"Jamie?" Jessica’s voice was hesitant, tinged with disbelief. Her hand froze mid-air as she stared at me, her face pale as if she’d seen a ghost. "Is… is that you?"
I tried to speak, but my voice caught in my throat. Instead, I turned away, my hands trembling as I covered my face. How could she even recognize me? I wasn’t me anymore. Not on the outside.
“Jamie, what are you wearing?” Jessica’s voice sharpened, suspicious. Her eyes darted to my trembling hands, to the dress, to the way my hair fell over my shoulders like it belonged there. “Wait… this can’t be real. Is this some kind of prank? Are you messing with me?”
Tears stung my eyes, but I clenched my fists and shook my head. “It’s not a prank,” I whispered, my voice cracking with shame. “Something… something happened to me.”
Jessica moved closer, her eyes narrowing as if she was trying to see through a fog. Her fingers reached toward my hair, hesitant, then gave it a tug. She gasped, her hand recoiling like she’d touched a live wire.
“It’s not fake,” I muttered, pulling away. “It’s not a wig. It’s—it’s my hair. All of this is real.”
Her eyes widened, and for the first time, Jessica looked afraid. “Jamie, what… what are you saying? How is this even possible?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I took a shaky breath and reached for the waistband of my pants. My face burned with humiliation, but there was no other way to convince her. Slowly, I pulled them down, just enough for her to see the truth.
Her gasp was loud and sharp, slicing through the tense silence. She stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my god. Jamie… you… you’re a girl.”
“I know!” I snapped, my voice breaking. “I don’t know how or why, but it happened. I woke up like this. Or… no, wait…” My memories blurred together like a half-forgotten dream, but one moment stood out—the box. The glowing lights. The way they burned into my skin, my mind, my soul. “It was that machine,” I murmured, more to myself than to Jessica. “That stupid machine… it changed me.”
Jessica shook her head, her disbelief plain on her face. “What machine? Jamie, you’re not making any sense. Machines don’t just turn people into girls. That’s… that’s impossible.”
“I know it sounds crazy!” My voice cracked again, higher this time, and it sent a shiver down my spine. I sounded so foreign, so wrong. “But I’m telling the truth. I was running from the sixth graders, and they shoved me into this weird… box. It lit up—blue, then purple, then pink. And then… I don’t know. I passed out. When I woke up, this—” I gestured at my body, my face, my hair— “was what I saw.”
Jessica’s face twisted into a mixture of fear and concern. “Jamie… this is insane. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head? Maybe you—”
A loud crash from downstairs made us both jump. Our mother’s voice echoed up the stairs, sharp and commanding. “Kids! Get down here, now!”
Jessica shot me a look, her fear deepening. “What are we going to tell her?” she whispered. “You can’t… you can’t just walk down there like this.”
“I don’t have a choice,” I said, my stomach twisting into knots. “She’s going to find out eventually. I can’t hide forever.”
Jessica hesitated but nodded. Together, we crept downstairs, the floorboards creaking beneath our feet. Mom was standing in the foyer, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed. The moment she saw me, her expression froze.
“Who… who is this?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous. Her eyes flicked to Jessica, then back to me. “Jessica, who is this girl? And why is she wearing Jamie’s clothes?”
Jessica opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. My heart pounded so loudly I thought it might burst. Finally, I stepped forward, my hands trembling at my sides.
“It’s me, Mom,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s Jamie.”
Mom’s brow furrowed. “Jamie? Don’t be ridiculous. Jamie’s a boy.”
“I was a boy,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. “But now… now I’m not. Something happened. Something… I don’t even understand.”
Mom stared at me, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Slowly, she stepped closer, her eyes scanning my face, my hair, my body. “This… this can’t be real,” she murmured. “This has to be some kind of… trick.”
“It’s not a trick!” I shouted, my voice high and shrill. “It’s real! I don’t know how, but it’s real!”
Jessica, still frozen in place, finally spoke up. “Mom, she’s telling the truth. I didn’t believe her at first, either, but… look at her. This isn’t something you can fake.”
Mom’s face paled, and she took a shaky step back. “This… this isn’t possible. People don’t just change like this. It’s—it’s not natural.”
“I don’t think it was natural,” I said, my voice trembling. “It was that machine. The one I told you about, Jessica. The box with the lights. I think… I think it did this to me.”
Mom’s eyes darted between us, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “A machine? What kind of machine? Where is it?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I fainted after it happened. By the time I woke up, the sixth graders were gone, and so was the machine.”
Jessica looked at me, her expression grim. “Jamie… if what you’re saying is true, then whoever built that machine—whoever used it on you—they might still be out there. They might… they might not be finished.”
A chill ran down my spine at her words. She was right. Whoever—or whatever—had done this to me, it wasn’t an accident. It couldn’t be.
“We need to find it,” I said, my voice steadier now. “The machine. The box. Whatever it is, we need to find it and figure out how to undo this.”
Mom nodded, her fear giving way to determination. “We’ll figure this out, Jamie. I promise. But until we do, you need to stay safe. Whoever did this… they might come back.”
As the three of us stood there, the house suddenly felt colder, quieter, as if the shadows were listening. For the first time, I realized this wasn’t just about me anymore.
Something bigger was happening. Something dangerous. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the truth.

The night weighed heavy with an eerie silence, broken only by the distant hum of the neighborhood. My room, once familiar, now felt foreign—like I no longer belonged here. The mirror on the wall reflected a face I didn’t recognize, yet I couldn’t look away. My fingers brushed against my cheek, tracing the soft lines of my features. My skin felt strange, smoother, and the unfamiliar shape of my lips twisted into a frown.
I wasn’t Jamie anymore.
“Jamie?” Jessica’s voice called softly from the doorway, barely above a whisper. “Can I come in?”
I didn’t answer at first, still staring into the mirror. Finally, I nodded. She stepped inside, her movements cautious, as if she were afraid to disturb the fragile air of the room.
“I found something,” she said, her tone low, almost conspiratorial. “In your backpack. It’s… weird.”
My heart leapt into my throat. “What do you mean?”
Jessica held out a small, crumpled piece of paper. It looked like it had been hastily shoved into the bottom of my bag. “This. It was folded up with your stuff. I didn’t notice it earlier.”
I unfolded the paper with trembling hands. The writing was jagged, hurried, as though whoever had written it had been in a rush—or scared.
“Don’t trust them. If you’re reading this, it’s already started. The machine is only the beginning. They’ll come for you. Don’t let them find you.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who wrote this?” I whispered, clutching the note tightly.
Jessica shook her head. “I don’t know. Do you recognize the handwriting?”
“No.” The word came out barely audible. My mind raced, piecing together fragments of memory—images of the glowing machine, the sixth graders jeering, and the strange, unshakable sensation that someone else had been there, watching from the shadows.
Jessica sat on the edge of my bed, her expression grim. “Jamie, this… this isn’t just some weird prank. Whoever wrote that note knew something was going to happen to you. And if they’re right…” She hesitated, her voice dropping lower. “If they’re right, you might be in danger.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “But who’s ‘they’? Who’s coming for me?”
Jessica didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The answer hung unspoken in the air, a heavy weight neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
“I think we need to find that machine,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “If it did this to me, maybe it can undo it. And maybe… maybe it can tell us who’s behind all this.”
Jessica hesitated. “Mom’s not going to let us just go looking for some random machine. She’ll freak out if we leave the house.”
“We can’t tell her,” I said firmly. “Not yet. Not until we know more. I don’t want to put her in danger too.”
Jessica nodded reluctantly. “Okay. But where do we even start? Do you remember anything about where you were when it happened?”
I closed my eyes, trying to force the memories to surface. The alley behind the school. The laughter of the sixth graders. The faint hum of electricity, the flash of light, and then… nothing.
“There’s a spot behind the school,” I said finally. “That’s where it happened. Maybe… maybe there’s something left behind. Something we missed.”
Jessica glanced at the window. The sky was dark, the moon casting long shadows across the yard. “We can go tomorrow,” she said. “It’s too dangerous to go out now.”
I shook my head. “No. We can’t wait. If someone’s after me, we need answers now.”
Jessica sighed, rubbing her temples. “Fine. But if we get caught, you’re explaining this to Mom.”
I grabbed a jacket—my old one, oversized and loose enough to hide my new frame. It didn’t help much. No matter how I adjusted it, I still felt exposed, like I was wearing someone else’s clothes.
As we crept downstairs, the house seemed unnaturally still. Mom’s bedroom door was closed, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched.
The night air bit at my skin as we stepped outside, the world around us quiet and dark. Jessica led the way, her phone flashlight cutting through the shadows.
The school loomed ahead, its empty playground and darkened windows eerier than I remembered. The alley behind it was even worse—a narrow, claustrophobic space littered with trash and overgrown weeds.
“This is where it happened?” Jessica asked, her voice hushed.
I nodded, stepping forward. My heart pounded as I scanned the ground, searching for any sign of the machine—or whoever might have left the note.
And then I saw it.
A faint, glowing imprint on the ground, like the afterimage of a light burned into my vision. It pulsed faintly, casting an otherworldly glow on the concrete.
“What is that?” Jessica whispered, her voice trembling.
“I don’t know,” I said, crouching to get a closer look. The glow seemed to shift and move, almost alive. I reached out hesitantly, my fingers brushing against the edge of the light.
The moment I touched it, a wave of energy surged through me, sharp and cold, sending me sprawling backward.
“Jamie!” Jessica screamed, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet.

I darted down the dimly lit street, the soft thud of my shoes against the pavement the only sound I could hear over the hammering of my heart. Jessica had veered off in the opposite direction, her figure disappearing into the growing shadows. My thoughts were a blur, caught somewhere between panic and disbelief. I didn’t dare look back.
As I rounded a corner, I collided with someone—a solid, familiar weight that nearly sent me tumbling.
“Watch it!” he snapped, steadying me. Then his eyes widened. “Jamie?”
Tony's face froze in disbelief as he stared at me. His expression twisted with confusion and alarm, his usual grin replaced by a gaping mouth. I wanted to vanish on the spot
“Jamie? Is that really you?” Tony whispered, leaning closer to me. His voice carried a strange mix of concern and fascination, and I couldn’t figure out whether he wanted to laugh or scream.
My cheeks burned hot, and I desperately clutched at the hem of the dress Jessica had convinced me to wear. “Um… yeah, it’s me,” I muttered, my voice high and soft. The squeakiness made my stomach churn. I sounded so wrong. So... girly.
Tony blinked, his eyes darting from my face to the dress and back. “Why are you dressed like that? And… wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did something happen to your face? You… you look like a—”
“A girl,” I interrupted, my voice trembling as I glanced around to see if anyone was eavesdropping. “It’s a long story, okay? And it’s not what you think!”
Tony frowned, crossing his arms. “Not what I think? Dude—uh, girl—you look completely different! This isn’t some prank, is it? Like, Jessica didn’t dress you up for a dare or something?”
“No!” I hissed. “It’s… complicated. I—I woke up like this, okay? I think it’s some kind of weird magic or something. It’s not my fault!” My voice cracked as I spoke, and I hated how pitiful I sounded.
Tony stared at me like I’d sprouted a second head. “Magic? Jamie, are you messing with me? Because this… this is seriously insane.”
“Do you think I want this?” I snapped, my voice breaking again. “Do you think I wanted to wake up with long hair, and now have wear dress, and—and this stupid voice?” My eyes stung with tears, but I forced them back. Boys don’t cry, I reminded myself, even if I wasn’t exactly a boy anymore.
Tony scratched his head, his face a mixture of skepticism and sympathy. “Okay, okay. If it’s not a joke… then what are you gonna do? You can’t just stay like this, right?”
I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know! I don’t even know how this happened, let alone how to fix it. All I know is that some stupid machine or box or whatever changed me, and now I’m stuck like this.” My voice wavered, and I looked down at my hands, suddenly noticing how delicate and slender they looked. Even my nails seemed different—smaller, smoother. “I just want to be me again.”
Tony sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, you’re still you… I think. I mean, you’re still Jamie, right? Just… Jamie with a makeover from, like, another dimension.”
“That doesn’t help,” I muttered, hugging myself.
Before Tony could respond, a loud screeching sound shattered the tense silence. A white van sped around the corner, its headlights cutting through the shadows like knives. My stomach dropped.
“Run,” I whispered, grabbing Tony’s arm.
“What?”
“RUN!” I shouted, already pulling him as the van skidded to a stop.
The doors flew open, and two men in dark clothing jumped out. I barely had time to scream before one of them grabbed me, his grip like iron around my wrist. Tony lunged toward me, but the other man shoved him back, sending him sprawling onto the pavement.
“Jamie!” Tony yelled, scrambling to his feet.
“Help!” I cried, kicking and thrashing, but it was no use. The man holding me pulled a cloth from his pocket, pressing it over my nose and mouth. A sickly sweet smell filled my senses, and everything went black.

~o~O~o~
When I woke up, my head throbbed like someone had taken a hammer to it. I blinked groggily, the world around me slowly coming into focus.
The room was small and windowless, the walls bare and unwelcoming. A single, flickering bulb hung from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows that danced across the cracked floor. My heart raced as I realized I was completely alone.
“Hello?” I called, my voice hoarse. “Is anyone there?”
No response.
I stumbled to my feet, my legs shaky beneath me. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the room. I hesitated, my instincts screaming at me to stay put, but curiosity and desperation won out.
I pushed the door open slowly, peering into the hallway beyond. It stretched on in both directions, dimly lit and eerily quiet. I crept forward, my bare feet making almost no sound against the cold concrete.
Suddenly, a voice echoed from somewhere nearby. “She’s awake. Check on her.”
Panic surged through me. I turned to run, but footsteps were already closing in. A man emerged from the shadows, his face partially obscured by the brim of a baseball cap.
“Hey! Stop right there!”
I bolted, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I sprinted down the hallway. Doors lined the walls, each one locked when I tried the handles. The man’s footsteps pounded behind me, growing louder with each passing second.
I turned a corner and found myself at a dead end. My chest heaved as I spun around, the man closing in with a menacing grin.
“Nowhere to run, little girl,” he sneered.
He grabbed me by the arm, dragging me back the way I’d come. My mind raced, frantically searching for a way out, a way to fight back, but my body felt weak and useless.
“Lewis,” the man called as we entered a larger room. Another man, taller and leaner, turned to face us.
“She tried to run,” my captor said.
Lewis frowned, his eyes cold and calculating as they raked over me. “I see. We’ll have to make sure she doesn’t try that again.”
My stomach churned as he stepped closer, his gaze lingering on me for a moment too long. “Remove her clothes and lock her up,” he said finally. “And make sure it’s secure this time.”
Totally naked, I was shoved into another room, this one even smaller than the last. The door slammed shut behind me, the lock clicking into place. I collapsed onto the floor, tears streaming down my face as I realized just how hopeless my situation had become.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard the faint hum of a television. A news anchor’s voice drifted through the walls, muffled but still audible.
“An Amber Alert has been issued for eight-year-old Jamie Jacobs, who was last seen near Main Street earlier this evening. Witnesses reported seeing a white van in the area…”
My breath caught in my throat. My photo—or at least, what I looked like now—flashed across the screen in my mind.
They think I’m an eight-year-old girl.
I stared at the locked door, the weight of my predicament sinking in. This wasn’t just about me anymore. Whatever had happened to me, whatever was happening now, was bigger than I could have ever imagined. And I had no idea how to stop it.

The living room of the Jacobs’ home was bathed in shadows, the single lamp in the corner casting an anemic glow. Jessica sat on the couch, her legs curled under her as she clutched a blanket to her chest. Her eyes darted nervously between her mother and the two officers standing stiffly by the phone. Her heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of her chest.
“How do you even know they’ll call?” Jessica asked, her voice trembling. “They don’t even know our phone number.”
One of the officers, a grizzled man with streaks of gray in his hair, adjusted his belt and gave a small shrug. “They likely got it from your sister,” he said. “If they’re organized enough to pull this off, they’d have figured out a way.”
Jessica swallowed hard, her mind racing with questions she couldn’t bring herself to ask aloud. She glanced at her mother, who was sitting rigidly in the armchair, her hands clasped tightly together as if praying.
The silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. And then, it happened.
The phone rang.
Jessica flinched so hard she nearly dropped the blanket. Her mother jolted upright, her face pale as a ghost. One of the officers leaned forward, gesturing for her to answer.
With trembling hands, Mrs. Jacobs picked up the receiver. “H-Hello?”
The voice on the other end was deep and calm, but there was an undercurrent of malice that sent a chill down Jessica’s spine. “Hello, Mrs. Jacobs,” the man said, his tone disturbingly casual. “Your daughter is alive, but that can change. You see, we need something from you.”
“What do you want?” Her mother’s voice cracked, the words barely audible.
“Twenty million dollars,” the man replied smoothly. “Transferred to a Swiss bank account. The details will be sent to you shortly.”
Mrs. Jacobs’ face crumpled. “Twenty million?” she whispered, her voice thick with despair. “We… we don’t have that kind of money.”
“Then you’d better figure something out,” the man said, his tone hardening. “Because every hour you don’t pay, your daughter will suffer. And believe me, Mrs. Jacobs, we can make her suffer in ways you can’t even imagine. Kapeesh?”
The line went dead.
Mrs. Jacobs sank into the armchair, her face buried in her hands. Jessica stared at her mother, her stomach churning with helplessness.
“What… what do we do?” Jessica whispered, her voice trembling.
One of the officers stepped forward, his jaw set. “We’ll try to trace the call and monitor for any further contact. In the meantime, we’ll escalate this to the FBI. This isn’t a small-time operation.”
Jessica felt a knot of dread tightening in her chest. The man on the phone sounded so sure of himself, so confident. Whoever he was, he wasn’t just bluffing.

~o~O~o~
Back at the Warehouse
I was trembling, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as I sat in the freezing, dimly lit room. My breath came in shallow gasps, and the cold concrete floor beneath me sent chills crawling up my spine. The camera in the corner of the room followed my every movement, its red light a constant reminder that I was being watched.
I wanted to scream, to cry, to do something, but I was too scared to make a sound. Instead, I stared at the tiny vent in the wall, watching as the faintest sliver of moonlight seeped through. It was the only thing keeping the darkness from swallowing me whole.
The door creaked open suddenly, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. I scrambled back against the wall, my heart pounding as one of the men stepped inside.
“You’re quiet,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “That’s good. Means you’re learning.”
I didn’t respond, my throat too tight to form words.
The man smirked, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he tossed a bundle of clothing onto the floor. “Get dressed,” he said. “Boss wants to see you.”
I hesitated, eyeing the clothes. A pink frilly dress.
“Hurry up,” the man snapped.
I grabbed the dress and pulled it over my head. It was too big, but I didn’t care. At least I wasn’t exposed anymore.
The man grabbed my arm, dragging me out of the room and down a long, narrow hallway. The walls were lined with peeling paint, and the air smelled of mildew and something metallic. My stomach churned as we passed a room where muffled voices echoed behind a closed door.
We entered a larger room, dimly lit by a single overhead light. A man was sitting at a desk in the center of the room, his face obscured by shadows.
“Sit,” he said, his voice low and commanding.
I hesitated, but the man who brought me here shoved me forward. I stumbled but caught myself, lowering into the chair in front of the desk.
The man leaned forward, and for the first time, I saw his face. He was older, with sharp features and eyes that seemed to pierce right through me.
The dim light above cast long shadows across the man's face, making his sharp features look even more menacing. His eyes—cold, calculating—bored into me as if dissecting my very soul.
"Jamie Jacobs," he said, his tone eerily calm, almost amused. "Or should I say... the girl no one expected."
I froze, his words ringing in my ears like a cruel echo. My throat tightened, but I forced the question out, barely above a whisper. “What do you want from me?”
The man’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. It wasn’t a smile of kindness or pity—it was predatory. “Oh, Jamie,” he said softly, leaning forward so the shadows shifted over his face. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what you are. Or, rather... what you’ve become.”
I blinked, my stomach twisting into knots. “What are you talking about?” My voice cracked as I tried to sound braver than I felt.
He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He studied me with an unnerving patience, as though savoring my confusion. “You’re special,” he said at last. “Different. And that difference didn’t happen by chance.”
His words hit me like a punch to the chest. The room felt colder, the air thinner. My mind raced, trying to grasp what he meant. “What—what do you mean?” I stammered, a horrible thought creeping into the back of my mind.
The man tilted his head slightly, his expression darkening. “You don’t remember, do you? That box. That machine. The one you stumbled upon. The one that changed you.”
His words sent a shiver down my spine. My heart began to pound as fragmented memories surfaced. The strange box from earlier.
My breath hitched as realization slammed into me. “You… you know about the box?” I managed to choke out.
“Know about it?” The man chuckled darkly, leaning forward so his face was illuminated again. “Jamie, we created it. The machine, the technology—it’s ours. And you? You’re living proof of its success.”
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief. “No, that can’t be. It was—it was an accident. I was forced into it! I—”
“Oh, we know it was an accident,” he interrupted, his voice smooth as silk. “That machine wasn’t meant to be discovered yet. But you, Jamie... you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now, here you are.” He gestured toward me, “The first successful subject.”
“Subject?” The word felt foreign in my mouth, bitter and wrong. My hands trembled, my mind spinning. “What do you mean, subject? What did it do to me?”
The man’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It rewrote you, Jamie. Reshaped you. The technology was designed to change biology at its most fundamental level—to transform, to evolve. And you? You’re its masterpiece. You’re no longer who you were. You’re something entirely... new.”
“No!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “I’m still me! This—this isn’t who I am!”
He shrugged, almost dismissively. “That’s irrelevant now. What matters is that you’re proof our machine works. And that makes you very valuable.”
I stared at him, a sickening sense of dread pooling in my stomach. “Why?” I demanded, my voice trembling. “Why would you create something like that?”
The man’s expression hardened, his earlier amusement fading. “Why?” he repeated. “Because the world is changing, Jamie. Because people are flawed, inefficient. We created the machine to fix that, to create something better. And you...” He paused, his gaze locking onto mine. “You’re the prototype.”
I wanted to scream, to yell that I wasn’t some experiment, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I sat frozen, the weight of his revelation crushing me.
“You’ll understand soon enough,” he said, his voice softening into a tone that almost sounded like pity. “For now, just sit tight. You’ll be playing a very important role in what’s to come.”
I stared at him, unable to process the whirlwind of emotions—fear, anger, confusion—swirling inside me. Before I could say another word, he stood and gestured to the guard standing by the door.
“Take her back,” he ordered. “And make sure she doesn’t try anything... creative.”
The guard grabbed my arm roughly, dragging me out of the room. My feet stumbled over the cold floor as the man’s words echoed endlessly in my mind.
“We created it.”
“You’re the prototype.”
“What you’ve become.”
I didn’t know what they wanted from me, but one thing was clear—I was no longer just Jamie Jacobs. And whatever had been done to me, whatever I’d become, I was their prize. Their property. Their experiment.
But I wasn’t going to stay that way. Not if I could help it.

The warehouse was silent except for the steady drip of water leaking from an unseen pipe. I sat huddled in the corner of the small room they’d thrown me back into, the pink dress now torn and stained with grime. The words of the man—the prototype, the experiment, their property—echoed in my mind like a mantra of despair. But beneath the fear, something else began to stir: anger.
I wasn’t just their experiment. I was still me, wasn’t I? Whatever they’d done, they hadn’t erased who I was. Not yet.
The red light on the camera in the corner blinked steadily, a silent observer to my turmoil. I forced myself to breathe, to think. You need a plan, Jamie. You can’t stay here. You can’t let them win.
I started to study the room, my eyes searching for anything—anything—that could help. The walls were metal, the door reinforced steel. The vent, small and high up, was the only thing not locked down. It was too small for me to crawl through, but perhaps...
I crept toward the vent, my bare feet silent against the floor. The faint draft that whispered through the slats carried the smell of mildew and faintly, tantalizingly, fresh air. I pressed my ear against it, straining to hear something, anything, from the other side.
Nothing but silence.
I bit my lip, frustration and helplessness threatening to overwhelm me. Focus, I thought, clenching my fists. My hand brushed against something sharp on the floor. A fragment of metal, no larger than my palm, likely chipped from the vent’s grate. My heart quickened. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
I slipped the fragment into the waistband of the dress and moved back to the corner, feigning defeat. Let them think I was broken.

~o~O~o~
Meanwhile, back at the Jacobs’ Home, chaos reigned.
Jessica paced the living room, her bare feet padding on the worn carpet. The two officers had moved to another room, speaking in hushed tones into their radios. Her mother sat by the window, staring blankly into the rain-soaked night.
“Mom,” Jessica whispered, kneeling beside her. “We have to do something. We can’t just wait for them to call again.”
Her mother didn’t respond, her hands trembling as they clutched a photograph of Jamie.
Jessica swallowed her frustration. “Mom, listen to me. Jamie wouldn’t just give up. She’s strong. And if she’s strong, we have to be, too.”
Mrs. Jacobs turned to her daughter, her tear-streaked face etched with grief. “What can we do, Jessica?” she whispered. “They’re asking for money we don’t have. They’ve taken my baby, and I... I don’t know how to save her.”
Jessica’s jaw tightened. “We’ll find a way. If the police can’t do it fast enough, then we will.”
Her mind raced, pulling together fragments of every story she’d ever read, every movie she’d ever watched about people in situations like this. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

~o~O~o~
Back in the Warehouse, I stayed perfectly still as the hours dragged on. My captors didn’t bother to check on me. Perhaps they assumed I was too frightened to act.
Their mistake.
When the faint sound of footsteps echoed outside my door, I slipped the metal fragment from the waistband of the dress and tucked it into my palm. The heavy clunk of a lock disengaging sent my pulse racing. I forced myself to breathe evenly, feigning the defeated posture I’d practiced earlier.
The door creaked open, and a guard stepped inside, his massive frame blocking most of the doorway. “Food,” he grunted, holding out a tray.
I didn’t move at first, letting the silence stretch. When he growled impatiently and stepped closer, I acted.
In one swift motion, I jabbed the sharp edge of the metal shard into his thigh. He roared in pain, his grip on the tray faltering as he stumbled backward. I darted forward, grabbing the edge of the door before it could slam shut.
“Get back here!” he bellowed, lunging toward me. But he was slow, and his injury slowed him further. I slipped through the narrow opening, my bare feet pounding against the cold floor as I ran.
The hallway stretched endlessly, doors lining both sides. My pulse thundered in my ears, but I forced myself to focus. The vent, I thought. Follow the draft.
The faint smell of fresh air grew stronger as I ran. Behind me, the sound of shouts and pounding boots closed in. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but I pushed forward. One more turn. Another. And then—
A metal staircase. At the top, a door with a flickering exit sign.
Freedom.
I scrambled up the stairs, my hands slipping on the cold, rusted railing. The pounding footsteps were close now, the guards shouting commands I couldn’t make out. I reached the door and threw my weight against it. It didn’t budge.
“No, no, no,” I whispered, panic clawing at my throat. My fingers fumbled for a lock, a handle, anything.
A low growl behind me sent ice through my veins. I turned to see the shadow of a man climbing the stairs, his massive frame blocking any chance of retreat. His face was twisted with fury, a gun glinting in his hand.
This was it. I was cornered.

The room was suffocating. The darkness pressed against me, a tangible thing, heavy and smothering. I sat tied to the rickety chair, my wrists raw from the rough rope. Across the room, the man who had dragged me back here after my failed escape sat slumped in a chair, his head tilted back, snoring softly. The sound was rhythmic, almost taunting.
I tugged at the bindings around my wrists, twisting and pulling. The knot wasn’t tight—he had been careless, his overconfidence his weakness. Slowly, painstakingly, I worked one hand free. My fingers ached, but I couldn’t stop. Time was slipping away, and I knew he could wake at any moment.
Finally, the rope fell away, and I stifled a gasp of relief. My body was screaming in protest—every muscle aching from the abuse—but I forced myself to move. I slipped from the chair, my bare feet silent against the cold floor. The man stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
I crept toward the door and slipped out into the hallway, heart hammering. The corridor was dimly lit, the flickering lightbulb overhead casting eerie shadows along the cracked walls. My breath came in shallow gasps as I opened the nearest door.
Inside, the room was empty except for a single dusty window. My heart leaped. A way out.
I rushed to the window, my fingers fumbling with the latch. It was stuck, rusted shut from years of neglect. Panic surged through me. I pushed harder, the metal creaking in protest. A sudden crack of sound behind me froze me in place—a groan of floorboards under weight.
I whirled around. The doorway was empty, but the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Someone was coming.
Desperation sharpened my thoughts. I spotted an old desk in the corner of the room and rummaged through it, my hands shaking. A piece of paper. A pen. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I scribbled frantically:
Help! My name is Jamie Jacobs. I’m being held at 132 Walnut Street. Please call the police.
I folded the paper and slipped it into an envelope I found in the desk. I scrawled the address across the front, my hands barely holding steady. I returned to the window, straining to force it open just enough to slip the envelope through the gap.
The faint sound of footsteps reached my ears, growing louder. I slid the envelope through the gap and watched as it fluttered down into the night. A small hope in the vast darkness.
The door behind me flew open.
“She’s trying to escape!” The man’s shout was like a gunshot in the silence.
I turned, but it was too late. Another man barreled into the room, a cloth in his hand. I struggled, but the sickly-sweet smell of chloroform filled my lungs. My vision blurred, the room spinning violently before plunging me into blackness.

~o~O~o~
Outside on Walnut Street, the envelope floated gently to the ground. It landed near the feet of a jogger, a woman who paused, wiping sweat from her brow. She bent down to pick it up, her curiosity piqued. As she stood, faint sounds of shouting and scuffling drifted from the warehouse above.
“Probably just some late-night argument,” she muttered, turning the envelope over in her hands. She squinted at the hastily written message but didn’t have time to read it fully before a vehicle screeched to a halt nearby. A man jumped out, slamming the door behind him as he disappeared into the warehouse.
The jogger frowned, a faint unease settling over her. She glanced at the envelope again, then at the building. Something about the situation felt wrong. She pulled out her phone and dialed the police.

~o~O~o~

At the station, Lt. Chalmers leaned over the map spread across the table, his face etched with concern. Mrs. Jacobs sat nearby, her hands trembling as she gripped a tissue.
“We’ve got a report from Walnut Street,” an officer said, stepping into the room. “A jogger found an envelope and heard some unusual activity near one of the warehouses. The address matches the location we’ve been monitoring.”
Lt. Chalmers grabbed his radio. “All units, converge on 132 Walnut Street. We may have a lead on the Jacobs girl. Move quickly, and approach with caution.”
Mrs. Jacobs stood, her voice cracking. “You have to bring her back. Please. Just bring my Jamie home.”

~o~O~o~
Back in the warehouse, I woke to searing pain. Every part of my body ached, and my wrists and ankles were bound again, tighter this time. My head pounded, the chloroform’s aftereffects leaving me groggy and disoriented.
The men were in the next room, their voices muffled but heated. I could make out fragments.
“...too much heat. We should just get rid of her.”
“No. She’s worth more alive. We wait for the money.”
The words sent a cold shiver through me. I twisted my wrists against the bindings, the rope cutting into my skin. My heart sank. They weren’t going to let me go. Not alive.
Suddenly, the room filled with the sound of crashing glass and heavy boots. Shouts echoed through the warehouse—commands barked, men yelling in confusion. Gunshots rang out, the noise deafening in the enclosed space.
The door to my room burst open, and a man in a police uniform rushed in. His flashlight swept the room before landing on me. “We’ve got her!” he called over his shoulder. He knelt beside me, cutting through the ropes with a knife. “You’re safe now.”
I collapsed into his arms, my body shaking with relief and exhaustion.

~o~O~o~
Outside, Mrs. Jacobs stood near the ambulance, her eyes wide with fear as she watched the paramedics wheel me out on a stretcher. I was barely conscious, my face pale and bruised.
“Jamie!” she cried, rushing forward. “Oh my baby, my sweet baby.”
Lt. Chalmers caught her gently by the shoulders, his voice somber. “She’s alive, Mrs. Jacobs, but she’s in critical condition. They’ve done a number on her.”
Tears streamed down her face as she clung to his arm. “Will she be okay?”
The paramedic glanced at her as they loaded me into the ambulance. “She’s strong. She’s got a fighting chance.”
As the ambulance sped away, Mrs. Jacobs whispered a prayer into the night. Somewhere, in the depths of my pain and confusion, I clung to a single thought.
I had survived. But the nightmare wasn’t over. The machine. The transformation. The truth of what they had done to me—it wasn’t just a mystery.
It was a ticking bomb. And I needed answers.

The hospital room was sterile and quiet, the hum of machines the only sound breaking the stillness. Two weeks had passed since I was found, beaten and unconscious, in that warehouse. Two weeks since I’d slipped into the void of a coma. My family visited every day, but I didn’t know that. Time passed in an endless, dreamless blur until, at 11:49 AM, my world came roaring back.
I woke to a harsh light and a tube constricting my throat. My body felt foreign, heavy, and weak. Panic clawed at my chest as I struggled to understand where I was. The sound of footsteps caught my attention, and a nurse appeared in the doorway. Her face softened with surprise and relief.
“Oh, sweetie, you’re awake!” Her voice was gentle but carried the weight of long, tense hours. She moved quickly, leaning out into the hall. “Mrs. Jacobs, your daughter is awake!”
Mom’s voice echoed faintly, frantic and disbelieving. Moments later, she burst into the room, tears streaking her face. She crossed the space between us in a heartbeat, her hands smoothing my hair and brushing tears from my cheeks.
“Jamie, oh my sweet Jamie,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re safe now. You’re back.”
I wanted to speak, to tell her how much I’d missed her, but the tube in my mouth held me silent. My tears flowed freely as she held my hand. The nurse gently touched her shoulder.
“Mrs. Jacobs, we need to remove the tube. Please wait in the lounge while we work.”
Mom hesitated, looking back at me with teary eyes. “I’ll be right outside, sweetheart,” she promised before reluctantly leaving the room.

~o~O~o~
When the tube was finally removed, I could breathe again. My throat burned, but the relief of being untethered was overwhelming. I lay back against the pillows, exhausted and dazed. A nurse adjusted the IV line at my wrist and smiled.
“Don’t try to talk too much just yet,” she advised. “Rest your voice.”
Mom and Jessica returned shortly after, both of them cautious but relieved to see me awake. Mom smoothed my hair while Jessica perched on the edge of the bed.
“I missed you so much,” Jessica said, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. “We’ve been so scared.”
I tried to smile, but it felt weak, hollow. My mind was a storm of disjointed memories and unanswered questions. How had I survived? What had they done to me in that warehouse? And the machine… What had it really done?

~o~O~o~
Later, my best-friend Tony, arrived with flowers and a balloon. His presence brought a bittersweet comfort. He was hesitant at first, sitting at the edge of his chair as if afraid to disturb me.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on mine. “I was so scared, Jamie.”
I squeezed his hand, tears slipping down my cheeks. “Me too,” I whispered, my voice rasping. The emotions of the moment overwhelmed me, and before I could stop myself, I asked, “Tony, will you… will you be my boyfriend?”
His eyes widened in surprise, and he hesitated. “What?” he whispered.
I nodded, forcing a small smile. “Unless… you don’t want to.”
“Well, I am a boy and you’re a girl now…” he reached out and brushed a tear from my cheek. “...okay,” he blushed.

~o~O~o~
That night, the hospital was quiet, but sleep eluded me. Questions circled endlessly in my mind. I turned on the TV, hoping for a distraction, but every flickering image seemed to pull me deeper into my thoughts. Finally, I landed on an old black-and-white movie. Its slow pace and monotonous dialogue eventually lulled me into a restless sleep.
And then, the nightmares began.
The faces of my captors loomed in the shadows of my dreams. Their voices echoed, distorted and mocking. I saw flashes of the machine—the cold, metallic surface, the strange glow as it roared to life. Pain seared through me as if my body were tearing itself apart and reassembling in a way that didn’t belong.
I woke with a start, drenched in sweat, the beeping of the heart monitor racing in tandem with my pulse. My hands trembled as I clutched the blanket.
Somewhere in the haze of my memories, in the whispers of my nightmares, I knew the truth was buried. But I was too afraid to face it. Too afraid to ask the question that haunted me most:
Who am I now?

The hospital corridors stretched ahead of me, sterile and bright under the flickering fluorescent lights. I wheeled myself along, my hands gripping the rims of the wheelchair. The casts on my legs were heavy, a constant reminder of the nightmare I couldn’t escape. Despite it all, I tried to distract myself.
“Beep, beep!” I called out, pretending my wheelchair was a race car as I navigated the hall. Nurses and doctors glanced at me, some smiling, others too preoccupied to notice. For a fleeting moment, it felt like I was just a kid playing a game, not a girl recovering from horrors too terrible to name.
But the moment didn’t last.
Warmth spread down my legs. My hands froze on the wheels. I looked down in disbelief and felt the humiliation crash over me. I had wet myself. Tears stung my eyes as I sat there, unable to move, the shame suffocating.
A nurse noticed and hurried over. “Oh, sweetie,” she said softly, her face full of sympathy. “It’s okay. Accidents happen.”
She quickly fetched a mop and cleaned the floor, her words kind but not enough to quell my embarrassment. She helped me into my room, closing the door behind us, and found fresh clothes. As she helped me change, I stared at the wall, my face burning with shame. I didn’t speak, didn’t look at her. I just wanted to disappear.

~o~O~o~
Once I was settled back into bed, the nurse turned on the TV. A documentary about horses played, but I barely noticed. My thoughts spiraled, fragments of memories and fears colliding in my mind. The sounds of hooves and soft narration became white noise as I drifted into my own head.
A knock at the door startled me. A man stepped inside, tall and unfamiliar. He wore a white coat, but there was something about him—his sharp eyes, the way he closed the door behind him—that made me uneasy.
“Hello, Jamie,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m Dr. Davis. I’ve been reviewing your file.”
I tensed, my hands gripping the edges of the blanket. Something about him felt off, though I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“I noticed something unusual in your records,” he continued, flipping through the clipboard he held. “It says here you’re female, but earlier records list you as male. That’s… quite a change.”
I said nothing, my throat tightening.
He stepped closer, his voice soft but probing. “Jamie, I need to understand what happened. Did you have surgery? Was there some kind of medical procedure? It’s important for your treatment.”
The room seemed to close in around me. My heart pounded in my chest as I fought the urge to scream. I didn’t want to talk about the machine. I didn’t want to relive the terror of what it had done to me.
When I didn’t answer, his expression hardened. “Jamie,” he said firmly. “I need your cooperation. We need to do some tests to figure this out.”
“No,” I whispered, barely audible.
He sighed, stepping back slightly, but his gaze remained sharp. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll revisit this later.”
Without another word, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. I exhaled shakily, my body trembling. Something about him wasn’t right.

~o~O~o~
Hours passed, and the shadows in the room lengthened. My mom and Jessica arrived later in the evening, their presence comforting but unable to chase away the unease lingering in the back of my mind. I recounted the strange interaction with Dr. Davis, my voice hesitant and small.
Mom’s face darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’ll speak to the staff,” she said, her tone clipped. “That doesn’t sound like standard procedure.”
Jessica sat beside me, her hand warm on mine. “Jamie, if anything feels off, you have to tell us, okay? Don’t keep it inside.”
I nodded, grateful for her support, but the unease wouldn’t fade. There was something about Dr. Davis—his demeanor, his questions—that gnawed at me.

That night, as the hospital quieted, I couldn’t sleep. The shadows on the walls seemed to shift, twisting into unfamiliar shapes. The hum of the machines felt louder, almost oppressive. I turned on the TV, flipping through channels until I landed on a boring old movie. I hoped it would lull me to sleep, but instead, my thoughts spiraled.
Fragments of memory bubbled to the surface—flashes of the machine, its cold metal walls, the whirring sound as it came to life. My body had felt like it was on fire, every cell rearranging itself. I shuddered, pulling the blanket tighter around me.
The door creaked open, and I jumped, my breath catching in my throat. A nurse stepped in, her silhouette framed by the dim hallway light.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to check on you.”
I nodded, relaxing slightly. She adjusted my IV and smiled kindly. “Try to rest, Jamie. You’ve been through a lot.”
As she left, I closed my eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily. The strange encounter with Dr. Davis, the fragments of memory, the lingering questions—they all swirled together, forming a storm I couldn’t escape.
Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I knew this wasn’t over. There were secrets buried here—secrets about the machine, about what had been done to me, and about the people who wanted to keep it hidden. And I wasn’t sure I’d survive uncovering the truth.

The frame sat on my nightstand, a haunting reminder of a life that no longer felt like mine. In the picture, a man and a boy smiled proudly, a freshly caught fish held between them. The boy was me—before everything changed. Before the machine rewrote my very existence. Now, that moment was a ghost, lingering in my thoughts, unreachable and irretrievable.

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, tears slipping silently down my cheeks. The casts on my legs felt heavier than ever, their weight more symbolic than physical. I felt trapped—not just by my injuries but by the storm of emotions swirling inside me. I was no longer the boy in that photo. I wasn’t even sure who I was anymore.
The day passed in a blur. Mom tried to lift my spirits, suggesting a trip to the mall, and though I usually hated shopping, I found myself agreeing. Maybe a change of scenery would help. Jessica, always eager for an excuse to go out, jumped at the chance to join us.

~o~O~o~
The mall buzzed with life, the air filled with the hum of conversation and the clatter of footsteps. Jessica darted ahead, her excitement palpable, while Mom and I trailed behind. As we passed Macy’s, something caught my eye—a dress in the window, shimmering and delicate. The sight of it stirred something unfamiliar in me, a flicker of longing that felt both thrilling and unsettling.
"Mom, can we look at that dress?" I asked, the words surprising even me. She smiled and nodded, but before we could approach the store, a familiar voice called out.
“Jamie!”
I turned to see Tony walking toward us, his mother close behind. His presence instantly brightened my mood. “Tony!” I waved, and he grinned, asking his mom if he could join us.
With the adults chatting behind us, Tony, Jessica, and I wandered through the mall together. We laughed and talked, the heaviness in my chest easing for the first time in days. Then Tony stopped suddenly, his expression serious.
“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me,” he said, looking straight at me.
My stomach flipped. “You mean…”
He nodded. “Jamie, I’m glad you’re my girlfriend?”
My breath hitched, tears springing to my eyes—not from sadness, but from a deep, inexplicable happiness. He hugged me tightly. For a moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us in the middle of the bustling mall.

~o~O~o~
We eventually made our way to Claire’s, where Mom had a surprise waiting. “Jamie, I think it’s time for your first set of earrings,” she announced, pointing to a sign advertising ear piercings. My stomach twisted with nerves, but before I could respond, Tony’s mom chimed in.
“Tony, you should get yours done too!”
“What?” Tony protested, but his mother waved him off.
“Lots of boys wear earrings these days,” she said. “You’ll look great.”
I laughed nervously, and Tony shrugged. “Fine. But if I do it, you can’t chicken out, Jamie.”
Challenge accepted.
Tony went first, wincing slightly but playing it cool as the piercer worked. When it was my turn, I sat stiffly in the chair, my heart racing. The piercer marked my ears, her hands steady as she lined up the piercing tool. “Ready?” she asked.
I nodded, squeezing my eyes shut. A quick snap, and it was over. The sting was sharp but fleeting. When I opened my eyes, I saw two tiny pink flowers with sparkling centers in my ears. Despite the brief pain, I couldn’t help but smile. I felt… different. In a good way.

~o~O~o~
Afterward, we stopped for lunch at Pizza Lucé. The conversation was light and cheerful, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about the day felt strange, like a puzzle piece was missing. That feeling only grew when we returned home.

~o~O~o~
As soon as we arrived, Tony and I ran inside to pick a movie while Mom and Tony’s mom stayed outside, chatting on the porch swing. After a few minutes, Tony asked for popcorn, so I went to ask Mom.
When I reached the door and peeked outside, I froze. The porch was quiet, the rocking bench swaying gently. My mom and Tony’s mom sat close together, their heads bent as they whispered. Then, without warning, Mom leaned in, and their lips met in a soft kiss.
I stepped back, my heart pounding. A thousand questions raced through my mind, but one stood out above the rest.
What else don’t I know?

~o~O~o~
I returned to the living room in a daze, my hands trembling as I handed Tony the popcorn. “You okay?” he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.
“Yeah,” I lied, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”
We started the movie, but I couldn’t focus. My mind kept returning to the image of my mom and Tony’s mom, the kiss, the secrecy. Something was shifting—something big—and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for the answers waiting just below the surface.

The morning air was crisp and quiet as we pulled into the school parking lot. My stomach churned with dread, the weight of returning to a place where I knew whispers and stares awaited me. The halls I used to roam as a boy now felt like a minefield, every step a potential explosion of ridicule or awkward pity.

Mom parked the car, her face tense but calm. "Ready, sweetheart?" she asked, trying to sound encouraging as she unfolded my wheelchair from the trunk.

"No," I muttered, gripping the edges of my dress. The fabric felt alien against my skin, a constant reminder of the change I still couldn't fully process. "But let's get it over with."

Jessica hopped out, more excited about seeing her friends than she was worried about me. Mom helped me into the wheelchair and wheeled me inside, where the fluorescent lights buzzed like an ominous drone overhead.

The office smelled faintly of pencil shavings and disinfectant. The principal, a stocky man with glasses perched on the end of his nose, greeted us with a strained smile. "Welcome back, Jamie," he said, his tone overly cheery. "We've made arrangements to ensure your transition is as smooth as possible."

I said nothing, my gaze fixed on the floor.

"We understand things might feel... different," he continued, adjusting his tie. "But know that we're here to support you."

Mom nodded, speaking for me. "She's nervous, but I'm sure she'll adjust. Just keep an eye out for any issues. Kids can be... cruel."

The principal assured us everything would be fine, but his words felt hollow, like someone rehearsing lines in a play.

As I entered the classroom, the buzz of chatter ceased instantly. Thirty pairs of eyes locked onto me, scanning me like I was an exhibit in a museum. Some of the kids whispered, giggling behind their hands. My cheeks burned as Mr. Johnson, my teacher, tried to diffuse the tension.

"Welcome back, Jamie," he said, his voice warm but tinged with hesitation. "Class, let's all be respectful. Jamie's had a tough time, and we're happy to see her back."

I wheeled to my desk, my hands trembling. The whispers didn't stop.

The first class was art, usually my favorite, but today it felt like a test I couldn't pass. Mr. Johnson divided the room into two groups: boys and girls. I hesitated, unsure where I belonged.

"Jamie, you'll join the girls," Mr. Johnson said gently.

I nodded, wheeling myself over to the group of girls who were already giggling and chatting. They paused when I joined them, their smiles faltering. I focused on the assignment, trying to block them out. The task was to paint something we loved. I painted a girl on horseback, the strokes of the brush calming my nerves. Around me, the other girls painted flowers, hearts, and rainbows.

Across the room, Tony was with the boys, painting something detailed. I squinted and realized with a start that it was me—sitting in my wheelchair, smiling. My chest tightened with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude.

"Tony, why are you drawing that?" Charlie, a boy known for his sharp tongue, sneered. "Are you a sissy?"

Tony turned to him, his expression calm but firm. "No. Jamie's my girlfriend. The project is about what we love, right? I love her."

The room went silent. Charlie's face twisted in disgust. "So you're gay?" he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"I'm not gay," Tony shot back. "Jamie is a girl. And I love her."

My cheeks flushed, and I could feel everyone's eyes on me. A girl named Jennifer leaned over and whispered, "Is it true? Are you really his girlfriend?"

Tears welled in my eyes. I nodded but couldn't speak.

Charlie wasn't done. He leaned closer to Tony, hissing a single word: "Freak."

"Charlie!" Mr. Johnson's voice cracked like a whip. "Principal's office. Now."

Charlie scowled but obeyed, muttering under his breath as he left. The class resumed, but the damage was done. The stares, the whispers—they didn't stop.

The day dragged on, a haze of humiliation and awkwardness. In gym, I sat out most of the activities, watching from the sidelines as the others ran and played. Music class was better. My voice, now higher and more melodic, earned me compliments from the other girls, but it only reminded me of how much had changed.

At lunch, I avoided the boys' table, opting to sit with Jennifer and the girls. Tony joined me, his presence a small comfort. The girls seemed surprised that I ate only a salad, asking if I was a vegetarian or vegan. I nodded, grateful for the mundane conversation.

Recess, however, was another story. The boys gathered nearby, their laughter sharp and pointed. I couldn't hear all their words, but the occasional snicker and cruel comment about me carried on the wind. Tears pricked my eyes, but I swallowed them down. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

At the end of the day, Mr. Johnson asked me to stay after class. His face was kind but serious. "Jamie, I know today was hard," he said, pulling up a chair beside me. "If anyone gives you trouble, you need to tell me."

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze.

He gestured to my artwork. "I noticed your painting today. It's different from the ones you used to do." He showed me a piece I'd painted months ago—a chaotic, dark scene of a zombie apocalypse. "This was you before. And this," he said, holding up the girl on horseback, "is you now. It's like two different people."

I stared at the paintings, the contrast stark. "I guess... I'm not the same anymore," I murmured.

He smiled softly. "Change isn't always easy, but it's not always bad, either. If you need someone to talk to, I'm here."

As Mom wheeled me to the car, I slumped in my seat, exhausted. "How was your day, sweetie?" she asked.

"Terrible," I said, tears spilling over. "I hate school. The boys won't stop picking on me."

Mom sighed, hugging me tightly. "I'm so sorry, Jamie. But you're stronger than you think. Tomorrow is a new day. We'll get through this together."

As the car pulled away, I stared out the window, my thoughts swirling. The day had been awful, but the whispers and stares weren't what haunted me most. It was Mr. Johnson's words, echoing in my mind:

"It's like two different people."

I couldn't shake the feeling that he was right. The person I was before—the boy in that picture—felt like a stranger now. And as much as I wanted to move forward, I couldn't help but wonder:

Who am I becoming?

The morning sun filtered through the classroom blinds, painting streaks of pale light across my desk. Math tests were scattered on our desks, pencils scratching feverishly as the clock ticked. My heart wasn't in it, though. My mind kept drifting to the looming weight of tomorrow: the removal of my cast and the grueling physical therapy that would follow. The idea of it churned uneasily in my stomach, but I forced myself to focus on the test.

When I finished, relief washed over me—but it was fleeting. A new urgency hit me, sharp and undeniable. I needed the bathroom.

"Mr. Johnson, can I use the restroom?" I asked, raising my hand.

He nodded and handed me the hall pass. "Be quick, Jamie."

I wheeled myself through the quiet hall, the sound of the wheels echoing faintly. I bypassed the regular bathrooms and headed to the nurse's office. Navigating the small space, the nurse helped me onto the toilet and left me alone. I sighed, letting the tension in my body release as I went about my business.

But when I wiped, I froze.

The toilet paper in my hand was streaked with red. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded like a drum in my ears. I stared at it, disbelief gripping me.

"Blood?" I whispered, panic lacing my voice. I called out, my voice cracking. "Nurse!"

She hurried back into the room, concern etched on her face. "What's wrong, Jamie?"

I held out the paper, my hands trembling. Her expression softened, but it didn't comfort me.

"Oh, sweetheart," she said gently. "It looks like you've started your period."

"My what?" My voice rose, teetering on hysteria. "That's not possible. I'm only eight!"

She crouched beside me, her voice calm but firm. "Some girls start as early as eight, Jamie. It's rare, but completely normal."

I couldn't speak. The words felt foreign, like they didn't belong to me. She left for a moment and returned with a small plastic-wrapped item. "This is a tampon," she explained.

I stared at it like it was an alien object. "What... what do I do with that?" I asked, my voice shaking.

She showed me, her movements careful and precise. I tried to follow her instructions, but my hands wouldn't stop trembling. Tears streamed down my face as the reality of it sank in. I wasn't just a girl in name or appearance. My body was changing—betraying me.

When the ordeal was over, the nurse helped me back into my wheelchair. "Stay here for a bit," she said kindly. "You've had a lot thrown at you. I'll call your mom."

I sat in the office, sipping orange juice she had handed me, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The taste was sharp and acidic, like my emotions. A few minutes later, the door opened, and Mom walked in.

"Mom?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "What's going on? Why are you here?"

Her face softened as she crouched beside me. "Sweetie, I'm taking you home. We need to talk."

"Is it because of... this?" I gestured vaguely, feeling the tears well up again.

She nodded. "It's a lot to deal with, and I think it's better if we talk about it in private."

The drive home was quiet at first, but then Mom began explaining everything—about periods, about puberty, about how my body was changing. Her words felt distant, like they were happening to someone else. I stared out the window, watching the familiar streets blur by.

"I don't want to have a baby!" I burst out, tears spilling over.

"You won't, Jamie," Mom said firmly. "Not unless you... well, unless you have sex. And I know you're not planning to do that anytime soon."

"Never!" I exclaimed, recoiling at the thought. "Boys are gross."

The words tasted strange, even as I said them. I had been a boy not so long ago, after all. Now everything felt upside down.

Mom stopped at Walmart on the way home, steering me toward an aisle I'd never ventured into before. It was filled with packages and boxes in pastel colors, their labels foreign and intimidating. I read them aloud, unable to help myself. "Playtex? Tampax? Kotex?"

"Jamie!" Mom hissed, covering my mouth, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Keep your voice down."

I blinked at her. "Why are you blushing?"

"Because this is personal, sweetheart. These are... feminine hygiene products." She sighed, shaking her head as I stared at her blankly.

The weight of everything settled on me, and I grabbed a box labeled Little Ladies, tears streaming down my face. The cashier smiled warmly as she scanned it, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

"You must be so proud to become a young lady," she said, her voice cheerful.

I managed a nod, biting my lip to keep from crying again. My secret felt like a lead weight in my chest, heavy and unshakable.

When we got home, Jessica was just getting off the school bus. She eyed the shopping bag in Mom's hand and raised an eyebrow. "Why are you home so early?"

I hesitated, but the words tumbled out. "I had my period today."

Jessica's eyes widened. "Wait, you can get pregnant now?"

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I nodded numbly and wheeled myself inside. Dinner was spaghetti—my favorite—but I barely tasted it. My thoughts were a swirling mess, the day's events replaying over and over in my mind.

That night, as I lay in bed, the house was quiet, but my mind was anything but. The shadows on the ceiling seemed to twist and shift, mirroring the confusion and fear inside me. Tomorrow, the cast would come off, and physical therapy would begin, but that wasn't what haunted me.

For the first time since the machine changed me, I felt the full weight of what I had become. This wasn't just a change of clothes or a new name. My body was shifting, growing into something I didn't recognize.

And as I stared at the ceiling, one thought kept circling back:

What else is coming for me?

The day dawned bright and clear, a perfect canvas for a beach party. It was my ninth birthday, a milestone I once thought I'd celebrate as someone else—someone who didn't cry when emotions ran high or feel at home in pink swimsuits. But the person I used to be was as distant as the horizon.

Yet, as happy as I tried to be, a shadow lingered over the day, an echo of something unresolved.

The morning was a blur of preparation. Mom cooked pancakes for breakfast, and Jessica helped me into my favorite outfit. Despite the cheerful atmosphere, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was missing.

The doorbell interrupted my thoughts, and I raced to answer it, beating Jessica for once. Tony and Jennifer stood on the porch, smiling and holding balloons.

"Happy Birthday, Jamie!" they cheered.

Their warmth brought tears to my eyes. I couldn't stop crying, though I laughed through the tears. Jennifer hugged me, whispering, "It's okay. You're happy."

The beach was lively, full of laughter and the salty tang of the ocean. We ran into the water, splashing and playing until the lifeguard blew his whistle. Mom called us to eat, setting out veggie dogs and snacks from a picnic basket. As we sat on the sand, Mom broke the news.

"Jamie, Jessica," she began. "This summer, you're both going to camp. It's an all-girls camp, and I've already arranged for you to be in the same cabin."

Jessica frowned. "Why can't we go to a regular camp?"

Mom hesitated, her gaze softening. "Because I need to make sure Jamie is safe."

Jessica didn't respond, her expression distant. I looked at Tony, who seemed lost in thought.

"I wish you could come," I said softly.

Tony hesitated before answering. "You know... we could look for the machine," he said with a small laugh. "I could become a girl too."

I froze, his words hitting me like a tidal wave. "What?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

His smile faltered. "I'm serious, Jamie. When I saw you change, I... I was jealous. I've always wished I could be a girl."

His confession hung in the air like a storm cloud. The machine—the thing that had upended my life—was suddenly no longer a closed chapter. It was a door Tony wanted to open.

"Tony," Mom interjected, her voice steady. "This isn't something to take lightly. If you feel this way, you should talk to someone—a therapist. And Jamie, you should think carefully before even considering going near that machine again."

I nodded slowly, her words grounding me. But Tony wasn't done.

"If we find it," he said, his voice quieter, "maybe I can change too."

The idea unsettled me. The machine had been a curse and a blessing, its effects profound and permanent. "Are you sure?" I whispered.

He nodded, but his expression was conflicted.

Later, as the sun dipped low and shadows stretched across the sand, Tony and I sat apart from the others, building a sandcastle. The rhythmic crash of the waves was soothing, but my mind raced.

"Tony," I began hesitantly. "If we find the machine... what if it doesn't work the same way again? What if it's dangerous?"

He looked up from the castle, his eyes serious. "Then we'll be careful."

I bit my lip, unease gnawing at me. The machine wasn't just some toy we could search for. It was something bigger—something that felt almost alive. Its cold, metallic hum, the glow of its lights, the way it had rewritten my entire existence—it all felt wrong, like it had been watching me, waiting.

As the day ended, Mom packed up the picnic, and we headed home. Tony stayed behind to help clean up with his mom. Jessica and I sat quietly in the car, the hum of the engine filling the silence. I stared out the window, my thoughts swirling.

The machine wasn't just a memory. It was a mystery, a dark thread that connected everything—my transformation, the changes in my life, even Tony's sudden confession. And now it felt like it was calling me back, its shadow looming larger with each passing day.

That night, as I lay in bed, the world seemed still, but my mind wasn't. Tony's words echoed in my head: "I've always wished I could be a girl." Could I really take him back to the machine? Could I face it again, knowing what it had done to me?

I didn't know. But deep down, I felt the pull—the machine wasn't done with me. And as much as I wanted to leave it buried in the past, I knew it wouldn't stay there.

It never would.

The argument carried through the thin walls of Tony's house, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. His father's booming voice clashed with Tony's defiant cries, each word sharper than the last. From my room, just a few blocks away, I could almost imagine the tension radiating from their home.

"She is not a boy. She's a girl now!" Tony yelled, his voice shaking but firm.

"He's pretending! Jamie is still a boy, no matter what you or anyone else says!" Tony's father roared back.

"You don't understand!" Tony stomped her foot. "I saw her at the hospital—she has a vagina!"

"Sex change or not, Tony, he's still a boy," Tony's father bellowed. "And you will stop this nonsense! Go to your room—NOW!"

The slam of a door was the punctuation to the argument. Tony's dreams and defiance seemed boxed in, like the four walls of the room he was sent to.

Back at my house, I was rummaging through the bathroom cabinet. My period had started again, and I couldn't find my tampons. The discomfort and crankiness of the week had already settled in, making my movements jerky and irritated.

"Mom!" I called. "Have you seen my tampons?"

"They're in the cabinet above the sink, sweetie," she replied from the kitchen.

Jessica emerged from our shared room, rubbing her eyes. "What's with the yelling?" she asked groggily.

"Period," I said flatly.

Jessica chuckled. "You're kind of cute when you're cranky."

I glared at her as she made her way downstairs to Mom. It was shaping up to be one of those days. Little did I know, it was about to get far worse.

After lunch, Tony called. "I'm ready," he said simply, his voice shaky but determined.

I hung up the phone and walked to her house. Tony was climbing out of his bedroom window when I arrived, her movements practiced and fluid. He'd done this countless times before.

"Did you tell them?" I asked, knowing full well he hadn't.

He shook his head, glancing nervously at the house. "No. They wouldn't understand."

"Don't worry," I said, trying to reassure him. "Once we find the machine, they'll know. They'll have to."

We giggled nervously and began the walk. The air was thick with the scent of the city—oil, asphalt, and the faint hint of rain. My stomach churned as we approached the alleyways near where I'd stumbled upon the machine months before.

"Are you sure it's this way?" Tony asked.

"I think so," I replied. The memories of that night were hazy and fragmented. Fear had clouded my vision then, but now, determination led the way.

We turned into a dark, narrow alley. The air grew colder, the shadows deeper. Tony hesitated, he steps faltering. "Jamie... are you sure about this?"

I nodded, though a small voice in the back of my mind whispered warnings. Something about this alley felt wrong, like it had been waiting for us.

And then we saw it.

The machine loomed in the dim light, its metallic surface dull and lifeless. My breath caught in my throat. The sight of it brought back a rush of memories: the blinding lights, the hum of power, the searing pain. It was smaller than I remembered, but just as menacing.

"We found it," Tony whispered, awe in his voice. He was already moving toward it.

"Tony," I called, my voice trembling. "Are you sure? Once you go in, there's no going back."

She paused, reading the faded sign near the entrance: "Those who enter cannot return."

"I'm sure," he said firmly, though his hands shook. "I've always wanted this, Jamie. I can't explain it, but I need to do this."

"Then I'm coming with you," I said, trying to mask my fear with a smile. "After all, I'm already changed. What's the worst that could happen?"

We stepped into the machine together. The moment the door closed behind us, the hum began. It was low at first, almost soothing, but quickly grew louder. Lights flashed—blue, then purple, then a piercing pink. The air crackled with energy, and my skin tingled.

Suddenly, the hum stopped, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. The door creaked open, and we stepped out.

Tony looked down at himself, confusion etched on his face. "Nothing happened," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Maybe it takes time?" I suggested, though doubt crept into my mind. My own transformation had been instant—or had it?

As if on cue, Tony staggered, clutching his head. "I feel... weird," he said before collapsing to the ground.

I knelt beside him, panic rising in my chest. "Tony! Are you okay?"

He didn't respond. His body began to shift before my eyes. His face softened, his hair lengthened, and his figure changed. It was surreal, like watching clay being molded by invisible hands. His chest swelled slightly, his hips rounded, and when the changes stopped, he was no longer Tony. He was a girl.

Hours passed before she woke. I had fallen asleep beside her, the cold ground biting into my skin. "Jamie," she said groggily, sitting up. Her voice was softer, higher. "It worked."

I hugged her tightly, tears streaming down my face. "You did it, Tony! You really did it!"

"My name's not Tony..." she giggled "It's Bloom."

The joy was short-lived. By the time we left the alley, the sky was pitch black. The streetlights flickered ominously as we hurried home. The sound of tires screeching behind us made us freeze. A police car pulled up, its red and blue lights slicing through the darkness.

"Girls!" the officer called. "It's past curfew. I'll need to take you both to the station."

At the Bloomington Police Department, we sat in a sterile room, holding hands as tears rolled down our faces. The officer made a call to my mom, who arrived an hour later, her face tight with worry and anger.

"You didn't go to the mall," she said as we walked to the car. Her tone was low but sharp. "You went to the machine."

I nodded, unable to meet her eyes. "Bloom wanted to change," I said quietly.

Mom sighed, her anger softening. "I hope it was worth it."

When we reached Bloom's house, her father opened the door. The moment he saw her, his face turned crimson. "Get out," he spat, his voice cold. "You're not my child anymore. You're not welcome here."

Bloom sobbed as we drove away. Back at our house, Mom offered her the guest room. Jessica, wide-eyed, stared at Bloom.

"You really did it," Jessica whispered.

"I did," Bloom replied, her voice trembling.

That night, as we sat in the quiet of the guest room, Bloom whispered, "Thank you, Jamie. For everything."

I hugged her, my heart heavy. The machine had given her what she wanted, but at what cost? Something about it still felt wrong, like we had disturbed something that wasn't meant to be touched. And deep down, I knew this wasn't the end.

The machine wasn't done with us yet.

Bloom woke up early, her pillow damp with tears. Sleep hadn't offered her the escape she'd hoped for. Her father's words from the night before still echoed in her mind, sharp and cutting. She wiped her face and glanced at the clock. 6:00 a.m. The house was quiet. Jessica and I were still sound asleep, the stillness of the morning giving her a brief moment of calm.

She made her way to the kitchen, her steps tentative. Mom was already there, sipping her coffee and reading the paper. The warm aroma of the brew filled the room. When she noticed Bloom, she smiled gently.

"You're up early," Mom said, setting her mug down. Her expression shifted when she saw the tears still glistening in Bloom's eyes. "Oh, sweetheart."

Bloom couldn't hold it in. The sobs came unbidden as Mom pulled her into a hug. "I just wish he could love me for who I am," Bloom whispered through the tears.

Mom stroked her hair, her voice soft. "Your father is struggling to understand, Bloom. Sometimes people lash out when they're scared or don't know how to cope."

"Why can't he just accept me?" Bloom cried, looking up at her. "Even my mother didn't defend me. Isn't she supposed to understand? Isn't she a lesbian?"

Mom hesitated, her grip on Bloom tightening. "Your mother loves you," she said carefully. "She didn't argue with him last night because she didn't want to make things worse. But that doesn't mean she doesn't care."

Mom moved to the cupboard and pulled out a box of Fruit Loops. "Come on, sit down. You need to eat something."

Bloom nibbled at her cereal, the colorful loops spinning lazily in the milk. She forced a smile when Mom commented on her politeness, but inside, her heart was heavy. After finishing her bowl, she excused herself and retreated to the living room, flipping on the TV. The cheerful music on the TV filled the room.

Hours passed, the morning bleeding into early afternoon. Jessica eventually wandered downstairs, groggy and yawning, and joined Bloom in front of the TV. The phone rang from the kitchen, breaking the monotony.

"Bloom, it's for you," Mom called out. "It's Jennifer. She says it's important."

Bloom hesitated, her hand trembling as she picked up the receiver. "Hello?" she said tentatively. The conversation started casually, but soon took a turn. Jennifer was stunned to hear about Bloom's transformation, and though Bloom tried to keep it lighthearted, the weight of her situation seeped through her words.

When she hung up, Bloom returned to the living room, her expression unreadable. "Jennifer wants to see us tomorrow," she said. "She... wants to see what I look like now."

Jessica barged into the room and shook me awake. I groaned, turning to glance at the clock. "It's only six in the morning," I grumbled, my voice muffled by the pillow.

Jessica smirked. "Try again. It's past one in the afternoon."

I shot up, startled. "Why didn't anyone wake me?" I exclaimed, glaring at Bloom, who stood in the doorway with a mischievous smile.

The moment quickly shifted. Bloom climbed onto My bed, giving me an affectionate hug. Without warning, Bloom leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips. I froze, my heart was racing. The kiss was tender, innocent, but it left me breathless. I didn't push Bloom away. Instead, I let the moment linger, unsure of why it felt so right.

When Mom walked in, her amused chuckle broke the spell. "Well, isn't this sweet?" she said, smirking as we turned beet red. Jessica followed shortly after, her expression one of wide-eyed shock.

"Jamie, are you... a lesbian?" Jessica asked, her tone laced with curiosity.

I stammered, glancing between Bloom and Jessica. "I—I don't know," I admitted. "I just... I love Bloom. I always have. Even before, when she was Tony."

The admission hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. Bloom smiled softly, her eyes glistening with tears. "I love you too," she whispered.

The rest of the day unfolded like a strange dream. The family drove to the mall, Bloom and I were sitting side by side in the backseat, our hands intertwined. As we neared the destination, the streets grew crowded with protesters. Signs waved in the air, slogans shouting messages both of support and condemnation for the LGBTQ+ community.

"What's going on?" I asked, watching the chaos unfold.

"Protests," Mom said grimly. "There's a bill being debated to make discrimination against the LGBTQ+ community a criminal offense."

The atmosphere grew heavier as they passed through the crowd. Bloom's sharp gasp cut through the tension. "Stop the car!" she cried, pointing to a familiar figure among the protesters. Her father's face was red with anger, his voice booming above the crowd. Her mother stood nearby, silent and withdrawn.

Mom hesitated but pulled over. Bloom climbed out of the car, her legs trembling as she approached her parents.

"What are you doing here?" her father snapped the moment he saw her. "You're not part of this family anymore."

"I'm your daughter," Bloom said, her voice shaking. "Why can't you just accept me?"

"You're no daughter of mine," he spat. "You're an abomination. A disgrace."

Bloom's mother stepped forward, her voice trembling. "Stop it, Richard. She's our child."

"No," he growled. "She's a freak. If you want to side with her, you can leave too."

Bloom's mother turned to Mom, her expression resolute. "Can I come with you?" she asked softly. "I can't stay with him anymore."

Without another word, they left the protest behind, the tension in the car palpable. Bloom clung to me, tears streaming down her face. Claire, her mother, sat silently, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

The mall offered little reprieve. Though the inside was calm, the shadows of the protest loomed in their minds. Bloom and I held hands as they wandered the stores, our bond stronger than ever. But the day's events had left their mark. As we returned home, the weight of Bloom's fractured family hung heavily in the air.

That night, as we sat in the family room, Claire turned to the us girls, her voice steady but tired. "It's time we talked about the summer camp."

The tension was far from over, but for now, we were safe. Together.

Out in the deep woods, hidden from prying eyes, stood a fortress of steel and stone—the state maximum-security prison. Its imposing walls, topped with coils of razor-sharp barbed wire, loomed against the night sky. Spotlights swept the perimeter in slow, methodical arcs, illuminating the dense fog that clung to the air like a shroud. The guards inside, hardened by years of routine, moved with practiced efficiency, their boots echoing off the cold concrete.

But this night was different.

The fog rolled in thicker than usual, muffling sounds and reducing visibility to almost nothing. Even the powerful spotlights struggled to penetrate the dense, ghostly haze. For most, it was just another quiet night in the forested wilderness. For three men inside those walls, it was an opportunity.

On the roof of the prison, three figures moved like shadows, their orange jumpsuits dulled to muted silhouettes in the dim light. The men — Louis, James, and Henry.

"Stick to the plan," Louis whispered, his voice sharp but controlled.

James and Henry nodded, their eyes darting to the sweeping beams of the spotlights below. Timing was everything. The guards had just completed their hourly headcount and wouldn't check again for at least another fifty minutes. The trio crept along the rooftop, their breaths visible in the chilly air.

They reached the edge of the building, where they'd spent weeks weakening a section of the fence with a smuggled tool. The fog was their ally tonight, veiling their movements from watchful eyes. Below them, the ground was still and silent, save for the distant hum of the generator.

"Ready?" Louis asked, his tone clipped.

"Born ready," James muttered, pulling a makeshift rope from under his jumpsuit.

The men descended carefully, the rope straining under their weight but holding. Their boots hit the ground with a muted thud. Crouching low, they darted toward the inner perimeter, where the barbed wire fence stood between them and freedom.

Henry threw a bundle of jumpsuits over the top of the fence to cover the razor wire. One by one, they climbed, their muscles straining with the effort. James slipped, nearly slicing his hand open, but Louis grabbed his arm just in time.

"Focus," Louis growled. "We didn't come this far to mess up now."

Once over the fence, they hit the ground running. The fog cloaked their movements, and the guards, their vision impaired by the mist, remained blissfully unaware.

A dark sedan idled just beyond the treeline, its engine humming softly. Sam, Louis's younger brother, waited behind the wheel, his fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel. When he saw the figures emerge from the fog, he jumped out to open the trunk.

"Come on," Sam hissed. "We don't have all night."

The three men piled into the car, slamming the doors behind them. Louis gave Sam a firm pat on the shoulder. "Good work, kid."

Sam nodded, his face pale in the dim light. "Where to now?"

Louis leaned back, a sinister smile spreading across his face. "We've got some unfinished business."

The car roared to life, its tires kicking up gravel as it sped down the back road. Behind them, the prison lights flickered through the fog, growing fainter with every passing second. They didn't look back.

The summer sun shimmered over the rolling hills as we pulled into the long gravel driveway leading to WeHaKee Camp for Girls. The towering pine trees framed the camp like sentinels, their needles catching the golden light. I sat in the backseat, squished between Jessica and Bloom, my stomach doing nervous flips.

"This is it," Mom said, her voice carrying a forced cheer. She glanced at us in the rearview mirror, her smile strained but encouraging. "Your summer adventure begins now."

Bloom leaned forward, staring wide-eyed at the wooden archway that read Welcome to Camp WeHaKee. "It's... big," she whispered.

Jessica rolled her eyes. "It's camp, Bloom. Not a mansion."

Still, I couldn't blame her for being a little awestruck. The sprawling grounds had a rustic charm. Cabins dotted the landscape, and a sparkling lake glistened in the distance. A faint buzz of activity carried through the air—girls laughing, counselors calling out instructions, and the rhythmic hum of cicadas.

Our counselor, a chipper woman named Miss Kelly, met us at the entrance and helped us get settled in our cabin. The walls were adorned with posters of cheerful slogans: "Be Your Best Self!" and "Friendship Blooms Here!" It was cozy but not cramped, with six bunks lining the walls. Bloom and I claimed two side-by-side bunks while Jessica took the one nearest the window.

"This is actually kind of nice," Bloom said, running her fingers over the quilt on her bed.

"Let's see if you still think that after a week of camp food," Jessica teased.

The first few days passed in a blur of activities. Mornings were filled with arts and crafts, where Bloom and I made matching friendship bracelets. Afternoons were spent swimming in the lake or trying (and failing) to canoe without tipping over. Evenings were reserved for campfire songs and roasting marshmallows under a canopy of stars. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt... normal. Just a girl at camp, surrounded by friends.

Jessica was in her element, quickly making friends with the other girls in our cabin. Bloom, who was still adjusting to her new self, hung back a little but seemed to enjoy the quiet companionship we shared.

One evening, after a particularly messy dinner of spaghetti, the camp director announced a special night hike. The plan was to follow a trail through the woods and stargaze at the clearing on the far side of the lake. Excitement buzzed through the dining hall.

As we gathered at the trailhead, Bloom clung to my arm. "I've never been a fan of the dark," she admitted softly.

"Don't worry," I said, squeezing her hand. "I've got you."

Miss Kelly led the group, her flashlight casting long shadows on the trees. The hike was quiet at first, the crunch of our sneakers on the dirt path mingling with the chirps of crickets. The air was cool and heavy with the scent of pine.

Jessica and a few other girls walked ahead, their whispers and giggles drifting back to us. Bloom and I stayed toward the middle of the group, the glow of Miss Kelly's flashlight reassuring but distant.

As we neared the clearing, a strange feeling washed over me—a prickling at the back of my neck. The sounds of the forest seemed to dim, as if the night itself were holding its breath. I glanced at Bloom, who was looking around nervously.

"Do you feel that?" she whispered.

I nodded, my heart beating faster. The air felt heavier, almost electric, and the trees seemed to close in around us.

Suddenly, a sharp, metallic click echoed through the woods, stopping us in our tracks. The sound was faint but distinct, like the snap of a switch being flipped. Miss Kelly turned, her flashlight beam swinging wildly as she scanned the group.

"Did anyone hear that?" she asked, her cheerful tone now tinged with uncertainty.

We all nodded, the unease spreading like wildfire. Jessica joined us, her confident demeanor now replaced with a furrowed brow. "What was that?"

Another sound followed—a low hum, like the distant thrum of machinery. It grew louder, reverberating through the ground beneath our feet. The other girls huddled together, their whispers turning to nervous chatter.

"Stay calm," Miss Kelly said, though her voice betrayed her unease. "It's probably just the generator at the main lodge."

"But the main lodge is on the other side of the lake," Jessica pointed out.

The hum intensified, the vibration rattling the metal flashlight in Miss Kelly's hand. Then, as suddenly as it started, the sound stopped. The forest fell silent once more, the stillness suffocating.

"Let's keep moving," Miss Kelly said finally, her voice tight. "We're almost at the clearing."

But as we resumed our hike, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching us. Every shadow seemed darker, every rustle of leaves more ominous. Bloom grabbed my hand, her grip tight. When we reached the clearing, the tension eased slightly. The stars above were breathtaking, a glittering expanse that stretched across the sky. But even as the other girls oohed and aahed at the view, I couldn't shake the lingering dread.

I grabbed Bloom, my heart racing. "I don't like it here," I said, panic rising in my voice.

All of a sudden someone or something put a sac over my head and the world went dark.

I woke up with a searing pain coursing through my body, every inch of me aching. My head pounded, my arm throbbed, and my mouth tasted of blood. The metallic stench of sweat and fear hung heavy in the air. My eyes adjusted to the dim light, and I realized we weren't in a building. The floor beneath us vibrated, rumbling with the motion of what could only be a moving vehicle.

"Bloom?" I whispered, my throat dry and raspy.

"I'm here," she replied softly, her voice shaking. I could hear the faint sound of her crying. She was sitting just a few feet away, clutching her leg.

"Where are we?" I asked, crawling toward her.

"I don't know," she sniffled. "It's dark, and I can't tell how far we've gone."

I glanced around the space, my heart sinking. The walls were lined with metal, the air stale and suffocating. A faint light seeped in from a seam near the door, casting eerie shadows.

As I dragged myself toward the door, my arm screamed in protest. I ignored the pain, focusing on the faint light and the sliver of hope it offered. I pressed my ear against the door. Nothing. No voices. No footsteps. Just the steady hum of tires on asphalt.

"Bloom," I whispered. "Come here."

She crawled over, wincing with each movement. "What is it?"

I gestured to the door. "I think this leads outside. I don't hear anyone nearby."

Her eyes widened. "You want to jump out? Jamie, we're moving—what if we don't make it?"

"We have to try," I said firmly, though fear clawed at my insides. "We don't know where they're taking us, but we know it's not good. We can't stay."

I tested the handle, holding my breath. It wasn't locked. The door creaked open slightly, and a gust of cool night air rushed in. Beyond the door, darkness stretched endlessly, with the faint glow of a distant city on the horizon.

"Slide off," Bloom suggested, her voice trembling. "If we jump, we'll break something for sure."

I nodded. "Okay, but we need to hurry."

We positioned ourselves at the edge of the open door, the cold wind whipping at our faces. The city lights grew fainter with each passing second. My heart hammered in my chest.

"On three," I said. "One... two... three!"

We slid off the edge, tumbling into the night. The ground rushed up to meet us, and the impact was brutal. Pain exploded through my body as I rolled into the grass, sharp rocks and debris tearing at my skin. Bloom cried out beside me, her voice filled with agony.

I tried to sit up, clutching my arm. "Bloom? Are you okay?"

She groaned, clutching her leg. "I think I twisted my ankle... and my arm hurts."

"Let me help you," I said, crawling over to her. She leaned on me, her breaths shallow and pained.

We were both a mess—scraped, bleeding, and barely able to move—but we were alive. That was all that mattered.

The faint rumble of an engine made us freeze. A set of headlights appeared in the distance, heading our way. My stomach twisted in fear. "Hide," I hissed, dragging Bloom toward the tall grass.

We crouched low, holding our breaths as the vehicle passed. The unmistakable outline of the van loomed in the foggy darkness. The kidnappers were looking for us.

"They're still close," I whispered. "We can't stay on the road."

Bloom nodded, tears streaming down her face. "How far do you think the city is?"

"Five miles, maybe more," I said, glancing at the distant lights. "But it's going to feel like ten if we stick to the fields."

The terrain was rough, and every step was agony. My arm hung useless at my side, throbbing with every heartbeat. Bloom limped beside me, her twisted ankle making progress slow. The darkness was oppressive, the tall grass rustling ominously around us.

"We need to rest," Bloom said after what felt like hours. Her voice was weak, her steps faltering.

I helped her to the ground, and we lay on the cool grass, staring up at the stars. The sky was breathtakingly clear, but the beauty of it felt mocking in the face of our desperation.

Bloom fell asleep quickly, her exhaustion overwhelming her fear. I lay awake, my mind racing. Where were we? Who were these men? And how far would they go to get us back?

The sound of an engine roared in the distance, jolting me awake. I sat up, my heart pounding. The lights of the van cut through the darkness like a blade, sweeping over the field. I shook Bloom awake.

"Bloom, they're coming! We have to move!"

But it was too late. The van skidded to a stop just yards away, and the men jumped out, their flashlights cutting through the darkness.

"Found them!" one of them barked.

Bloom and I scrambled to our feet, but there was nowhere to run. Rough hands grabbed us, dragging us back toward the vehicle.

"Let us go!" I screamed, thrashing against my captor's grip.

"Shut her up," another man growled. A cloth was pressed over my face, the sickly-sweet smell filling my nostrils. My vision blurred, and darkness claimed me.

When I woke, the air was thick and stifling. I was lying on a cold, hard floor, my wrists bound behind me. The faint hum of machinery and the distant sound of voices echoed around me.

Bloom was beside me, her face pale and tear-streaked. "Jamie," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I think we're in a warehouse."

I struggled to sit up, my body screaming in protest. The room was large and dimly lit, with crates stacked haphazardly along the walls. The air smelled of oil and saltwater.

"Where are we?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"I don't know," Bloom said. "But... I heard one of them say something about a port."

A cold dread settled over me. We weren't just far from home—we were in another country. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

"We have to get out of here," I said, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my throat. "We can't give up."

Bloom nodded, her eyes filled with determination. "Together."

As the footsteps of our captors drew closer, I tightened my jaw, bracing myself for whatever came next. We had escaped once before. We would do it again.

I woke again with a pounding headache, my entire body aching. My arms and legs felt like lead, and the cold, hard floor beneath me sent chills straight to my core. Around me, muffled sobs and gasps of fear echoed through the room, but it was the silence that hung between the cries that chilled me most.

"Bloom?" I croaked, my voice barely audible.

"I'm here," she whispered from the far wall, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes wide and darting around the room. "Jamie, I'm so scared."

"Where are we?" I asked, my voice trembling as I slowly sat up. My body protested every movement, pain radiating through my limbs.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice shaking. "But... something's wrong here. Really wrong."

I glanced around the room. At least twenty children, all around our age, were crammed into the cold, metal space. Boys and girls huddled together, shivering, their bare skin exposed to the freezing air. The humiliation of being stripped of our clothes only added to the overwhelming terror.

Before I could process the situation, the door groaned open, the harsh sound making everyone jump. Louis stepped in, his towering figure silhouetted by the dim light outside the room. His sharp, calculating gaze swept over us like a predator choosing its next meal.

"Quiet," he snapped, his voice cold and commanding. The room fell silent, the muffled cries and whispers dying in an instant.

Without another word, Louis reached for one of the boys. The child's screams filled the air as he was dragged out of the room, his voice echoing down the hallway until the door slammed shut. My stomach churned with dread.

One by one, the boys were taken. Each time, they returned pale and trembling, their eyes hollow and glazed. They wouldn't speak, wouldn't answer any of our questions. They simply sat in a corner, clutching themselves, shaking uncontrollably.

"What are they doing to them?" Bloom whispered, clutching my arm. Her nails dug into my skin, but I didn't flinch.

"I don't know," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "But it's not good."

Hours passed. The boys remained eerily silent, their pale faces now tinged with something else—softness. I noticed subtle changes: their features grew more delicate, their voices higher when they mumbled in their sleep. It was happening slowly, but it was undeniable. They were changing.

"Bloom," I whispered, shaking her. "Look at that boy"

She turned, her eyes widening as she took in his altered face. His jawline was softer, his eyelashes longer. Even his hands appeared smaller, more delicate.

"What's happening to them?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I think..." I hesitated, struggling to form the words. "I think they're becoming like us. Girls."

The door creaked open again, and Louis stepped inside, followed by two of his men. His face lit up with a sinister smile as he looked over the children.

"Ah, my precious creations," he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "The boys are coming along beautifully. Soon, you'll all be perfect."

"What are you doing to them?" I demanded, standing despite the shaking in my legs. "Why are you doing this?"

Louis smirked, his eyes locking onto mine. "Because, Jamie, I've discovered something extraordinary. The machine you found was just the beginning. I've perfected it, and now I can reshape the future."

He gestured to the room. "These boys? They're the first of many. Soon, I'll transform children everywhere. A world where everyone is the same... where differences are erased. Isn't that beautiful?"

"You're insane!" Bloom shouted, tears streaming down her face. "You can't just take away who they are!"

Louis chuckled darkly. "Oh, but I can. And I have. And you know what's even better?" His smile widened. "None of these kids have parents waiting for you anymore. I made sure of that."

The room fell deathly silent as his words sank in.

"You killed their parents?" I whispered, my voice trembling with rage.

"Of course," Louis said nonchalantly. "Orphans are much easier to experiment on."

Before Louis could say another word, a deafening crash echoed through the building. Shouts filled the air, sharp and urgent, but the words were foreign—Portuguese.

Louis's confident smile faltered as he turned toward the door. "What the—?"

Suddenly, the room was flooded with heavily armed officers in dark uniforms. They barked orders in Portuguese, their voices sharp and commanding. Louis and his men froze, confusion and panic washing over their faces.

"Police?" Bloom whispered, clutching my arm. "But... they're speaking another language."

"We must be in another country," I realized, my heart racing. "Brazil."

The officers moved quickly, subduing Louis and his men before they could react. Louis tried to resist, shouting angrily, but his words were drowned out by the officers' commands.

As Louis and his men were dragged away, one of the officers knelt down to speak to us. His voice was gentle, though we couldn't understand his words. A translator quickly arrived, her voice soothing.

"You're safe now," she said, her English heavily accented. "The bad men can't hurt you anymore."

Relief washed over me, but it was bittersweet. The boys—no, the girls now—remained naked and unconscious, their transformations complete. There was no undoing what had been done to them.

We were taken to a safe house, where kind strangers gave us clothes and food. Bloom and I clung to each other, still shaken but grateful to be alive. The boys—now girls—woke one by one, their confusion and grief palpable. They cried for the lives they'd lost, for the parents they'd never see again.

Though we were free, the scars of Louis's experiments would never truly fade. But as I held Bloom's hand and looked at the children around us, I made a silent promise: we would find a way to heal. Together.

The police station buzzed with activity. Officers moved swiftly from one desk to another, phones ringing off the hook. Amid the chaos, Bloom and I sat on one of the cold, wooden benches, flanked by the other girls. The weight of everything that had happened pressed heavily on all of us, but Bloom sat close, her presence comforting.

The door to one of the offices creaked open, and a tall woman in uniform stepped out. She adjusted her badge before approaching us. Her stern expression softened into a faint smile as she stood before us.

"Hello, girls," she began, her Portuguese-accented English clear but kind. "I'm Officer Lima. And no, it's not Lima Bean," she added with a playful smirk, clearly catching our disgusted expressions. "You can stop giving me that look. I promise I'm here to help, not ruin your appetite."

Despite the tension, a few of the girls giggled nervously. Officer Lima crouched down to meet us at eye level, her tone turning serious.

"I understand this has been a terrifying experience for all of you," she said, her voice gentle. "But I'm here to make sure you all get home safely."

Bloom, always the brave one, spoke up. "Most of us don't have homes to go back to," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Their parents... they're gone."

Officer Lima's face fell. "Gone?" she echoed softly. "You're all orphans?"

"Well, not me and Jamie," Bloom clarified. "But the others... their parents were killed."

The room fell silent as the weight of her words settled over us. The other girls began to cry softly, clutching one another for comfort. My heart ached for them.

Officer Lima straightened, her expression grim. "This complicates things," she said, pacing slightly. "We can't just send you back with no homes to return to."

An idea struck me. "My mom," I blurted out, "she's always wanted to be a foster parent. Maybe she could help?"

Lima's eyebrows lifted. "That's a generous thought, Jamie," she said, "but these girls are Mexican citizens. It's not that simple to move them to another country."

"Mexico?" I asked, confused.

"No," Lima corrected. "These girls were born in Mexico, but you're in Brazil now. And... there's another twist."

Bloom and I exchanged puzzled looks. "What twist?"

Lima hesitated, then said, "Canada recently purchased Minnesota, Wisconsin, and the Upper Peninsula of Michigan from the United States. As of yesterday, you're technically Canadian citizens."

"What?!" Bloom and I exclaimed in unison.

"Canada? Really?" I asked, my head spinning.

"Yes," Lima confirmed. "But this could work in your favor. Since your mother is now a Canadian citizen, fostering these girls might actually be possible. Let me make some calls."

Lima disappeared into the back office, leaving us to wait. The minutes dragged on, and most of the girls eventually dozed off. I sat with Bloom, holding her hand tightly. The uncertainty was unbearable.

"What if they say no?" Bloom whispered.

"They won't," I said firmly, though I wasn't sure. "My mom won't let them."

An hour and a half later, Lima returned, her expression unreadable. We all sat up, wide-eyed, as she approached.

"I have good news," she said. "The Canadian government has agreed to let your mother foster the girls, Jamie. They're arranging travel to Canada as we speak."

Cheers erupted among the girls. Bloom threw her arms around me, tears streaming down her face. I could hardly believe it.

"Since all of you are under the age of ten," Lima continued, "you'll likely become Canadian citizens as well. For now, we've arranged for you to stay at the Ibis Vitória Praia do Canto Hotel. It's secure, and we'll have guards stationed there. No one is going to take you away again."

Later that evening, we arrived at the hotel. The staff greeted us warmly, escorting us to the top floor, where they'd set up a suite of rooms for all twenty-four of us. Bloom and I were allowed to share a room, and the others were divided into groups.

The suite was incredible. The beds were soft, the rooms brightly lit, and there was even a small living area with a television. For the first time in days, we felt safe.

That night, Bloom and I sat by the window, watching the city lights below.

"Do you think everything will be okay now?" she asked, her voice soft.

"I hope so," I said. "At least we're together."

The next morning, we met with Canadian officials who explained the next steps. My mom was already preparing for our return, and arrangements were being made to bring the girls to their new home.

"Jamie," one of the girls, Isabella, said, tugging at my sleeve. "Do you think your mom will like us?"

"Of course she will," I said, smiling. "She's going to love all of you."

For the first time, Isabella smiled back.

"Good morning, girls!" the flight attendant said brightly, her voice full of energy as she walked down the aisle. We were the only passengers on the plane, and her cheery demeanor seemed tailored just for us.

"Welcome aboard this flight to Minneapolis, Minnesota, Canada. My name is Miss Graham, and I'll be your in-flight attendant. If you need anything, let me know. And please take a moment to watch this short safety video before we take off."

The screen in front of each seat lit up with the standard safety instructions. While the younger girls sat wide-eyed and attentive, Bloom and I exchanged amused glances. It was hard to stay focused on the video when our minds were filled with thoughts of going home.

The flight was uneventful. After watching "Sparkleberry Adventures: The Quest for the Rainbow Crown" for what must have been the umteenth time, most of us drifted off to sleep during the fifteen-hour journey. When we woke, the pilot announced we were preparing to land. I looked out the window and saw the familiar sight of the Mall of America in the distance.

When we stepped off the plane, I spotted Mom immediately. I ran to her, practically leaping into her arms.

"Mommy!" I squealed. "I missed you so much!"

Mom hugged me tightly, her warm smile reassuring me that everything was going to be okay. Nearby, Bloom was talking to her mother, Claire. But instead of joy, their conversation seemed serious. Bloom looked upset, tears pooling in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" I asked, walking over.

Bloom hesitated before glancing at her mother. Claire took a deep breath and smiled. "We have some big news," she began.

"What?" she asked.

Mom looked at her and smiled warmly. "Your mom and I have been spending a lot of time together while you were away. We realized... we care about each other, a lot. We've decided to get married."

I froze, my mind racing. Bloom and I exchanged a look, her cheeks turning pink. Our moms getting married meant we'd become stepsisters. But... we were girlfriends.

The ride home was a mix of excitement and awkward silence. The other girls were thrilled about the idea of having a stable home, but I couldn't stop thinking about what this meant for Bloom and me.

When we arrived, Jessica greeted us at the door, wide-eyed at the sight of so many children. "Where are they all going to sleep?" she asked.

"We've set up the basement," Mom said, leading us downstairs. The space was transformed into a cozy dormitory, with built-in bunk beds lining the walls and colorful blankets neatly folded at the foot of each bed. The other girls squealed with excitement, quickly claiming their spots.

Bloom and I hung back, watching the chaos. My heart felt heavy. I loved Bloom, but how could we stay together now that our moms were planning to get married?

"Jamie," Bloom whispered, pulling me aside. "What are we going to do?"

I bit my lip, unsure how to answer. "I don't know," I admitted. "But I don't want to lose you."

Later that night, after everyone had settled in, Mom and Claire called Bloom and me into the living room. They sat us down on the couch, their expressions serious but kind.

"We wanted to talk to you two about this transition," Mom began. "We know it's a lot to take in, especially for you, Jamie, and you, Bloom."

Claire nodded. "We understand that you two are very close. And we don't want our decision to affect your relationship in a negative way."

Bloom and I exchanged nervous glances. "What do you mean?" I asked cautiously.

Claire smiled gently. "We know you two are more than just friends. And we're not here to judge or interfere. We only want to make sure you're both happy and comfortable."

Relief flooded over me, but it was mixed with uncertainty. "So... you're okay with us?"

"As long as you both respect each other and yourselves, yes," Mom said firmly. "But things might be different now, and that's something we all need to navigate together."

The following days were a whirlwind of adjustment. Bloom and her mom officially moved in, and the house felt fuller than ever. While the other girls bonded over shared experiences, Bloom and I found moments to steal away together.

One evening, we sat on the back porch, watching the sun set over the neighborhood.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Bloom said, leaning her head on my shoulder. "Us living together."

"Yeah," I admitted. "But I'm glad you're here. I don't think I could handle you moving away."

She smiled softly. "Me neither. We'll figure this out, Jamie. Together."
Chapter Twenty-One: Home Sweet Home

I nodded, squeezing her hand. "Together."

As much as Bloom and I tried to keep things normal, being under the same roof made our relationship... complicated. Jessica noticed immediately.

"You two are acting weird," she said one morning over breakfast. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" Bloom and I said in unison, our faces turning bright red.

Jessica smirked. "Uh-huh. Sure."

Meanwhile, the other girls began to look up to Bloom and me as role models, which made sneaking off for private moments nearly impossible. But we managed, whispering secrets late at night and holding hands when no one was watching.

Despite the challenges, there was one thing I knew for sure: I couldn't imagine my life without Bloom. Whether we were stepsisters, girlfriends, or both, she was my everything.

Our lives had taken a strange turn, but in a way, it felt like everything was falling into place. As the days passed, I realized that love—whether between family, friends, or something more—was what mattered most. And with Bloom by my side, I knew we could face anything.

Bloom sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through her phone with the half-aware focus of someone more lost in thought than engaged in the glowing screen. Across the room, I was perched in front of my computer, immersed in a video game, my fingers hammering the keyboard with the rhythm of battle. It had been a week since we returned from Brazil, but the memories of that trip lingered like the fading echoes of a nightmare we couldn't quite forget.

The doorbell rang. The sharp, intrusive chime cut through the house like a warning. Mom answered it, her voice carrying faintly to our room.

"Can I help you?" she asked, a tinge of apprehension in her tone.

"Yes, ma'am. My name is Agent Coleman," the man replied, his voice cool and authoritative. "I'm with the FBI. I need to speak with Jamie and Bloom."

I froze mid-game. "Jamie and Bloom?" I mouthed to Bloom, who set her phone down, her brows furrowing.

"Are they in trouble?" Mom asked, her voice higher now.

I stood and crept toward the door, curiosity outweighing caution. As I stepped into the hallway, I saw him—a man in a dark suit, his tie too neat, his expression too neutral. His presence felt like a storm cloud waiting to break.

"Hello, young lady," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned my face. "Are you Jamie or Bloom?"

"Jamie," I replied, my voice cautious.

"Agent Coleman, FBI," he said, holding out a badge for a fleeting moment. "I'm sorry to intrude, but we need your help."

Bloom appeared behind me, her gaze sharp and wary. "What kind of help?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"You must be Bloom," Coleman said with a faint nod, his gaze flicking between us. "You two are uniquely qualified to assist us with something... unprecedented."

"Unprecedented how?" I asked, suspicion lacing my words.

His jaw tightened, as though he didn't want to say it aloud. "You're familiar with the machine, aren't you? The one that... changed you."

I felt my stomach drop. The machine. The cursed contraption that started this whole thing. The machine that had rewritten the very fabric of our lives, turning us into someone we hadn't chosen to be.

"Oh, great," I muttered, my voice dripping with dread.

Coleman continued, his expression grim. "We've discovered evidence suggesting there are more of these machines. Several, in fact, scattered in places we're only beginning to uncover. And they've started activating."

Bloom's face turned pale. "Activating? What does that mean?"

"It means other children are being affected, just like you two," he said. "Lives are being upended. Futures rewritten. And we have no idea who's behind it or why."

"So you want us to help you find them?" I asked, my voice tinged with disbelief.

"Yes... and no," Coleman said. His eyes darkened, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something—fear? "We need your insight, your memories, anything that can help us track these machines before they fall into the wrong hands. But there's more to it than that."

"What do you mean?" Bloom asked, stepping closer, her voice low and tight.

He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as though expecting someone—or something—to be there. "The machine you encountered wasn't just a prototype. It was a beacon. Whoever activated it knew you were there. They wanted you to find it."

"What?" I whispered, my blood turning cold.

Coleman's gaze sharpened. "Do you remember Louis? The man who kidnapped you both?"

Bloom stiffened beside me. The name alone was enough to bring back a flood of memories—his cold eyes, the metallic clinking of chains, the smug smirk he wore even as he was led away in handcuffs. Louis had been the one behind the machine, orchestrating its horrifying purpose, and though he was now in prison, the damage he'd done remained.

"Yeah, we remember," Bloom said, her voice ice.

"Well, Louis may be locked up, but his network isn't. He had people—people who believed in what he was doing, people who were willing to take over where he left off. We suspect they've continued his work, building more machines, spreading them, and targeting children."

A chill swept over me. "So, this is his doing? Even from prison?"

Coleman nodded grimly. "Louis may not be pulling the strings directly, but his associates are still out there, and they're organized. They're using his methods, his technology, and now that we've traced some of these machines, we're finding patterns. These aren't random incidents. They're calculated."

The room fell into a suffocating silence. My mind raced, dredging up memories of the machine's cold metal surface, its ominous hum, the blinding flash of light that changed everything.

"But why us?" Bloom finally asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Coleman's expression hardened. "That's what we're trying to figure out. But for now, you're the only ones who've survived it. You've been through it and come out the other side. That makes you invaluable."

Outside, a car engine rumbled softly, and a shadow moved across the window. Bloom glanced at me, her eyes filled with unspoken questions, and I knew mine mirrored hers. Whatever this was, it was far from over.

"Will you help us?" Coleman asked, his tone almost pleading now.

I looked at Bloom, and she looked at me. The weight of the past week, the strangeness of our new lives, and the looming uncertainty of what lay ahead pressed down on us. Finally, I nodded, the words leaving my lips before I could second-guess them.

"We don't have a choice, do we?"