"What else?" I press him, quieter this time, less forceful, all the while stroking his hand soothingly, an action so unlike my character that it seems unnatural; the way skin brushes against skin.

I realize that I haven't had an injection of zydrate yet in four days, and even though my mind is buzzing frantically, there are none of my usual symptoms present.

Everett is quiet, still staring at his feet, purposely not meeting my eyes. "I'm not sure if this is one hundred percent correct, I mean, the doctors could be wrong, but..." he starts, barely on an audible level. "The doctors did a DNA scan, to see who I could have possibly inherited this blood disease from, you know? Because there have only been a few cases of it ever recorded; it's sickeningly rare." Everett's voice remains in a quiet monotone that frightens me; makes my blood run cold.

His eyes are even stonier now, darker, as if he doesn't want to continue. Everett's lips are pressed together firmly, and creases in his furrowed forehead look like they'll never disappear. He's attempting to be nonchalant about the subject, but failing greatly. If something can bother Everett (and me) this much, it's got to be horrid.

"I..." His voice cracks painfully. "I'm… closely related to... Brother to…" He breaks off, digging his fingernails into his scalp in frustration. "Ugh, I can't even fucking say it, it feels so damn horrible!"

"It?" I ask curiously, slipping an index finger underneath his chin so his eyes meet mine.

"The name. Her name."

"What is meant by 'her'?" I inquire. "And why is she so bad? I can't recall anyone in our history who would possibly earn a bad reputation from you, of all people."

"Shilo. Shilo Wallace."

Those three simple words are enough to make my nails dig into Everett's perfectly sculpted hand as I attempt to stifle an ear-splitting shriek. "Shilo Wallace? Are they sure? But... How? I thought that her mother died while giving birth to her!" I halfway yell in confusion and absolute shock. "How could you be her brother?"

"Marni- was poisoned by my father," Everett corrects automatically. "That's how she died. Nathan gave her the wrong cure." He hangs his head a bit lower, ever-so-slightly, as if in shame. "Apparently, I'm the eldest. Shilo is two years my junior. I-"

I stare at him incredulously, lips pursed in deep thought. "This is crack," I muse to myself. "Complete and utter crack. So my boyfriend is directly related to the owner of GeneCo, the very company we're trying to avoid at all possible costs. Great. Wonderful." I look up at him. "So, we're going to have to skirt the law and GeneCo to get you a cure that doesn't make you die, all while trying not to be killed? Awesome." I mutter sarcastically.

"And there's one more thing." Everett's voice squeaks.

"Yes?"

"Shilo wants me to meet her at the GeneCo headquarters with Rotti. In forty-five minutes." His voice has gone completely flat. "They want me to help Shilo find a cure- for the both of us." He stands up, striding out of the room without saying another word.

"Shit. Zydrate, here I come."

vi. [Everett]

I'm more than cautious as I step into the headquarters of GeneCo. My senses are sharpened, muscles taut, ready to spring at any unwarranted movements from the henchmen.

My metal-bottomed shoe clicks with every step I take, the sound choked out by

all of the thick silence hanging in the air. Even so, I wince every time I take a step on this tiled floor.

I approach the desk, remaining a good two feet away from the teenage girl sitting there. She's of a threatening presence, despite the fact that I know her hair is actually a wig covering up her baldness, and the cup of liquid sitting to the right corner on her desk is not tequila, not vodka, it's her blood pressure medicine.

"Hello, Everett. Thank you for coming here today. You may sit." Shilo motions to the chair behind me, her voice clipped, sounding deadpan. She seems detached, with a firm politeness.

"Thank you," I answer gruffly, "But no thank you. I feel much more comfortable standing." I nod, acknowledging her, while I study her face for any signs of treachery. She has a mask plastered on, it seems, I don't think she'll ever let it slip while I'm around.

There's an awkward silence that hangs in the air for a few moments, but it feels

like a few hours before Shilo finally breaks it. "So, I expect you know already why I summoned you here?"

Summoned. It makes her sound like a monarch, not the president of a company. "Yes, I do believe so," I reply stiffly. "We are… siblings." I spit out that disgusting s-word as if it burns my tongue and I can't wait to extinguish the tiny flame inside my mouth.

"The idea of us being related doesn't quite appeal to you." It's not a question; Shilo speaks it as a statement. She can tell that I'm clearly uncomfortable being around her, let alone being in GeneCo. "Why? You should have no reason to feel this way." Shilo tilts her head slightly to the side almost mockingly, as if she knows about the surgeries and all the zydrate injections I've obtained from the black market.

"Oh, for obvious reasons," I say, attempting to stay vague on the subject. "It's just a little strange... Plus, you do have that reputation." I point out to her. "Are you nineteen? I was told that I was two years your senior."

"Right. You're twenty-one, then. We have a two-year age difference."

"I have a question before Rotti comes in. Why didn't I inherit GeneCo? I'm the eldest, after all." I ask, my eyebrows knitting together furiously.

"Your existence was unknown, you remained elusive for some time. There were no recorded DNA tests, and I don't even know if your surgeries are filed here." Shilo throws a manilla file at me. "This is your personal file, Everett. I extracted one certain paper out of it, though, did you notice?"

I shake my head.

"It contains your GeneCo-operated surgeries, Everett. According to it, you have never had a surgery. Is this true?" Her black eyes scan my own, and I wonder how on earth we are siblings.

"Never had one." I stare at her, my head held high as I affirm the false statement. "Have you?"

"No, never." She shakes her head almost sadly. "My condition won't allow it. Nathan—he always told me that I was so beautiful, even without a surgery. Looks like you inherited my good looks." She suspects nothing.

"You mean, you inherited my good looks," I correct her. "I suppose Marni was rather pretty, also."

Before Shilo has a change to respond, Rotti waddles in, two female bodyguards in tow. He nods to both of us as he takes the seat meant for me. I move over to the side, so we form a triangle. "Hello, Shilo… Everett?"

"Yes, that's his name. Greetings, Rotti," Shilo says. "I suspect we should get on with the meeting now, no?"

"Let us."

"Everett, you have my blood disease, no?" Shilo looks at me, pointedly avoiding Rotti's hardened gaze. "You need medications, like me, but they're only going to work for so long…"

"To cut to the point, we need a cure. I, myself, am not going to live much longer anyway. Everett, I'm an old, fat man. If I die, and Shilo dies, there's not going to be an owner of GeneCo," Rotti tells me, his face straight.

"So, you expect me to help find you one?" I question.

"No. We expect you to undergo heavy testing, every other day, with me," Shilo says. "Rotti is going to try various things on us, but I can't tell you if it'll work…"

My gaze travels up to the raised metal ceiling, before nodding. "Okay. I approve of this plan."

"Good." Rotti beams, while Shilo's expression still remains somber. "We'll start testing tomorrow. See you then." He claps, and the two female bodyguards escort me to the elevator and out the front door of GeneCo.

vii. [Nicole]

I'm breathing heavily underneath my overcoat as I slip, unnoticed, into an alley out of the bounds of the city. I know I'm not supposed to be here; I know I'm not allowed to leave the city at all, unless I want to risk death punishment. But I must do this, for Everett.

I force my mind to think of him- being tested in a lab with Rotti and Shilo, the radiations seeping into his body and organs. He can't afford repossession if the lasers damage him. This is just another motivation for me to enact my plan.

Quietly, I knock on a wooden, half-rotted door. "Hello?" I whisper, my mind devoid of everything except for saving Everett.

Thirteen and a half days.

Thirteen and half days that I've been without zydrate, without any surgery.

Thirteen and half days that I've been working for Leslie as a graverobber.

Thirteen and a half days that I've been risking my life to find Everett a cure- by working and hunting down possible anti-GeneCo surgeons.

I've been avoiding the zydrate as much as possible, because I realize, with a clear mind, it's easier to think, plan, and react. It also helps my appearance- I don't look quite as baggy-eyed, my already pale complexion not as grayed. The surgeons want to help you much more when they know you're not just hallucinating.

I rap the door one more time, before starting to turn away in disgust, but the door opens. I spin back around, trying to recover myself.

"Greetings," the old man rasps. "Come inside, I may be able to help you." He nods, standing to the side to let me in.

"Thanks," I say gratefully, shrugging the cold away as I step into the eerily dark home. "What did you say your name was again?"

The old man hesitates for a moment, before answering in a wavering voice, "Nathan. Nathan Wallace."