Mitch took a deep, savoring breath of fresh air as he stepped outside the facility that had been his prison for so long. The sunlight felt deliciously warm on his skin after endless days trapped under artificial lights.

Beside him, Ms. Minxes smiled gently. "It's good to finally see you out in the world again, Mitch."

Mitch grinned back. "You have no idea. I never thought they'd actually release me." His smile faltered a bit. "Part of me worries this is just a test or trick, you know?"

Ms. Minxes shook her head. "I convinced them you deserved a second chance to live normally. And I'll be checking in to support your transition."

Mitch felt a swell of gratitude. If not for her tireless advocacy, he'd likely still be locked away as a lab specimen. Owing his freedom to someone else didn't sit totally right with Mitch, but it beat the alternative.

As they walked and chatted, Mitch found himself unconsciously scanning passing faces. His telltale craving was creeping back, though he tried to suppress it.

After months deprived of Astor's psychoactive influence, that addiction was apparently still lurking within Mitch, ready to ambush him the moment his rigid constraints dropped away.

Abruptly he turned to Ms. Minxes. "Have you heard anything about Astor? Is he...around?"

Mitch hated how much he clearly sounded like a junkie seeking a fix. But he couldn't deny the craving clawing inside him.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Ms. Minxes' expression grew somber. "I tried locating him, but his parents were uncooperative. Wherever he ended up, I pray he's safe."

Mitch's shoulders slumped. Hearing Astor was likely still an abused captive somewhere made this small taste of freedom feel cursed.

Ms. Minxes gently touched his arm. "I know you still struggle with tangled feelings there. But stay strong, Mitch. You're free now."

Mitch nodded silently. She was right - he had to keep fighting, focusing on his own healing. But the gut-wrenching need for one more dose, just to take the edge off, whispered insidiously in his mind.

Someday, somehow, Mitch hoped to save Astor too, pay the sacrifice forward. But at this fragile moment, consumed by cravings and uncertainty, Mitch knew he had to put his still-fragile psyche first. Wherever Astor was, Mitch prayed he would hold on until help could come.

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Astor placed his hands on either side of the young girl's head, staring into her vacant eyes as he reshaped her psyche to be a loyal servant of the Frontier Guild. She showed no resistance, merely staring ahead blankly as Astor reforged her mind into an obedient tool.

He took no pride in this awful work, only a bleak resignation. There were six child awakeners now under the Guild's control, plus four adults. In only a few years, they had amassed astonishing power and influence.

Yet Astor thought only of the innocent lives broken and utilized to get there. In the beginning, he had vowed to retain some flicker of defiance, find a way to resist or escape. But they had slowly crushed that futile hope from his spirit.

Now Astor simply did as he was ordered, conditioned the recruits, and fought when commanded. He was too hollowed out now for shame, outrage or sorrow. The masters' will was all that existed.

"Well done, such a gifted manipulator you've become," remarked Ava, observing his mental overhaul of the girl. "The Guild's greatest asset, without a doubt."

Astor merely bowed his head mutely at the praise. There was a time he would have spat that he wanted no part of this villainy. Now it hardly seemed to matter. He had been reforged as ruthlessly as those he trained.

Sometimes the new recruits glared at him with a palpable hatred born of fear. They had not yet fully grasped that defiance was pointless, that the true battle was for the last vestiges of self deep within one's soul.

In time, their anger would fade, too, swallowed by hollow servitude as Astor's had. As every flicker of hope here was inevitably devoured.

He stood silently as Ava guided the freshly reprogrammed girl away, her steps Leadon but posture already straightening with programmed pride at serving the Guild.

Once, such a sight would have elicited futile tears or desperate vows of resistance from Astor. Now, he simply watched, empty of all but the echoes of his sins.

The rebels and idealists died first here. Astor endured only because he had surrendered that inner light. Now he moved through the shadows as one of them.