okay.” There’s only one catch. All he has to do—like seriously, ALL this guy has to do—is walk back up the tunnel to the overworld. Hades will walk his girlfriend back up the tunnel behind him. But if this guy, Orphelus or whatever his name is, turns around to look at his girl during any point in the journey, the deal’s off.

So what happens? Right at the end of the trip, when he can literally see the light at the end of the tunnel, he turns around.

Only...that little story doesn’t really apply, now does it? Not to me.

There’s no light at the end for someone like you. There never was.

I rubbed the side of my temple and rotated my gaze between the three of my captors. “What’s happening to me?”

Tanya leaned forward, elbows on her knees, fingers clasped in front of her. “Let me ask you this. What do you think is a better motivator: the carrot, or the stick?” She let that sit for a moment, watching me.

That’s not ominous.

I swallowed. “Oh, you want me to actually answer. Well then, I guess I would have to say Carrot. I’m an addict, after all.”

Tanya stood. “Carrot, it is.” She held out her hand, though she had a look of distaste as she did so. “Get us that evidence, and we’ll tell you everything.”

I stood, took her hand. “Don’t think I won’t hold you to it.”