Deep sleeps, especially induced by powers, create most unfathomable imageries. When lost to dreams, but occasionally slipping out of them due to the power of immense pain and the body recognizing blood loss, all of the memories of dreams blur with the memories of reality, which creates a very difficult situation to untangle for the reporter-turned-unlicensed-detective who is trying to tell your story accurately. Take note for your future.

I lost count of the hours I spent stalking up and down the streets of East Benediction on numerous cloudy sleepless nights to decipher how much of Tobias's recount was real, and how much was dreamed, and how much was premonition.

Parts of his statement included obvious dreams, such as a much younger Tobias spectating as his teenaged team played volleyball. I could find no non-typicals in the area with age-reversing powers, or any therapists that would help the team play happily together, so I could quickly conclude that this was a dream.

The scent of warm cinnamon and glaze, I had initially scoffed at, but found the remnants of sugary glaze smeared over the cobblestones down one long alley and followed this alley to its end. Coming out onto a new street, there was no evidence of sweet treats at first, but with more in-depth research, I discovered that during the time of Tobias's alleged kidnapping—or rather, napping by kids—there had been a cinnamon roll vendor cart that had closed for the day shortly before Tobias was carted past.

He also recalled being crammed into a bicycle trailer, intended to fit two small children, not a fully grown and unconscious man. I found the trailer abandoned by the headquarters of the girls, infested by flies and spoiled by foul and stiff stains and clots of blood, and thus know that Tobias's transport was indeed in this cramped and careless manner.

He consciously glimpsed small parts of different sections of streets which led me the headquarters itself. Descriptions of a flickering light covered in stickers, a pot-hole that had jolted him awake for a moment and the shuttered locksmith nearby, and a yard full of restless dogs.

The description of the yard full of restless dogs had actually been, "I remember passing a fenced property, where I could hear dogs barking and see their ears flopping as they jumped. And then there were cats. Maybe fifty of them. Yowling. Their yowling seemed to sooth the dogs, and the dogs began to howl along with them, in harmony."

The descriptions of all the landmarks had been likewise convoluted, but after my dedicated investigations, I uncovered the secret location of the three girls' headquarters all the same. At this location, Tobias was carted inside through the warehouse-style shutter door.

"He's coming to," Hiccup said.

The smell of coffee drifted to his nostrils and he inhaled it blissfully, rolling his sore shoulders and stretching out his neck. He almost slipped back to sleep but felt a nudge against his arm. His nose wrinkled, then he felt another and opened his eyes.

His sleepy gaze found Hiccup first, then Milk Chocolate beside her and lastly Dizzy, sat backwards on her bicycle seat watching him. Milk Chocolate pressed his glasses into his hand and he wearily unfolded the arms.

"I hoped it was dream," he said quietly, slipping the spectacles over his eyes. He massaged his silicon-coated temples and sat up. His back stuck to his shirt, his shirt stuck to the fabric of his hoodie, which stuck to the fabric of the trailer, and he audibly winced as he peeled away. Then, he looked behind himself and pressed his knuckles to his lips, nauseous. "Oh, heavens... Oh, good heavens."

He struggled to throw the hoodie off over his head, then scrabbled to escape the bloodied trailer. It tilted with his violent movements, and Dizzy hopped off her bike as it was thrown, too. Tobias stumbled away, crippling on his prosthetic and collapsing to his knees on the unforgiving cement. He felt his back, then looked at his gloved hand. It glistened sickeningly.

Hiccup pointed to the man. "Dizzy! He's hurt!"

"I can see that." Dizzy swaggered over and crouched at his side. She offered him a hand. "We made coffee. We'll explain everything."

Tobias sighed, casting a glum glance around the place. It was more of a warehouse than it was living quarters; with garage-style doors and rough cement flooring. The walls were unpainted and bare of decoration, and the ceiling was high and sloping. Piles of boxes and junk and copious amounts of fabric spools were heaped in chaotic clusters, forming maze walls around empty patches of negative space. On a tilting table by the bike and its ruined trailer, three soda cans were opened beside a pot of coffee and a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar.

Tobias pulled off his gloves and grabbed hers resolutely. She helped him up, eyes wide and transfixed by his mangled right hand, and walked him over to the table. He took a seat, pushing up his glasses to rub his eyes.

"Is any of this real? Was I actually compromised, or did you make that up? How would you even know? How would you access files from Higher Defense?"

Hiccup and Milk Chocolate clambered to their seats around the table and Dizzy sat at the head. Hiccup hiccupped, dragging a can of Raspberry Fizz towards herself. Milk Chocolate lay her cheek on the table, yawning.

Tobias looked between the two younger girls and shook his head with concern. His brow furrowed and he gestured to Milk Chocolate, scornful glare fixed on the leader. "It's the middle of the night. These girls should be sleeping, especially after making so much use of their powers, and especially untrained. None of you have been trained, it is painfully obvious. Over expenditure can lead to blood clots, migraines, temporary anemia, comas, dazes and worse. This was irresponsible behavior. Viola Mae was no threat, and I was no threat. There was no reason to put yourselves in danger and no reason to waste your strengths on her or myself." He indicated Hiccup's wounded thigh, then his own sore back. "Your teammate was injured, and your hostage was injured. For no reason."

"We know our limits," Dizzy returned sharply. She picked up her can of soda and leaned on her arms on the table. It wobbled and tilted under her weight. "I said that you would be compromised by the morning, not that you were already compromised. I know because I hacked into HQ—"

"You said that. I want evidence, I want to see what you learned, if anything at all." Tobias folded his arms over his chest. "For all I know, you made everything up."

"No, Doc, I didn't," she growled, jaw clenched. "The people at HQ are starting to connect the dots. The only part of you found on that island was your left leg. Out of the blue, a week after you supposedly died, a man in a full silicon mask missing his right leg, saves a city by predicting a bomb would land there. On top of it, the man in the mask's body is covered in severe burns and he saved a random cameraman from getting hit by a speeding car that wasn't even in sight yet. Do you see how obvious it is? Checking HQ activity was just a confirmation. They are onto you."

Tobias grimaced and glanced off to think. His gaze wandered over a pile of boxes that overflowed with broken appliances and he wondered over his future. The teenager made sense, as infuriating as it was to sit at her table, in her shady warehouse, with her smug face and untrustworthy x-ray eyes. It had been inevitable from the start that he would get discovered, but by doing the right thing on that street, the entire ordeal had caught up to him faster than he had expected, or wanted.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

He buried his face in his hands and the table tilted towards him beneath his elbows. He sighed heavily. It would have been fine, had he any money to purchase transport, food, a new disguise... But Tobias was stuck with a cheque that he couldn't risk using—HQ had given it to him and would know when and where it was used. From Viola Mae and Teddy, he had ten thousand dollars in cash, which was enough to make a getaway and survive for a while, but it wasn't enough to buy a property or sustain himself long-term.

Then again, what use was there in sustaining himself, if he was destined for prison, anyways? They would shelter and feed him there, for the small price of his freedom.

"Sir? We can help," Dizzy asserted. "Do you have a plan?"

He looked at her glumly. "I have ideas. But, nothing viable. I was trying to come up with things earlier in the evening, but..."

A drunken idea is seldom a good one. For instance, I found a love for margheritas at a wedding once and went unaware that I had enjoyed a few too many. The result was my thinking it was a good idea, somehow, to approach the bride and offer my congratulations, while peeling off my prosthetic nose and chin because I was "getting hot. Are you?" Granted that I was not invited to said wedding and granted that the reason was because the bride hated—and continues to hate—my guts, I found myself spending another night in prison, with margherita and cake staining my shirt and a raw handprint staining my face. A drunken idea, I repeat, is seldom a good one.

When Tobias thought back on all the schemes he had invented in his wine-soaked mind much earlier, he struggled to find any morsel of it that was worth mentioning. Most of his ideas were far-fetched, or too dangerous, or too cruel. Every idea was jumbled and he had to focus to unravel any depth to any plan.

"I can't fight them," he announced finally, his former team praying on his mind. "In fact, without my goggles, it would be foolish to fight anyone at all." He gestured to his delicate specs. "Any decent fighter—though perhaps not a decent person—would blind me right off the bat."

Dizzy shrugged. "Fighting isn't your strength anyways."

Tobias opened his mouth to protest but was distracted by Milk Chocolate raising her Chance trading card.

She tiredly sat up and waved the card. "You can outsmart people and predict them."

He frowned. "That can't be on the card."

"No," she yawned. "But it's true."

He rolled his eyes and folded his arms again.

"Your team abandoned you," said Dizzy quietly. "I watched the part of that recording that they didn't put on the news. Mr. Might left you. And you know what? He didn't look back. Just like he didn't look back when he redirected that bomb, and all the other times he—among many other heroes—made mistakes that hurt people."

Tobias's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "And, what is it to you? What motive do you have against my team?"

Dizzy leaned back; her crossed legs outstretched so that they stuck out at his end of table. "I told you, didn't I? Justice. Mr. Might is HQ's golden boy. He's pretty, he's confident, he's strong, and for as long as they can help it, he is perfect. My thoughts are that if the golden boy gets exposed for not being so golden—for example, being a coward who leaves his teammate behind, which we have all the evidence for—then HQ will be exposed for not being so golden. Right? It will be the start of a movement."

"A movement," Tobias replied flatly, "in which you use me."

"In which we use each other." Dizzy gestured widely. "You'll be the face. You'll get your revenge. I'll take care of giving it positive impact. Picture your powerful speech broadcasted across all the televisions in the nation. Picture the clip of Mr. Might abandoning you broadcasted across all the televisions in the nation. He'll be ruined."

"I don't talk to cameras, Ms. Dizzy. I don't do well with cameras."

"It is the only way to get people in this nation to listen. I know that you have plenty to say. Especially after getting your first NDA. Shocking, right? We've all had to sign one." She indicated to herself and her comrades. "Probably half the nation has had to sign at least one. Just so that HQ can cover up the flaws of their heroes, to convince all the typical people in the nation that they are being protected in a black and white world. Heroes versus villains. Good versus bad."

After a suspended silence, Dizzy continued.

"It isn't just NDAs either, Doctor. They do worse."

"Worse?"

"Hypnotism, memory removal. They own the heroes with those powers and they use them."

"No." Tobias shook his head. Noble people often have trouble believing in ignoble acts by other people, and Tobias indeed could not believe it. He had worked for the Headquarters for ten years, since a fresh young adult at eighteen years old, and had never come across evidence of acts so unjust. But, then again, he had always kept to himself. "If they used their powers like that, then what use would they have in NDAs and paid silence?"

"If you have already signed one, they'll make you forget it. Maybe sometimes they'll make you forget the entire accident occurred, too. The problem is, that using powers like that can go wrong, so they'll avoid it where they can to avoid having to cover up the cover up. Yeah?"

"What?" Tobias felt the coffee pot, then withdrew his hand. Too cool. "You can prove this?"

"Our mom is asleep." Dizzy pursed her lips and cast her eyes to her lap. She sipped her soda. "You'll see in the morning."

"Your mom?" Tobias rubbed the back of his neck. Milk Chocolate, a healthily plump young child with dark skin and wild curls, was asleep on the table and Hiccup, lanky and boyish and covered in freckles, was passed out opposite her, spread-eagled over her chair. Lights dangled from the ceiling, humming quietly with energy. Mismatched bulbs, no two the same, suspended on long wires of different lengths. Tobias sighed, looking sadly to Dizzy and her bleached hair with its creeping dark roots. "Adopted?"

"Fosters. We don't want to move again, and we don't want to be separated. We're a team." Her eyes refused to meet his. She placed her hands on either end of her soda can and crushed it. "We signed NDAs about mom. But I've told you enough that you'll be able to figure it out when you meet her."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged and opened her mouth to reply but bit her tongue instead. She scratched the back of her head, then the black star piercing on her nose, then pushed her chair back. Her tall, skinny shadow stretched over him and he looked up at her. She jabbed a thumb to her right. "Bathroom's that way, if you want to clean up and whatever. You can see the sign over the boxes."

Tobias awkwardly stumbled as he stood and squinted in the given direction. Against the far wall he could make out a plastic sign indicating "Toilets"; the same sort of impersonal and bland sign one might find at a shopping center. Signs for bathrooms were not usual commodities in people's homes, which should be cozy, familiar, and easy to navigate without signs.

But this place was far from cozy, and further from usual. To Tobias, there was nothing familiar, and to tell the truth, he would have appreciated a few more signs to give directions in the great labyrinth of odds and ends.

"You can sleep upstairs." The teen pointed to a staircase against the wall nearer the kitchen, which could be picked out by the top of the tall refrigerator and raised cabinetry of assorted woods. "Right at the end, the last room on your left. We'll see you tomorrow. Start thinking about your plan."

"Goodnight." Tobias nodded.

As Dizzy collected the hands of her sleepy comrades, Tobias picked up his bag. Frowning, he strode off into the maze towards the Toilets sign. And as he puzzled out directions in the labyrinth, tripping over carelessly strewn jacks and marbles and stepping carefully over pots of paints and rolls of fabric, his mind puzzled out directions in his future. He felt lost. Lost, here, in this strange and cluttered warehouse, and much more hopelessly lost in his wandering mind. How could he make Benjamin and Poppy feel the same way as he did? How could he make them powerless? How could he leave them and their lives to chance? How could he defeat them?

Tobias wound his way out of dead ends, through a tunnel of bubble-wrap and along a small handful of confusing twists and turns, wondering less about why all these things were present, and more about why he was so uncertain about his own future. He picked his way through, all the while lost in thought.

Soon enough, the restroom sign clung to the wall overhead. Tobias stared up at it, having found his destination and at the very same time, having found the beginning of his grand idea. He laughed quietly to himself, transfixed by the sign, though not reading the word upon it.

"I've got it," he whispered.