“When all wrongs are kind, there’s all kinds of wrong.” – From Jesse in Missed Conversations, Vol. 1

Ellie stayed for a while after the bat left, thinking of the boy and how she’d known him – or hadn’t. The carriages had started to glide around her, innards creaking from the stress, and she was once again the lonely girl of always. There was a hole in her body, wherever it now lay, twisted and decaying – bearing the scars and creases of someone else’s life. The boy she had killed was trapped within the folds of a dead mind, and for nothing less than kindness.

It is one thing to end a life and another entirely to take one. She was learning all this, as the world and all its odd whimsicality drifted on around, circling her like the revolutions of hurricane. The fact that it had all been an accident didn’t matter to her, because she knew that it didn’t matter to the boy. He was gone, she was gone, and now there was only this.

The man who called himself a ‘psychologist’ had told her that when she was ready, she could say the word and he would wake her up, but that she should only call for him when all was truly settled. Her time, lost in contemplation, led her to the conclusion that – even should she want to return to her life – she would not be able to. Her existence had ended with a pen-stroke on a black record, in other words, legally and irrevocably dead.

The academy then, an institution she had never so much as heard of, now stood before her. It was not the only choice she had been given – she could tell the bat where to leave her slumbering form and he would oblige. But that would mean attributing a life of normalcy to a dead boy who had wanted nothing less than to be a hero. It would mean that her father would forever remain a shadow for her gifts to hide within. No, she would not be going quietly, and she would not let those lost to her be forgotten. There was only one path forward, and she was ready to take it.

***

The sick bay was unnervingly well populated, with students as old as eighteen enduring varying degrees of disfigurement and illness. Ellie was sat upright in her bed, looking around at the pristine state of the room, the attentiveness of the staff – and not at Doctor Fitz who stood talking to her about the numerous technicalities that forestalled one from properly joining Black Vine Academy.

“You’ll be signing several non-disclosures throughout the year. First years are strictly prohibited from leaving the grounds or knowing where the grounds are. It is asked, but not required, that you stay away from the older students who have earned their right to take weekend leave.” Fitz snapped his fingers in front of Ellie, and she regarded him then, as if for the first time. He was a small, unassuming man, with round wire spectacles and permanent frown lines. The tweed suit told her everything she needed to know. He was boring.

“Now, what do I call you?” He asked, impatiently. Ellie looked at the man as if he were an idiot, before understanding dawned. She wasn’t a girl anymore, at least not on the outside. It would be a strange first impression if she insisted that everyone refer to her as “Ellie”. She didn’t need that type of attention right now.

“Alex.” She said, flatly. “It might as well be Alex.” A disconcerting thought struck her at that moment, and she asked: “Does he have a family? Did he?”

It took the good doctor a moment, but he soon responded that no, the boy had no such relations. He was an orphan. She took the news with equal parts sorrow and gratitude.

“Now.” The doctor said, without any further ceremony. “You’re arriving a little late. Term has been in full swing for a month, already. As such, there is much to catch up on. The instructors have been informed of this, and you will be given an extra five hours of lessons a week until you’re all caught up.”

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Ellie could have groaned at the idea, if what the doctor said next hadn’t captured most of her ire.

“Because of your absence, I am afraid that you will be ranked at the bottom of your class.”

She caught a few bemused glances from other students and felt her face turn pink. “I don’t even get tested, first? What about me being this… prime or whatever you called it?”

The doctor put a finger over his mouth and glanced quickly around. “There’s more than beans to spill with talk like that. This place, as you will soon discover, is built upon a single fact of life – and that is… to keep on living.” He leaned in closer and whispered: “People die here, Alex. And not all of them by accident.” Then, standing up straighter, he continued. “Now when you’re ready, I’ll take you to your dorm. Better make it soon, unless you want your classmates catching you out and about in a hospital gown.”

Alex made it to the boy’s dormitory in one piece. He had tripped only once and was grateful that no other students had been around to see it. The first-year boys’ dorm was well maintained and full of interesting articles of furniture, including a floating chair that drifted overhead as if strung on a line.

“Simon’s handiwork. You know how boys are.” Fitz said, as he guided Alex down the long line of bunks.

“No, actually.” He replied. Ellie had attended a school for the non-gifted, despite her eyes. Illumination was judged to be a superficial gift, and so she had faced a series of rejections from the more specialised institutions. In a normal school, under perfectly normal circumstances, Ellie had stood out and had been punished for it.

“Right.” Fitz said, awkwardly. “Well, you will. Just… think manly thoughts, I suppose.” Fitz patted a lower bunk in one of the room’s far bedsteads. “Here you are, Alex.”

Alex wandered over and sat down. The mattress was harder than he’d thought it would be, the covers thinner. But it was better than nothing, and so he grunted his appreciation. Fitz dropped a bundle of clothing wrapped in plastic onto his pillow.

“The uniform, unfortunately. Black blazer, black trousers, black tie, black socks…. White shirt.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, then tore through the plastic to examine his new uniform. He held up a long shirt sleeve for Fitz to see. “Black buttons.” He remarked. Fitz gave him a tight smile.

“We are villains, after all.” He said, with some aplomb. Alex nodded. “Now…” Fitz went on, unfolding a tablet. “Your first lesson is in the General Arena in twenty minutes time. I’ll leave this device here with you, it’s got a map-”

“What’s the lesson?” Alex interrupted.

“That’d be combat.” Fitz said, a little too quietly. Alex fell back onto his bed and let out a soft groan. Combat, it had to be combat. What was he going to do? Stare at them until their eyes caught spots? Fitz didn’t bother to reassure or comfort him. As far as Alex could gauge, the man seemed to find his reaction to be entirely appropriate. People die in this place.

“Well, I’ll leave you to get dressed.” Fitz said, dropping the tablet onto Alex’s stomach. The man had an odd brusqueness about him that spoke to someone serving more in the capacity of a personal assistant or clerk, than it did a psychologist. Alex watched him leave, then picked up the tablet. His route was already plotted.

The uniform fit him perfectly – not that he had much time to examine himself. The cut was practically skin-tight, yet somehow afforded him enough room to bend and crouch as if unencumbered. It was, he felt, a big improvement on his old skirt, which had the tendency to catch on itself and only afforded an illusion of free-movement.

He followed the blinking red path on his tablet, which led him down empty corridor after empty corridor. It was more than a little disconcerting, given his company. As he walked, he ran through everything he knew about fighting. It was a short run. A couple of scraps when he was younger, before he’d learned to ignore all the snotty comments and hateful stares, but that was it. His power, as he now understood it, was not to be used in class, and so didn’t even have that to rely on. It wasn’t to be used at all, in fact. For one thing, Alex felt a little unsure about it mechanically – did he have to be dying for it to work? That seemed a little impractical. Yet, it was the moral problem that kept him truly under guard. His was a killing power.

Better to blink at them until they decide I’m no real threat. He thought, rounding what should be a final turn in this network of blind alleys and time sinks. And there, queued up before a set of double-doors, stood the first members of his class.