I don't know how long it took me to try and process what the hell was going on, but however much time I took, it wasn't long enough. I was still trying to figure out why I was back on Earth when my hands picked up my toothbrush. A sense of panic welled up inside of me as I became an unwilling passenger to my own body, but once more, the psychological feeling of nausea didn't translate over to me throwing up over my toothbrush as I brushed my teeth. My eyes were blank in the mirror, none of the horror I felt being revealed within them.

You are afraid.

I tried to shout that I obviously was, but my mouth didn't seem interested in following my commands. I watched as the Jamie in the mirror spat out a glob of foamy toothpaste and turned the sink on. Why couldn't I say anything?

You did not say anything before, and you cannot now. This is a memory.

Though he wasn't speaking in riddles, it took me until I finished rinsing my mouth and washing my face to realize what he was saying.

I was in a goddamn flashback.

You must remember.

I grimaced, or at least I tried to, at the realisation, while my body patted my face dry and crept out of the bathroom, walking on tiptoes as it made its way back to my room. As my mind struggled to understand that I was moving without meaning to, another wave of vertigo struck me. The gentle bobbing of my vision with each step was too much to handle as a passenger.

I didn't know what the admin was trying to do by trapping me in my own body like this, but if its goal was to force me to endure this nightmare until I could remember whatever it wanted me to, I wasn't sure I would be able to focus on anything other than trying to throw up into my own brain.

Suddenly, my body stopped, mid-step. A dialogue box popped up in front of my eyes.

You must remember your life from before. To bring you to this world, as you are, it will not be the same truth that you once had.

I couldn't be bothered to care about anything other than escaping the prison of my own body at the moment, and I doubted I would make an exception for whatever cryptic purposes the admin had. If it wanted me to show me anything at all, it would have to let me take control over my own body, at the very least.

I almost fell forward as I suddenly regained control over my limbs once more, and my legs buckled from underneath me, not ready to account for gravity. I stomped down hard to stop myself from falling, but eerily, my feet made no sound as they impacted against the hardwood.

You did not make any sounds in your memory. Such an event would diverge from your truth too severely.

I wanted to tell the admin what I thought of it's stupid truth, but though I felt my mouth move and my lungs strain, no sound escaped from me.

It still felt good to shout, no matter how pointless it was.

You may experience your memory with some freedom, but you may not diverge from your truth. You must remember.

I wasn't done yelling silently at it, but I proceeded down the hallway anyways, not wanting to lose control over my body once more. I assumed that if I 'diverged from the truth' too much, the admin would forcibly autocorrect me into making the decision that matched whatever day this was. Even if I didn't know exactly what day it was making me replay, my day to day life wasn't varied enough to make it difficult to decide what I should do.

Going back to my room, I closed my door gently and picked up my phone. 6:54 am, November 8. A wednesday. That meant school.

Motivated by fear of losing control over my body once more, I picked up my bag, hoping that the me of November 7 had already packed everything I needed, and walked back out of my room, resisting the urge to run, knowing that the admin would stop me if I tried. I never ran out of my room.

Even if I didn't feel like eating, I stole a slice of bread from the kitchen counter before leaving the house. I brought it outside with me, but hesitated when I moved to put it in my mouth. A shallow wave of nausea hit me at the idea of putting anything near my mouth, let alone inside of it.

"I don't want to eat this." I was a little surprised that I was able to say it out loud.

Correcting your actions seems to put too much strain on you. Your actions will not be corrected if it does not make any significant changes to the contents of your memory.

I stared at the dialogue box and reread the words a few times and decided that even if I was still a little suspicious of the admin, on account of it taking over my body and forcing me into a flashback without even asking, I didn't really have a choice in whether I followed along with this or not, did I? Throwing my hands up in the air, I threw the slice of bread as hard as I could.

It was an impressive throw, travelling far into the air, until it stopped in the middle of the air, and reappeared in my hand.

This action diverges too far from your truth.

I let out a laugh, which escaped my mouth in a silent breath of wind, and I tore up the bread and shoved it in my mouth, hoping that I would throw up, just to spite the admin.

Unfortunately, I didn't. I shouted wordlessly and silently into the sky, before I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked to school.

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---

Sera found Oren, Laush, and Tenna before she came across any sign of Jamie. How Tenna managed to get himself knocked unconscious, only a few minutes after storming out of the mayor's basement, Sera didn't know for sure, but from the way that Laush had her dagger drawn and pointed at Oren as she stood defensively over her brother's body sprawled out on the muddy road, she had a few guesses.

Both Laush and Oren were silent, with blank expressions on their faces that gave away no clue of what the hell was going on. Standard Mediator practice. Keep a level head and a mask of calm at all times, or something like that. Sera couldn't recall the actual lesson that had been taught to her, because of course, there hadn't been one.

"What's going on here?" Sera asked, in a calm and level voice, though she may as well have shouted in the silence that passed over the scene.

Laush's eyes flicked over towards Sera's direction, and Oren's eyes flick towards her dagger. Before he could take advantage of Laush's momentary shift in focus, Sera clapped twice, drawing his attention towards her too.

"Forget it," she said, in a distinctly un-Mediator-like way. "Whatever the problem is, drop it. Laush, wake Tenna up. Oren, stand down. We've got a job to do."

"Tenna wishes to defect from the Mediators and to bring Laush with him," Oren said in response, making Laush point her dagger at him again. "I do not believe it would be wise to allow either of them to participate in any further Mediator missions."

"Shut up, Oren." Pushing her frustration to the forefront, she willfully allowed it to infect her voice. It felt uncomfortable to hear her own voice with even a hint of uncontrolled emotion behind it, but she ignored the urge the emotionless Mediator mask back on. "We need all the help we can get at this point."

"Laush and Tenna cannot be allowed to impact any further Mediator activites," Oren responded. His face was impassive, but in the corner of Sera's vision, she noticed his knuckles paling as he clenched his fist. "I am the senior Mediator. You will respect my authority."

Sera stared at Oren for a few seconds before a short peal of laughter bubbled out from between her lips. A small part of her was bemused that the first genuine laugh that she'd had in her life had been for such a stupid reason, and the rest of her hated Oren for it.

"You mock me," Oren said.

She sobered up almost immediately.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "You don't know. Did Tenna not tell you that the Mediators aren't real?"

Though Laush lowered her knife in confusion, Oren remained unflinching. His eyes darted to the side, noticing that Laush had her guard down, but kept most of his focus on Sera, apparently designating her as the more dangerous enemy.

"He did not," Oren said.

"And I assume you wouldn't have believed him if he did," Sera said.

"It is a completely nonsensical claim," Oren said. "Why would I believe such a thing?"

"Because it's true," Sera said. "What was the name of your trainer when you first started to learn to be a Mediator?"

There was a short pause before Oren fell backwards to the floor as his legs crumpled from underneath him. At first, Sera couldn't help but be confused, not understanding why Oren had collapsed when all the other Mediators had died on their feet, including Laush, who stood to the side with her eyes glazed over. It was when she remembered that Oren was a Follower as well, that she approached him to investigate why he had fallen.

Like a discarded doll, Oren's limbs were splayed out from underneath him, bent at awkward angles, but as Sera approached him, she could see that his eyes were open, and his chest and shoulders were shaking slightly as the sound of quick breaths escaped him.

"Oren?" she asked.

At the sound of her voice, his eyes darted toward her with an intense glare. With renewed strength, he pushed himself off the floor and kicked up, forcing Sera to lean backwards to avoid the bone-shattering strike.

Raising her arms defensively, she relied on her implanted instincts to slide backwards and create some distance to defend against his followup attack, but it never came.

Though Oren was standing in a standard fighting stance, he wasn't looking at Sera, his eyes roaming over his own body instead. Sera watched as his eyes darted around, frantically scanning his own body a dozen times before he dropped his stance and stared at her.

"Where did I learn to fight?" he asked, his expression and voice betraying no emotion.

"You didn't," Sera said.

"That's improbable," he said.

Improbable, but not impossible. Sera didn't voice it, as Oren clearly knew.

He looked to the side at Laush, who stood dead on her feet.

"Why is she dead?" he asked.

"She tried to recall something that didn't actually happen," Sera said, a little surprised by how quickly Oren seemed to be accepting what was happening. "Or at least that's my best theory."

"And yet we live, due to some sort of protection given to us as Followers," Oren said. "Did the Otherworlder do this?"

"Unlikely," Sera said.

"But not impossible," Oren said.

It was the first time that Sera had heard anything close to desperation in his voice.

"When I asked Stoney about the subject, he suggested that we consult the Founder on his opinion," Sera said.

"Why would you not heed his advice?" he asked.

Sera analyzed Oren's expression for a moment, wondering if she would be able to see anything in his blank facade, but as always, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. She had the suspicion that he had already worked out the reason himself, but was too afraid to voice it.

"I don't know anything about the Founder, and every time Stoney tried to recall anything about him, he died. Despite this, he was adamant that the Founder was trustworthy."

"Perhaps he is," Oren said, a little too quickly.

For the first time since she knew him, his mask had fallen, revealing a look of raw emotion behind his words. The true Oren was a strange looking man, wearing an expression that portrayed a mixture of dread and hopelessness that was almost childish in its awkwardness, like a newborn, exposed to the horrors of the outside world for the first time.

Sera stayed silent while Oren processed the reality of the situation, watching his face twisting in pain as he no doubt tried and failed to create a logical explanation that would suit his desires.

Eventually his face stopped twisting, returning to his default state of calm. Oren turned around and began to walk away.

"We still need your help, Oren," Sera called after him.

Oren stopped to turn and give her a blank look.

"You do not need my help," he said.

"We're trying to find Jamie," she replied. "He's the only one that could possibly fix our world anymore."

To her surprise, Oren nodded.

"You are correct," he said.

Oren turned around and walked away. Sera watched as he left, and though a small part of her wanted to call out and stop him, she felt like she knew he wouldn't stop. She felt like she somehow knew that it would be the last time she saw him, and nothing she did would change that.