The numbers above the elevator were the only source of light. I walked around the front desk and past the columns in the first floor lobby by waiting for lightning to flash through the windows and memorizing my next steps. The elevator opened as I neared. I felt strangely calm as I entered and pressed floor 35.

Remembering the path to the room where I nearly lost my life twice was easy. Getting in was hard. I didn’t have an access card. The lights were off under the door, but a few doors down in the first lab there was a glow creeping onto the floor. I knocked once. A moment later a very hesitant young man cracked the door open, clearly confused that anyone would knock and not use their card. Before he could register panic when he saw me, I channeled Pathos.

“Hello, handsome,” I cooed. He was caught off guard. He was still confused, concerned, but he also wasn’t about to pull an alarm on me. “You know who I am; it’s natural to feel the way you do,” I smiled. Then I shifted to Logos, “We both know you don’t want to and can’t defeat me. I don’t want you to get in trouble either. So let’s do this the simplest way possible.”

I concentrated hard and felt the cool heaviness in my right palm. I began stepping forward into the space. I nodded at the support beam in the back of the room. Without hesitation the little scientist walked over to the beam and wrapped his hands around it. I latched the handcuffs and dug around in his pocket for his access card.

“Shhh,” I put my finger to my lips as I closed the door.

I walked the halls back to the other room and held the card up to the door. I heard the lock click and the light turned automatically on. I pushed the cold metal door open. The table I had been strapped down to was still there in the middle of the lab. There were rocks in my stomach at the memory. I skirted around the metal slab and began my search. There were racks upon racks of empty needles. I skimmed each row looking for the one I remembered piercing my neck. The thickest of all the glass vials, designed to be strong enough to somehow hold one of the three entities. I grabbed one...no, better make it two, just in case. I very carefully attached syringes and caps to the containers and placed one gently in each of my pockets. Then I made my way back to the elevator.

I pressed 112, and it glowed red. The plan was to mingle with the rest of the party and get close enough to Persim to attack, to remove Ethos from her, like Pathos had been sucked from me. My teeth ground together at the memory of the drill bit sensation in my neck. More than likely, I would be recognized quickly, so I had to be fast. Knowing Ethos’ personality, I was sure President Persim would be in the center of the room, easy for all eyes to find and admire her renewed authority. I knew the moment I had Ethos in the vial I had to inject him into myself. He wouldn’t have time to use me because the Secret Service would kill me before I even left the room. Pathos and Logos knew they were about to die, too. They had never still been residing in a mind when the host died, but they knew it was the only way to take their brother out of this world.

The doors began to shut on floor 35 when a perfectly manicured hand was thrust in between them at the last second. The doors slid back and Persim slid in. The glint of a knife caught my attention. It was simple and elegant. The blade matched the hilt in pure silver. The handle was carved in ornate patterns. Clearly this was Ethos’ design. A gun would have been much more efficient, much more President Persim. No, the knife was personal. Sibling to sibling. In my left hand I pulled out an extraction syringe. In my right, I held nothing yet. I tried imagining an axe again, but my head hurt. Ethos was screwing with my mind. The pain began behind my eyes, making the white light from the fluorescent elevator bulb too bright. It spread to the back of my head, and I wasn’t sure if it was the pain making me hallucinate or if I really could hear the screams of Logos and Pathos.

I saw the flash of silver in the knick of time. I stepped to my left and the knife went past my shoulder. The President looked at me with a wild and crazed look in her eyes. She drew the knife up again over her head to strike. I could only think of that knife ripping into my flesh, and then there it was. The weight I had been waiting to feel in my palm. It wasn’t the best weapon, it was the same weapon. The replicated knife was the only thing I could concentrate on long enough to create. I dodged another blow aimed to plunge into my chest, and took a counter swipe at her face. She backed away, my knife missing her nose by a hair.

The elevator doors opened. Behind Persim I could see the guests celebrating, drinking champagne and holding small plates. Persim’s desk had been removed, and tables with gold laced cloth had been set on the edges of the large penthouse office. A mounted TV, that hadn’t been there on my first visit, played the news discussing her victory on the back wall. I made a lunge at her, and she jumped backward out of the elevator, landing the jump perfectly in her heels. The guests stared in horror, not one of them made a sound. I held my hand out to keep the door from shutting on me.

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“Get out!” She screeched. Then again, in Ethos booming voice, “GET OUT!” Plates and silverware were dropped on the spot. No one went for the elevator I stood in. The stampede pushed their way down the stairwell. Persim reached forward and grabbed my shoulder. She made for a jab, and I pulled my shoulder out of her grip just in time. I felt the metal slice a few millimeters into the flesh around my ribs, but no fatal blow like she had been hoping for. The lightning flashed and thunder boomed simultaneously. The lights flickered out. Persim glanced at the window for a split second. I used the opportunity to ram my shoulder into her chest. She stumbled backwards in her blue heels into the table of food.

Fury radiated from her face. She pushed herself up, knife still in hand and charged at me. I caught the wrist of the hand holding the knife, but dropped the syringe. I used my other hand to try and plunge my blade toward her throat. She grabbed my hand and we were locked in each other’s grasp. The lightning and thunder rattled again. This time, shaking the room. The clouds outside the window furled angrily, stacking onto each other. The lightning flashed again, and in the clouds I could distinctly see Ethos moving across the sky toward two billowing stacks of clouds. The clouds rapidly shaped themselves into Logos and Pathos.

Pain and a clattering noise. My attention was drawn back to the President. She was pushing my wrist back until I was forced to drop the knife in my palm. I lifted my knee as high as it would go in this locked position and hit her between her inner thighs. Her grip loosened, and I wriggled my hand free from her. I gave her a right hook, and the impact had us both yell in pain. My wrist must be sprained. I imagined another weapon, a lightweight knife that I could still wield.

Nothing.

Help. Weapon. Now.

There was no response. Lightning illuminated Persim’s face, and it reminded me of the images I had just seen in the sky. I looked out the window. In the rolling clouds I could see Ethos, his face grimaced, locked in battle with-Logos? No, with Pathos! She wielded an elongated cloud, a sword. Ethos struck blow for blow with her. They were out there, embodied within the storm, which left me alone with a crazed President Persim. But if I was alone, so was she.

Persim raked her nails down my right cheek, snapping my attention away from the scene outside. Startled, I let go of her completely. She dove at me with the ornate blade. I side stepped her, but she just kept coming. Back, side, jump. Back, side, jump. She was working me into a corner.

Help! I screamed in my mind.

I tripped over a cracked champagne glass on the floor. I felt the impact more on my wrist than my ass as I tried to catch myself from falling. A small yelp escaped my lips as I felt the red hot sliver of pain shoot up my arm. Persim loomed over me and gave a small triumphant smile.

“He is not with you anymore.” It was my mouth, my vocal chords, my tongue, but not my voice.

Logos?

I looked to the sky. Ethos and Pathos were still dueling in the clouds, but the figure that was Logos was gone. Persim looked stunned. I knew she was searching her mind, screaming in her own head for Ethos to make himself known to her. I took the opportunity and kicked out from my position on the floor. I hit her knee and sent it backwards. I could hear the joint snapping. She screamed and dropped to her good knee. She dropped her weapon as she used both hands to clutch at her injury. With Logos back in my mind I imagined a sword. It materialized in my good hand.

Are you sure?

I paused, staring at Persim, who glowered up at me.

If she lives, Ethos has his host.

You have the needle.

It was quiet. Logos left me with my own thoughts. I realized it was silent in the room, too. The storm had passed outside just as quickly as it had come. I smelled honeysuckle.

Hi, Honey.

Raising the sword I made a downward strike at the President’s neck. She screamed, even when I stopped the blade short of her neck she continued to scream. I held it poised above her jugular, forcing her to stretch her neck out as I reached into my pocket with my bad hand. Her scream was stuffed down her throat as a gurgle.

“I knew you couldn’t do it. Not with my weak sister in you,” said Ethos’s voice from Persim’s lips. He began to laugh until I stuck the needle in under my sword. Persim twitched, she sounded like she was choking as a green smoke filled the glass. Her head hit the floor, shallow breathing filled her lungs in rapid breaths as she lay unconscious on the floor surrounded by broken glass.