Deception | Sequel

Chapter Thirteen pt.1: Doomsday

In my first week landing in End, I would pace. Pace in my room, in the halls, on the walking tracks, in the biodomes, everywhere. One foot after the other, tracking an aimless path back and forth like my mind between decisions. The first week I felt the stares, the empty spot where my holowatch used to be, the cool tiled floor or rough texture of the carpet on my mandatory bare feet. it wasn't a prison, not quite, but here, I was the villain.

After so long dithering between who I would be, whether Blank Slate was a person I wanted to be, whether villain was the side I would take, the decision to go Edison's way should've lifted the burden on my shoulders.

It didn't.

There, I was the villain I tried to convince myself I was. It was obvious with the security checks, the looks, the constant PowDown patch. I was a villain to those people, even though my very presence here meant I didn't want to be one anymore. It makes me wonder what would have happened if I hadn't chosen Edison's way. Would I have failed pretending to be Blank Slate, the number one villain? Would have I given up and rotted in a prison? Or...would have I just ended up dead, like other high-powered and unsaveable villains?

It bothered me, that question, so I paced until my feet were sore. Now, months later, I am pacing again. My limbs are jittery and the force of my thoughts keep me on my feet, keep me moving, keep me wearing a hole in the carpet. This time, it isn't the regret or anguish over a made decision. This time, it's the decision not made: the choice between Edison's way, Deception's, or mine (whatever that will be).

I know which one I should take—Edison's—but if I've learned anything these past months is that choices aren't ride or die, absolutely one way or another, or hard black and white. Edison's way might not be the fully right way, and Deception's might not be the fully wrong way. One might be poison, or it might be both, or it might be neither—I don't know. I don't know so I pace and jitter and dither over a choice that should be easy, chest burning with each step.

Hours later, I am no closer to an answer than I was before. With a final sigh and running my fingers through my curls, I shake my head and turn to the rest of my room. It looks as unlived-in and unfriendly as it had when I first arrived, minus the wrinkled pillows and the mismatched placements of the game controllers.

"Megabytes," I murmur just to break the fizzle of silence. Megabytes, Edison, please come find me soon. The room doesn't answer and I swallow, shaking off the ache and itch of being alone. Again. Walking to the shelves, I fish out Wraith's watch from the hiding place I'd stashed it after retrieving it from the couch and stuff it in my pocket. Taking one last sweep of the room, I leave and trot down the hall, hands in my pockets as I peer into each shadow for Wraith.

Like I expected, I find her leaning against the wall in a particularly dark corner of the console room. She's smoking again, several cigarette butts already littering the small, hovering ashtray by her side. There's dark circles under her eyes, and when she spots me approaching, she scowls with enough venom I forgo social conventions and stick out my hand with her watch as fast as possible.

"Yours," I say, the word jumping out of my mouth as if it was on fire. "And, uh—thanks." Megabytes that was horrible.

Wraith's scowl turns into a wary glare as she studies me. With a huff and puff of smoke, she snatches the watch from my hand and straps it on. "Whatever," she mutters. "You better have done the smart thing."

Internally, I freeze. "The 'smart thing?'" There was something specific she wanted me to do with it? Did I do it? Or had I messed up again?

Wraith rolls her eyes hard and shakes her head so the strands of her hair send the cloud of smoke hanging around her into spinning eddies. "Just don't ask for it again."