I felt like a cartoon the first time I stepped into the Bureau. Besides being completely different than one would think a normal underground government organization would be, there was a room we passed full of men in black suits, brandishing guns and shooting at… well, something with tentacles. Nobody paid it any mind be me. I froze in shock. They weren't lying.

"It's Friday." Liz said, as if that made up for it. Apparently more time had passed in the car than I'd thought. I realized that I was in the same position as the tentacled thing. A very small part of keeping me was to protect me from the world; it was mostly to protect the world from me. Was I really capable of causing that much damage? I'm only a teenager. I'm a 16 year old girl from Ohio. Why is it deeper than that? What did I do to deserve this?

By now I've decided that I'm sick of panicking and freaking out. I'm simply not going to feel anything at all. It's easier to feel than pain and panic, which is what I'm really feeling right now. And I'm also feeling that Liz's mind is mostly gone, a helpful turn of events. With her gone, I can think clearer and relax (just a little, considering the current events). I lose myself in my own thoughts as we travel down the hallway, ignoring the strange things in the rooms we pass and the men and women who come up to Liz and our escorts with seemingly important information. I didn't notice, at first, when a tall, thin, blue fish-man joined our party.

This first thing that comes to my attention was the way he talked. Normal tone, but the way he strung his words together seemed like it belonged in an old movie. He sounded intellectual and soft-spoken, where as the other people who spoke around us were harsher and more terse. My subconscious sounded a silent alarm that something was different, and I tuned into their conversation.

"I'm worried about her, she's been in shock for the last two days. No response since we first spoke at the stadium. I think what she... does is similar to you, only she has to come in contact with the person..."

"It's natural for her to panic, and for you to worry. You and she are very similar, which is the most likely cause for your concern."

"Still, I wish there was something I could do. She lost everything in that fire, and it was completely my fault. I knew what she could do; yet I still let her touch me. I invited her to do this to herself. It's awful. I feel awful."

A tugging in the back of my (her) brain, and a whispered "I wish the Professor were here." told me what she didn't want to say. It must have been a strong desire for it to break through; she was so weak by now in my mind. I realized with a wave of exhaustion that I was weak as well. I think Liz noticed this because she touched my shoulder lightly where I was covered by my... I never got a chance to change out of my clothes from my track visit where I first met Liz. I was dismayed to find that I smelled like sweat and smoke and my clothes hung in burnt shreds around me. Now, I looked like a proper freak to match my strange abilities.

I heard once that people cry when they're frustrated or angry, and not when they're sad. I was feeling all of these, plus more, when I was ushered into a huge room that I first thought was a library. The walls were completely covered with shelves upon shelves of books, with the exception of one wall that held an aquarium. I breathed in and smelled the scent of old books. In my state, my reaction was delayed, but I thought the word 'sanctuary' when the office became clear to me. It took me another few beats to realize that the empty aquarium was for the fish-man (who's name I still didn't know). A chair was offered to me, and I gratefully took it. That was the point at which my angry, frustrated, sad, panicked, confused tears started flowing. That was anothing thing to add to my list. Sick of panicking, of freaking out, and of crying. So much for feeling nothing.

Somewhere in my mind it registered that a voice near me said that I was overwhelmed and in shock. A familiar woman's voice told someone named Abe to tell someone named HB (what kind of name is that?) to go away. She (who is she? me?) isn't ready; give her some time, poor thing.

Passing out seemed like the best option at this point, although there was really nothing I could do to stop it if I had wanted to.