The sun is shining brightly on my face as I skip along the sidewalk, counting the cracks and trying to make it to twenty without stepping on any lines. I’m at seventeen when this big, fancy car pulls up next to me. It’s all black and polished, like something out of a movie.
This guy leans out of the window wearing sunglasses and a nice suit. “Hey, Daisy Zhen?” he asks and I give a nod, wondering how he knows my name. “Your parents sent me to pick you up. Wei and Xiuying? They’re busy with work but they’ll meet us later.”
I hesitate, biting my lip. Mom and Dad never mentioned anything about this. But maybe it’s some sort of surprise? The car looks really nice, and I’ve never been in a limo before. “Alright,” I say and hop in. The seat is super soft and I sink into it, peeking out the window as the car starts moving.
There’s another man in the back. He has tan skin but not as dark as the people my Dad works with. And he has a really big beard but it’s braided like my hair sometimes. It’s pretty. But he looks mad so I’m not going to bother him.
We speed through the streets of Los Angeles, but we’re not going towards home. My tummy starts feeling weird, like when I’ve had too much candy. “Where are we headed?” I ask.
“To a special place,” the guy says, not even looking at me. “Your parents will explain it all later.”
We drive for what feels like forever, and the buildings start getting smaller and fewer. My legs dangle off the seat ’cause I can’t reach the floor. I want to ask more questions, but the guy looks like he doesn’t wanna talk. And the guy in the back with me doesn’t look like he wanna talk either.
Eventually, the car stops in front of this big, gray building. It’s got a tall fence with barbed wire on top. It doesn’t look special at all, it looks kinda scary.
The guy opens the door and I step out. “Where are Mom and Dad?” I ask again, but he ignores me. He just leads me inside, through this big metal door.
The inside is all cold and it smells funny, like medicine mixed with something I don’t really know. There are long hallways with a bunch of doors. It feels like a maze. I try to remember the way back to the entrance, but everything looks the same.
We stop in front of one door, but it’s not like the doors at home. It’s heavy and there’s a small window at the top. The guy opens it and I take a peek inside. It’s a small room with a bed, a table, and a chair. It looks like a regular room, but it also kinda looks like a cage.
“This is gonna be your spot for a bit,” the guy says. “Someone’s gonna come get you later.”
“Where are my parents?” I ask, my voice trembling in the big, empty hallway.
“They’ll be here soon,” he says, but he won’t even look at me when he says it.
He leaves, and the door locks with a loud clank that makes me jump. I can hear the sound of a lock clicking.
I’m all alone in the room. It’s quiet, too quiet. I go to the bed and sit down. It’s hard and not very comfy. I wrap my arms around my knees and just wait.
I wait for a really long time, but Mom and Dad never show up. The room gets darker as the sunlight from the small window fades. I’m scared, but I try my best not to cry. Mom always says I’m brave.
Footsteps echo down the hallway, growing louder. I jump off the bed and run to the door, pressing my face against the small window. Maybe it’s Mom and Dad?
But it’s not them. It’s a lady in a white coat, like a doctor. She opens the door and smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s like what that dog looked like one time before it bit me. It’s not a real smile.
“Hiya, Daisy,” she says. “Welcome to your new home.”
I back away from her, shaking my head. “I wanna go home,” I say. “Please?”
“You are home,” the lady in the white coat says. “For now. Tomorrow, we start your training.”
“Training for what?” I ask, curiosity peeking through my fear.
She smiles, and this time it seems a little kinder. It seems like a real smile instead of a dog smile. “Your parents are helping some very important people. A Senator, I think. They’re very busy, but they want you to learn some new things while they’re gone. They’re very proud of you, you know.”
“Really?” A tiny spark of hope flickers inside me. Mom and Dad are helping a Senator? That sounds important. “What kind of things will I learn?”
“Oh, all sorts of things,” she says, waving her hand like it’s a secret. “Things that will make you special. You’ll see.”
I nod, trying to believe her. It’s strange, but maybe it’s true. Mom and Dad are always doing important stuff. Maybe this is just another one of those things.
“Can I call them?” I ask. “Just to say goodnight?”
“Not tonight, Daisy,” she says, her voice soft. “They’re very busy, but they’ll call you when they can. Now, you should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
She leaves, and the door locks again, but this time I’m not as scared. I tell myself that Mom and Dad are out there, doing something important, and that they haven’t forgotten about me.
I crawl into bed, pulling the thin blanket around me. The mattress is hard, and the pillow isn’t fluffy like mine at home. But I close my eyes and pretend I’m in my bed, in my room, with my stuffed animals around me.
In the darkness, I whisper goodnight to Mom and Dad, wherever they are. I tell myself they’ll come for me soon. They just have to finish helping the Senator first.
And I, Daisy Zhen, will learn to be special, just like they want me to be. I just have to be brave a little longer.
The bed is hard, and the blanket is thin. I wake up in a room that’s not my own, but it doesn’t surprise me anymore. It’s been like this for so long. The walls are bare, the air is stale, and everything is too quiet. It’s just another day, another place. I’m in Philadelphia now. They told me that when they dropped me off in a big, metal shipping crate. Like I was just another piece of cargo.
I get out of bed, stretching my arms. My muscles are sore, but it’s a good sore. It means I’m getting stronger. I glance at the mirror on the wall. The girl looking back at me is different from the one four years ago. She’s tougher, with eyes that don’t scare easy. Her hair is messy, and there’s a streak of dried blood under her nose. That’s me. Daisy the badass.
Mrs. Z came by yesterday. She’s my new handler, I guess. She’s pretty, with big hair that puffs out like a thundercloud. But her eyes are sharp, like she’s always thinking, always planning. She looks at me like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to figure out.
She gave me snacks when I met her, and used an alcohol wipe to clean the blood from my face. It stung, but I didn’t flinch. I wish she didn’t treat me like a child, but I’m not a moron. I know most people look at me and see an twelve-and-a-quarter-year-old. Do I look like some sort of idiot?
“We’re going to meet your new owner,” Mrs. Z told me. Her voice was steady, but I could tell she was a little antsy around me. “Her name is Mrs. Irshad. You’ll do whatever she wants, okay?”
I just nodded. It’s always the same, just different faces and names. Handlers, owners, they’re all the same to me. They tell me what to do, and I do it. It’s easier that way. No thinking, just doing. I’ve only had two other assignments before this and both of them were boring. Hopefully Mrs. Irshad will give me more to do.
I get dressed quickly. The clothes they gave me are plain, but they fit well enough. I don’t care much about clothes anyway. They’re just things you wear until they get torn or dirty. I stuff cotton balls up my nose like I was taught. ‘Decorum’. What a stupid word.
Mrs. Z is waiting for me outside the shipping container. She gives me a small smile, but I don’t smile back. My teeth are all messed up nowadays anyway. Ugly teeth. She didn’t earn a smile back.
“We have a bit of a drive,” she says as we head to the car. It’s another big, fancy car. I’ve been in a lot of those.
The city passes by the window, but I don’t pay much attention. Buildings, people, cars, they all blur together after a while. What matters is what I have to do next. That’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.
Mrs. Z talks a little during the drive, mostly about what we’re going to be doing. I half-listen. It’s always the same sort of thing. Causing trouble, fighting, sometimes worse. I’m good at it. It’s what I was trained for.
“We’re almost there,” Mrs. Z says, and I look out the window. We’re in a part of the city I haven’t seen before. It looks rougher, tougher. I don’t mind. I’m tough too. I glance at the corner of her mirror. North. North Philadelphia?
The car stops in front of a building. It’s not as big or scary as home, but it has the same feel. A place where things happen, not all of them good. I get the feeling someone’s been buried here.
“Ready?” Mrs. Z asks. I nod. I’m always ready. That’s one thing they taught me well.
We go inside, and I’m hit by the smell of sweat and something metallic, like blood. My heart beats a little faster, but I don’t show it. I never show it.
Mrs. Irshad is there to meet us.
The lady standing before me ain’t like any of the handlers I’ve met before. She’s got this wild, big hair that’s all puffed up and dark and wavy like the ocean. Her eyes are bright and bloodshot just like mine. So I know she’s got something cool going on. Right now, I’m still chasing the handler from LA, so my fingertips are all wispy and half-there like smoke.
She’s got these patterns all over her skin like a map. Like some of the people I saw out oversees that one week. I wonder if my face will look like that one day. It’s all scarred and patchy, making her look tough as nails. She’s wearing a jacket that’s got this military vibe, but it’s torn up, like she’s been through a hundred wars and just walked out of them.
I can tell she’s the kind of person who doesn’t just survive; she fights, and she wins. She’s got this look in her eye that says she’s seen things, done things that would make most people run away screaming. But not her. She’s standing there like she owns the ground she’s on, and nothing’s gonna scare her off it.
I stand straighter, ready for whatever she’s going to throw at me.
“Daisy, this is Mrs. Irshad,” Mrs. Z says. “She’s going to be giving you your assignments.”
Mrs. Irshad looks me over, like she’s sizing me up. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she says. Her voice is deep, like it could command armies. “I hope you’re as good as they say.”
I don’t say anything. I just wait for her to tell me what to do. That’s my job. To listen and do. Nothing else.
Nothing else matters.
“I’ll let you two get to know each other. You know how to reach me if there’s any issues, Mrs. Irshad,” Mrs. Z says, giving me a pat on the head and walking out the door. It shuts, it clicks. I don’t even flinch.
Mrs. Irshad starts pacing the room like a caged tiger. She’s silent, but every step is like a word in a language I’m trying to understand. The room is all bare concrete and echoes, a hollow kind of place that’s full of shadows even in the light.
I stand still, watching her. That’s what you do when you’re the new kid. You watch and you learn. You figure out where you fit in the puzzle, or if you fit at all.
Then the sound of a car engine fades away, and something changes in Mrs. Irshad. She stops pacing. She looks at me, and there’s a shift in her eyes, like she’s dropping some heavy armor she’s been wearing.
“All that Mrs. Irshad stuff is crap,” she says, her voice losing the formal edge it had when Mrs. Z was here. “Call me Miss Patches. And I’m not your owner or your handler. That’s not how we roll here. I’m your friend. And yeah, your boss.”
Her words hit me in a weird way, like a song you didn’t know you remembered. Friend. That’s a word that hasn’t meant much for a long time. Boss is more familiar, but the way she says it doesn’t feel heavy; it feels like something I can carry.
I nod because that’s what you do when you don’t know what else to do. “Okay, Miss Patches,” I say, testing out the name. It fits her, like it’s been hers all along and just waiting for me to say it.
She gives a small smile, and I can see it’s real because it’s nothing like the smiles I’ve seen before. It’s not a trap or a lie. It’s just a smile, and it makes her scarred face something else, something more than just a map of fights. It reaches her ears.
She pulls out a couple of chocolate bars from her pocket and tosses one to me. “You like chocolate?” she asks.
I catch it, feeling the weight of the candy in my hand. It’s been so long since I had something just because it’s nice. “I don’t know,” I reply, honestly. I’ve long since had the ability to lie to my handlers beaten out of me, as it should be.
She unwraps her own bar and takes a bite, leaning back against the wall. “We’re gonna do some work, you and me,” she says, chewing thoughtfully. “But we’re also gonna make sure we got each other’s backs. That’s how it works with the Phreaks. We’re family. You and me. And there’s some others I want you to meet, too.”
I unwrap the chocolate bar and stare at it. Then, I take a bite.
I’m sitting on my bed, hugging Mr. Waddles, the stuffed penguin they gave me. He’s my only friend here. The room is cold, but the second blanket helps a little. I miss Mom and Dad. I miss home. They said they’d be here soon, but that was a long time ago. I don’t think they’re coming.
Every few days, the lady in the white coat comes. She says it’s time for my “treatment.” I don’t like the treatments. They make me go to sleep with a mask that smells funny. When I wake up, I always hurt somewhere new. Last time, I woke up with stitches on my arm. I don’t remember how I got them.
I eat the food they give me. It’s always the same – mushy and tasteless. Sometimes I pretend it’s Mom’s cooking, but it never works. I just eat because I have to.
Sometimes, I hear other kids. I see them when they wheel them past my room. They look sad and hurt, like me. I tried talking to a girl once, but a man in a white coat yelled at me. The girl just looked down and didn’t say anything.
I don’t try to talk to them anymore.
Sometimes, at night, I hear screams. It scares me. I hug Mr. Waddles tighter and try to think of good things, like the park near our house, or the ice cream truck that used to come down our street. But it’s hard to remember the good things.
I don’t scream or cry much anymore. It doesn’t help. The first few times I did, they hit me. They said I need to be strong. I don’t know what that means. I just know it’s better to be quiet.
But I’m getting tired of being quiet. Tired of being scared. Tired of waiting for Mom and Dad. Tired of hurting.
Today, the lady in the white coat is back. “Time for your treatment, Daisy,” she says with her fake smile.
I don’t want to go. I want to run away. But I know better now. I just nod and follow her, hugging Mr. Waddles close.
We go to a different room this time. It’s white and bright and smells like the doctor’s office. There’s a bed with straps. I don’t like it. My heart starts to beat really fast.
“It’s okay, Daisy,” the lady says. “You’ll just take a little nap.”
I don’t want to take a nap. I don’t want to wake up hurting again. But I don’t say anything. I just climb onto the bed, and she puts the straps around me.
Then she puts the mask on my face. I take a deep breath, and everything starts to get fuzzy.
When I wake up, my head hurts. I feel dizzy. I look down and see bandages around my chest. It hurts to breathe. I want to cry, but I don’t. I just lie there, waiting for them to come and take me back to my room.
Back in my room, I sit on my bed and try to figure out what’s happening. Why are they doing this to me? What did I do wrong?
I think about trying to be strong, like they said. But I don’t know how. I’m just a kid. I’m just Daisy.
I look at Mr. Waddles. He’s just a stuffed penguin, but he’s the only one who’s always here. I wish he could talk. I wish he could tell me it’s going to be okay.
But he can’t. He’s just a toy.
I lie down and pull the blanket over me. I close my eyes and try to sleep, but sleep doesn’t come easy. Every time I start to drift off, I remember the pain, the bandages, the straps.
And I remember the lady’s fake smile.
I don’t know how long I can do this. I don’t know how much more I can take. But I have to be strong. That’s what they want.
I just wish I knew why.
I’m in the car with Miss Patches, watching the buildings whiz by. They’re all broken and tired, like the people who probably live in them. The car smells like old fries and something sweet I can’t place. The engine grumbles like it’s complaining about having to work.
Miss Patches drives like she does everything else – like she knows exactly where she’s going and why. I just sit there, my hands on my lap, my new chocolate bar forgotten in my pocket. Everything feels like a dream, but not the good kind. The kind where you can’t run fast or scream loud.
We pull up to a house that looks like it’s seen better days. A lot of them. It’s all boarded up, the paint peeling like skin after a bad sunburn. Miss Patches kills the engine, and the world goes quiet, except for the distant sound of the city – honking horns and people yelling.
“Come on,” she says, getting out of the car. “Let’s introduce you to your new family.”
Family. That word again. I don’t move at first. I’ve heard words like that before. They never mean what they’re supposed to.
But Miss Patches waits, and something in her eyes tells me she’s not lying. Not like the others. I get out of the car, following her like a shadow.
The house is even sadder up close. It’s got this feeling, like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Miss Patches leads me inside, and it’s dark and smells like dust and old things. There are shadows everywhere, like they’re hiding in corners, whispering secrets.
“We’re here,” Miss Patches calls out. “Got someone I want you to meet.”
Feet shuffle upstairs, and then I see them – the rest of the Phreaks. They’re all looking at me, curious and cautious. I feel their eyes on me, heavy and expectant.
“This is Daisy,” Miss Patches says, and her voice makes me feel like I’m more than just another thing in this broken house. “She’s one of us now.”
One of us. The words hang in the air, but they don’t settle on me. They can’t. I don’t know what they mean. Not really.
I look at them, these new faces. One of them is all stretched out and weird, like a cartoon. Another one is huge, a mountain made of stone, wearing a sports jersey I can’t read. And the third one… she’s beautiful and scary, with her bug eyes and sharp edges. She looks like a bug. A bug person. Bug lady.
They nod, say hi, but I don’t say anything back. I don’t know how. I just stand there, feeling their stares like needles on my skin.
Miss Patches senses it, the heaviness in the room. “It’s late,” she says. “Daisy’s had a long day. Let’s get her settled, huh?”
They murmur agreements, and I’m grateful for it. Grateful for the chance to escape their eyes.
Miss Patches takes me downstairs, to the basement. It’s cold and smells like the earth. There’s a mattress there, with sheets and blankets and… penguins. Stuffed penguins, all over the bed.
My heart does something weird. It’s like it’s trying to climb out of my chest. I don’t understand. Why is it doing that?
Miss Patches is watching me, her eyes soft. “Thought you might like them,” she says, pointing to the penguins. “Your file said you liked penguins.”
My file. Right. They know things about me. But why penguins? Why care?
I sit on the mattress, and it’s soft. Softer than anything I’ve felt in a long time. The blankets are clean, and the penguins… they’re just there, looking at me with their glassy eyes.
I pick one up, feeling the softness of it. It’s nice. Too nice. I don’t deserve nice. I’m not…
And then it happens. Tears. They start falling, and I don’t know why. I’m not sad. I’m not anything. But they keep coming, like they’ve been waiting for this, for the softness and the quiet and the penguins.
Miss Patches sits next to me, her presence big and warm. She doesn’t say anything, just sits there, like she’s giving me space to have my tears.
I cry, and it’s ugly and messy.
After a while, the tears stop. I’m just sitting there, feeling empty and hollow, like a shell.
“You okay?” Miss Patches asks, her voice gentle.
I nod, but it’s a lie.
Miss Patches gets up, but before she leaves, she says, “You’re safe here, Daisy. You can be whoever you want to be. Remember that.”
Whoever I want to be. The words echo in my head as she climbs the stairs and leaves me alone with the penguins and the soft mattress.
I lay down, pulling the blankets over me. They’re warm, and they smell like laundry soap. I close my eyes.
I sit on the cold, hard chair, staring at the bald man standing in front of me. The lady in the white coat is next to me, holding my arm. “This is very important, Daisy,” she says, her voice sharp like a teacher’s. “You need to be good, okay? This is your last test.”
I nod, but I don’t really understand. The man smiles at me, but it’s not a nice smile. It’s like he’s happy about something bad. “Can you say ‘telekinesis’, Daisy?” the lady asks.
I try to say it, but the word is too big, twisting in my mouth like a wriggly worm. “Tele…kine…sis?” I say slowly. It sounds wrong, but the lady nods.
“Very good, Daisy. This man can move things with his mind. And maybe, if you’re very good, you can do that too.”
I look at the man, curious and a little scared. How can someone move things with their mind? I wish I could do that. I could move myself out of here, back to Mom and Dad.
The lady wipes my arm with something cold and then gives me a shot. It stings, and I wince, but I don’t cry. I’m trying to be strong. The lady says I have to be strong.
The bald man steps back and looks at me. His eyes are like two pieces of ice. I feel something weird, like a hand pressing on my head, but there’s no hand. It’s just air. But it’s heavy, pushing down on me.
The pressure gets stronger and stronger. My head feels like it’s going to explode, but there’s no pain. Just pressure. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. My vision starts to blur, and it gets black around the edges, and I feel something wet on my face. Blood. In my mouth. From my nose.
I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been. But then, something changes inside me. It’s like a switch flips. I’m not scared anymore. I’m angry. Really, really angry.
I don’t know what happens next. It’s like a burst of something wild and strong inside my head. The next thing I know, the bald man is flying backward, crashing through the door. The door comes off its hinges, making a loud, terrible noise.
The lady just writes something down, not even looking surprised. But I’m surprised. I’m more than surprised. I’m shocked. I did that. I moved him with my mind. I moved him with my mind really hard.
I stand up, feeling different. Stronger. Powerful. I’m not just Daisy anymore. I’m something else. Something more.
I look at my hands, expecting them to glow or something, but they look the same. Just my small, normal hands. But they don’t feel normal. They feel like they’re buzzing with something new. Fuzzy around the edges.
The lady looks at me, finally paying attention. “Very good, Daisy,” she says, her voice cold. “You did well. You’re not going to the bad kid place.”
I don’t care about the bad kid place. I don’t care about anything she says. All I care about is the feeling inside me. The power.
I look at the broken door and the bald man lying on the ground. He’s not moving. I feel a twinge of fear. Did I hurt him? But then the anger comes back, burning away the fear. “He tried to hurt me.”
“He did. And you did a good job hurting him back. Do you want another penguin?” The lady says, with a fake smile.
I stare at my hands. “Did I kill him?”
She glances back at him. “Maybe. What would you like as a reward?”
I look at him, waiting for him to start moving. Or start blinking. Or breathing. He doesn’t do any of those things, so I look at the lady again. “Can I have candy?”
“Besides candy,” she says. “Your nutrient profile is important to maintain. But I can get you books, if you want. Or more stuffies. Or maybe a Gameboy?” She asks.
I blink at her a couple of times. “Do I get batteries, too?”
She laughs. “We can give you some batteries, but you’ll have to earn them after the first set. Does that sound fair?”
I nod. That sounds fair.
I wake up, my heart racing, sweat sticking my hair to my forehead. It’s dark, but the dark is alive, pulsing with the echoes of screams that still ring in my ears. They’re not real. Not anymore. But they feel real.
I try to move, but my body doesn’t listen. It’s like I’m back there, in that room, with the cold walls and colder hands. My breath comes out in short, sharp gasps, each one a battle.
Then I notice it. The weirdness. The wrongness.
Everything is floating. The penguins, the blankets, even the mattress is slightly off the ground. It’s like gravity forgot to work down here.
It’s me. I’m doing this. “Gravity nullification”, that’s what I’m remembering.
The door bangs open, and Miss Patches comes in, her feet not touching the ground. She looks like an astronaut, drifting in space, but her face is all worry and no awe. She drags herself down by the railing like she’s floating in the water.
“Daisy,” she says, her voice calm but strong. “You gotta breathe, kiddo. In and out. Slow.”
I try to follow her instructions, but my breaths are still jagged. Miss Patches grabs onto a pipe running along the ceiling and pulls herself closer. She’s floating right in front of me now, her eyes locked on mine.
“That’s it,” she says, as I finally manage a somewhat normal breath. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Slowly, the floating things start to settle back down. The mattress touches the floor again, and the penguins plop into a soft heap. My heart is still pounding, but it’s like I’ve won a fight. A small one, but still a win.
Miss Patches floats down and sits on the edge of the mattress. She’s got something in her hand – a manga, colorful and worn.
“You up for a story?” she asks, a small smile on her lips.
I nod, still trying to steady my breathing. She opens the manga and starts to read.
Miss Patches turns the pages of the manga, her finger tracing the panels as she reads aloud. The colors are bright, almost leaping off the page, and the girl in the story, she’s like no one I’ve ever seen.
“See here,” Miss Patches points to a panel where the girl stands at the edge of a cliff, her clothes tattered, her eyes gazing out at a land overrun with darkness and strange creatures. “She’s just arrived in this world, all confused and scared. But look at her eyes, Daisy. She’s fierce, like she’s ready to take on whatever comes her way.”
Her voice brings the picture to life, and I can almost feel the wind, taste the fear and excitement of that girl.
Then she turns the page, and there’s chaos, a village on fire, monsters everywhere. The villagers are begging, pleading with the girl to help them.
“But she’s not a hero,” Miss Patches reads, her voice tinged with something like respect. “She doesn’t want to be their savior. She wants something else, something more.”
The next page shows the girl, her expression hard and determined, as she walks away from the burning village, leaving cries of despair behind her.
“She’s making a choice,” Miss Patches explains, her finger lingering on the image of the girl walking away. “A choice to be her own person, not what everyone else wants her to be.”
We turn another page, and there he is, the Demon Lord. He’s terrifying, covered in shadows and armor, power radiating from him. The girl stands before him, tiny in comparison, but she doesn’t look scared. She looks… right, like she belongs there.
“The Demon Lord,” Miss Patches says, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Everyone fears him, hates him. But she sees something in him, something no one else does. She sees a kindred spirit.”
The panels show the Demon Lord and the girl talking, their words a dance of power and understanding. Then, in a dramatic spread, she kneels before him, pledging herself to his cause.
“It’s not about being good or evil,” Miss Patches says softly, almost to herself. “It’s about power, and what you do with it. She chooses to stand with the Demon Lord, to be more than just a pawn in someone else’s game.”
The next few pages are a whirlwind of action. The girl, now standing beside the Demon Lord, battles armies, conjures dark magic, and faces down heroes who come to stop them. But she’s unstoppable, fierce, and free.
“She doesn’t just follow him,” Miss Patches narrates, her voice filled with excitement. “She becomes his equal, his partner. Together, they’re a force that nothing can stand against.”
The final page shows the girl and the Demon Lord on thrones, ruling over a land of shadows and monsters. The girl’s smile is triumphant, her eyes alight with power and purpose. “Spoiler alert. Next chapter she’s going to cut his head off and start ruling his kingdom. And we can read that chapter together tomorrow, ok?”
Miss Patches finishes the chapter, and the room is quiet again, except for our breathing.
“You like it?” she asks, her eyes searching my face.
I nod, more vigorously this time. “She’s cool,” I say, my voice still a bit shaky. “She’s not like the others. She’s like… she’s like me.”
Miss Patches chuckles, but it’s not mean. It’s warm, like her smile. “Yeah, she’s a bit of a badass, isn’t she? Like you.”
I feel something warm in my chest, something that’s not like the fire of anger or the ice of fear. It’s softer, gentler.
Miss Patches stands up, still holding the manga. “Get some more sleep, Daisy. We got a big day tomorrow. More training, more stories. You’re gonna be okay.”
She leaves, and I’m alone again, but it’s different now. The room doesn’t feel as cold, as empty. The manga sits beside me, its pages a promise of more – more stories, more power, more of this strange feeling that I don’t have a name for yet.
I lay back down, pulling the penguins close. They’re just stuffed toys, but they feel like shields, guarding me from the nightmares that wait in the dark.
As I drift back to sleep, I think about the girl in the story, about the Demon Lord and the world they rule.
That should be me. I should be the Demon Lord.
I’m not the same Daisy anymore. The lady in white, the new one, she’s always watching me, scribbling notes. I don’t care. They’re all the same. They poke, they prod, they ask me to do things with my mind. Sometimes I do it, sometimes I don’t. It depends on how I feel.
I’m sitting in the middle of a room. It’s plain, with white walls and a single light. They call it the testing room. I call it the boring room. There’s a bunch of stuff on the floor in front of me. Blocks, balls, a metal spoon. They want me to move them. I’ve done it a thousand times.
“Begin, Daisy,” the lady in white says. Her voice is flat, like she’s bored too. Maybe she is. Maybe we’re all bored here.
I stare at the blocks. I’m not angry right now, and it’s always easier when I’m angry. But I can do it without being angry. It just takes more effort. I focus, feeling that weird buzz inside my head, like bees flying around. The block wobbles, then slowly rises.
“Good, keep going,” she says.
I lift the other blocks, one by one. Then the balls. They float in the air, like they’re in space. I think about space sometimes. I wonder if it’s quiet there. I like quiet.
The spoon is last. It’s harder because it’s heavier. But I can do it. I concentrate, feeling the pressure build in my head. The spoon trembles, then lifts, quivering in the air.
“Sufficient,” the lady says. “Now, the new exercise.”
I put everything down. The spoon clatters. I look at her, waiting.
She points to the other side of the room. There’s something there, covered with a cloth. “Move the cloth without touching it,” she instructs.
That’s new. I’ve never done that before. But it sounds easy. I focus on the cloth, imagining it flying away. But it doesn’t move. I frown. I try harder, feeling the buzz grow louder, angrier.
Suddenly, the cloth rips off, like it’s scared of me. Underneath, there’s a cage with a mouse in it. The mouse looks scared too. I feel a twinge in my stomach. I used to like mice.
“Now, Daisy, lift the cage,” the lady says.
I don’t want to scare the mouse. But they don’t like it when I don’t do what they say. I lift the cage, gently. The mouse runs in circles, panicking.
“Enough,” the lady says. “Put it down.”
I lower the cage. The mouse is still scared. I feel bad for it. But only a little. I don’t feel things as much as I used to.
“You’re improving,” the lady says. “Your control is better. But we need more.”
More. They always want more. I nod, not because I agree, but because it’s easier than arguing.
The lady leaves, and another one comes in. This time, she’s carrying a tablet and a small, fake gun. It looks real, but I know it’s not. They’ve been teaching me about guns.
“Time for your desensitization training,” the new lady says.
I don’t argue. I just sit still, watching as she sets up the tablet on a stand. It’s like a TV screen, but smaller.
“Watch the images,” she instructs. “Your reaction is important. Remember, control your emotions.”
The screen flickers on. Images start appearing. They’re not nice images. They’re violent, scary. People fighting, things breaking, chaos. Blood. A lot of red. I feel something in my stomach, like a twist. But I remember what they said about controlling emotions.
I keep watching, my face blank. The images get worse, more violent. But I don’t look away. I can’t look away. They’re training me not to.
“Now,” the lady says, handing me the fake gun. “Practice your aim. Pretend these are your targets.”
I take the gun. It’s heavy in my hand, but I’m getting used to it. I point it at the screen, pretending to shoot the images. Bang. Bang. Bang. I imagine the noise in my head because the gun doesn’t make any.
“Good,” the lady says. “Focus on your targets. Detach your feelings.”
I keep firing, my eyes following the images. I feel weird, like I’m floating outside my body, watching myself. This isn’t a game. It’s training. Training for something bad. But I can’t stop.
The images finally stop. The screen goes blank. The lady takes the gun and turns off the tablet. “You’re improving,” she says. “Your emotional control is getting better.”
I don’t feel better. I feel empty. Hollow.
“You can go back to your room,” she says.
I stand up, leaving the room with the tablet and the fake gun. My room is just down the hall. It’s always the same. Plain, small, boring. But it’s mine. Sort of.
I sit on my bed, staring at the wall. It’s white, blank. I got markers a couple of months ago and they let me draw on the walls but I’m not sure what to draw. I drew a penguin once. Mr. Waddles is still there. I love him.
I think about the images, the gun. They’re making me into something. I don’t know what. I thought it was a superhero first but now I’m not sure. All I know is I’m changing. I’m not just Daisy anymore. I’m something else.
I lie down, trying to sleep. But sleep is hard to find. My mind is too full of images, sounds, feelings. Feelings I’m supposed to control.
I close my eyes, but I can still see the images. I can still feel the weight of the gun in my hand. It’s like a ghost, haunting me.
I wonder what Mom and Dad would think if they saw me now. Would they even recognize me? I’m not sure I recognize myself. My hair is all long and choppy. Greasy. They don’t let me wash it that much.
I hold my Gameboy to my chest. I’m getting really good at Tetris.
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