Beatrice:

  I stood in the Slipstream, fighting the infinite expanse of choice. The distance between Firestorm and me felt insurmountable. If I didn’t find him soon, I might never get the chance to fix it.

  I shouldn’t have let him leave. I should have stopped him, said something, anything, to make him stay.

  “Where are you, Firestorm?”

  Portals of probability swirled around me, leaving me paralyzed by the sheer number of paths to explore. I was falling deeper down the rabbit hole, addicted to probing every second of the timeline.

  “We’re all searching for something in the Slipstream,” Beatrice had said to me.

  How true. First, I was searching for my mom, but now I’ve lost my dad too. Will I ever find them?

  Portals danced around in the void, drifting like shimmering mirages, each taunting me with the promise of elsewhere.

  I moved toward a portal twinkling with a scene of me flying through Twin Flames on Firestorm’s back on its glassy surface.

  A wave of electricity emanating from the portal sent tingles through my fingers as I neared.

  Before I entered the stream, a drone emerged from the fire-encircled vortex.

  I flinched, every muscle snapping tight.

  Leaning in closer to investigate, two more drones came out of the gateway to the past.

  They darted over to the next portal and entered.

  Spinning around, I realized drones were everywhere, like ants at a picnic. They infested the place, darting in and out of portals looking for…

  “What are they looking for? How did they get in here? Is Beatrice up to new tricks?” I asked aloud, processing the bewildering number of drones.

  Their chorus of clicking noises made my skin crawl.

  I’d grill Beatrice later, but for now, I had to decide which stream to experience next. I moved through the Slipstream tunnel, calling out for Firestorm.

  “Come on, Dad. Can’t we talk about it?” I ran my fingers through the red streak in my hair.

  No answer.

  “I’m sorry, Firestorm.” My chest tightened as I prayed for his return, the desire gripping me like a vice.

  “Please, let’s start over.” My unsteady voice echoed in the Slipstream, falling on deaf ears.

  “If I can’t help my real dad, maybe I should visit Pops one more time. Maybe he’ll know what to do.”

  In the flurry of my overnight promotion at Life Rite, I never said goodbye to Baxter. I craved his love, support, and quirky catchphrases.

  Thinking of seeing my Pops before he died, the perfect portal presented itself. The Life Rite hospital ward rippled onto the screen of the vortex.

  If only it were always this easy to find the right moment.

  Time blurred as I stepped over the threshold, light bending as the portal engulfed me, transporting me into the past.

  I woke up in a Life Rite hospital room in the nasty gown that exposed my backside. My gunshot wound was fresh.

  I forgot that detail. It sucked to experience that aching pain again.

  It must have been torture for Firestorm to relive his days in the cage as Zayne to show me his history with Life Rite.

  Would he forgive me for working with the people who tortured him?

  I winced and sat up in the hospital bed.

  I hadn’t quite mastered taking my physical body into the Slipstream, but had learned how to experience the streams fully rather than watching on the outskirts. Now the portals I entered immersed me fully, and therefore, I was able to act through the familiar scenes in new ways to change the experience.

  The door to the pristine white room opened, and this time, I knew who it was.

  “Hey Beatrice,” I said casually. “Nice dress. Have Jeffrey add it to my closet.”

  “Excuse me?” Beatrice raised an eyebrow.

  Her sidekick, Alpha, hovered above her right shoulder.

  “Please don’t get up,” she added. “You’re hurt and need to rest.”

  “I’m fine. I’d like to see my Pops, Baxter.”

  “Jackie Cooper is the janitor involved in Incident R64,” Alpha said robotically.

  “Ah, yes, Jackie. I remember you.” Beatrice smiled. “What an eventful week for you.”

  “Enough with the small talk. Where’s Baxter?”

  “I’m not sure who you’re talking about.” Beatrice went into her clearly prepared speech. “Well, Jackie. I have good news and bad news for you.”

  “Yes, I know. I have the PX virus. Yes, I’ll be your test subject and give you my blood. Everyone has a price.” I shrugged. “But first, take me to see my Pops, Baxter.”

  Beatrice pouted her lower lip. “I’m sorry, Jackie. He didn’t make it.”

  Her words were a punch to the throat. My heart shattered into a million pieces.

  “You told me you tried to save him, gave him top-of-the-line care.”

  She cocked her head, confused. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

  “Great. Now I know the truth. You didn’t try to save him. Geez, you’re so manipulative!”

  My jaw clenched thinking about him dying in the street to protect me from her. Yet I was still Life Rite’s prisoner, albeit a willing one.

  I had to go back further in time, before Baxter got shot. Maybe I could alter the timeline and save his life.

  I looked Beatrice dead in the eye. “I hope Firestorm locked you in a cage in another stream somewhere.”

  Beatrice squinted, trying to piece together the clues I spewed, but it didn’t matter. This was an old simulation.

  My eyes rolled into my head as I slipped out of that stream.

  Back in the void, surrounded by the sea of probabilities, I flew through the Slipstream tunnel, searching for a portal earlier in the timeline—that fateful morning when Baxter and I stumbled upon my first Wellness Checkpoint.

  Portals whipped past in a blur, none of them containing what I sought.

  “Where is it? The Slipstream is such a confusing place.”

  The chaos of my mind conjured portals containing one traumatic memory after another. My mother abandoning me, getting denied food at Joe’s Place, being stalked by Life Rite’s hitman in the dungeon. I had to choose which wound to heal first, knowing every decision would unravel a thread of the past.

  I shook my head and closed my eyes to start fresh. “I’m always with you, Pops. Trust is the glue that holds families together.”

  A small smile peeked through as if Pops were near, and when I opened my eyes, the right portal presented itself, showcasing Life Rite’s Wellness Checkpoint.

  Maybe I’m finally getting the hang of this.

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  I took a deep breath and entered, ready to change the past and save my Pops.

  Reality fractured, a rainbow of colors creating impossible patterns as I traveled through time.

  Back to that fateful day, Baxter and I hit the PX checkpoint, where a thick mob of people waited to enter the subway station.

  The polluted air clawed at my throat, forcing a harsh cough. A layer of dirt coated my tongue, a detail easily forgotten once I became a Flyer with access to clean air and water.

  I craned my neck to see what was going on up ahead.

  Police cars, Life Rite vans, and uniformed officers clogged the entrance to the underground metro.

  “Beatrice’s checkpoint,” I said with a sigh. “Here we go again. Time to change the course of history.”

  Baxter’s eyes darted around. His arms were tense, hands balled into fists. He was on edge. Now I knew why he didn’t want me to go through the checkpoint.

  How much does Pops know about my genetic mutation?

  I tried to steel myself for what came next. The police officer who shot at us waved the line forward.

  “Maybe we should go another way,” Baxter suggested.

  “Agreed. Let’s get out of here.” I nodded.

  We turned and walked into the fray.

  I heard a woman ask, “What does that mean? Do I have the PX virus?”

  They dragged the poor lady kicking and screaming toward the Life Rite van, ignoring her frantic pleas.

  Murmurs trickled through the restless mob waiting to pass.

  I pulled Baxter’s arm and wrapped him in a hug. “Pops, I know the truth about my mom.”

  He pulled away, eyes wide. “You know how special you are?”

  His unwavering faith hit me deeply, my vision blurring with tears.

  “How much do you know about my true identity, Pops?”

  That incessant clicking sound interrupted our conversation. Alpha scanned the crowd with its facial recognition laser.

  “Come on.” Baxter pulled me onward. “We’ll talk more later.”

  I hid my face with my hands to evade Alpha’s evil eye.

  We made our way through the sea of Climbers, which was no easy feat. Shoulder after shoulder knocked us about.

  Baxter whispered, “Whatever you do, don’t go through one of those checkpoints. Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Trust is the glue that holds families together,” Baxter reminded me.

  A warm flush spread across my chest, and I pulled Pops into another hug. “Thanks for taking such good care of me.”

  We held each other tight. I didn’t want to let him go.

  “Hey, you two! Get back in line. Time to comply,” the officer shouted.

  “Crap, we fell into the same probability.”

  The guard drew his gun from its holster to force compliance.

  Baxter grabbed my hand, and we broke into a sprint.

  My back tingled as we ran away from the gun pointed at us.

  “Freeze!” he screamed.

  We kept running, our feet kicking up dust as we pounded the pavement.

  I looked back as he trained his gun on Baxter. This time, I bumped him out of the way.

  The pistol fired.

  Searing pain ripped through my gut, hot metal tearing through flesh. The world blurred as pain exploded inside me. Time slowed, each second stretching as agony pulsed with every heartbeat.

  I fell to my knees and grabbed my stomach. Blood poured from my fresh wound.

  This time, Baxter came to my side.

  “Run,” I yelled to Pops. “You deserve to live.”

  “I’ll protect you until my last breath.” Instead of listening to my advice, Baxter clasped my hand and wrapped my arm around his neck, his aging frame trembling as he struggled to carry me.

  My knees buckled as I put weight on my feet, my bleeding abdomen pulling the strings.

  We hobbled forward, surrounded by growing chaos.

  The officer came after us, weaving his way through the agitated crowd stirring around him.

  “I love you, Pops,” I said through tears, a bloodbath all over my janitor jumpsuit.

  “Stop! Comply now.” Another shot rang out.

  Pops’ body went rigid, then limp.

  We fell into a bloody pile in the filthy street.

  I stared into Baxter’s glazed eyes. “Pops, stay with me.”

  “I’m sorry, pumpkin. I did the best I could.”

  “How can I repay you for all you’ve done?” I sobbed.

  “You already have, pumpkin. You gave my life meaning.”

  Baxter’s eyes fluttered closed, and the warmth drained from his hand as it fell to the ground, heavy and motionless.

  “Goodbye, Pops,” I whispered, but he didn’t hear me. He was already gone.

  Someone from the crowd threw a homemade grenade into a storefront.

  The bomb exploded, sending flames, debris, and Project One Life flyers into the toxic air.

  I sat up, cradling Pops in my arms, and stared into the fire. The flickering blaze swept me away from the tragic scene.

  My eyes rolled back, and I slipped out of the stream, leaving no better off than when I started.

  Despite my meddling, Baxter still died.

  I returned to the Slipstream void with shoulders slumped, chin to chest, defeated.

  New sparks rained around me, feeding my addiction to the perpetual pursuit, but the rush of seeking was gone.

  I peered over the countless probabilities before me. Lost and alone, I didn’t know where to go next.

  “Firestorm is nowhere to be found, and I can’t save Pops. I have no interest in running future scenarios about dumb business deals.” I pouted.

  Yet I wasn’t ready to leave.

  The high from this place made the real world dull and grey. A sense of dread filled my stomach at the thought of returning to the fact that I betrayed my parents, Firestorm, Zayne, and Grace.

  A faraway spark glittered in the distance, winking through the thin veil of atmosphere. It flickered in irregular beats as though it carried a secret. It captivated my attention, so I moved toward it.

  As I approached, the spark grew, blooming into a swirling wormhole to a simple moment from my childhood.

  “Yes, this will be the perfect experience to ground me.” With a deep breath, I went into the past stream long forgotten.

  Back to the home I was born into, before I moved into the duplex on Wright Road with the cracked brick.

  I forgot about this place.

  It was spacious and clean, a palace compared to communal living with Pops and our endless string of grubby roommates.

  I looked at my stubby toddler body standing in a crib. I jumped into a version of myself about two-years-old.

  My mom sat on the floor folding laundry.

  Sheer curtains danced in the breeze. The sun shone in from the open window, illuminating Grace’s glossy blonde hair, tinged red from the Grid-light pouring in.

  She looked like an angel.

  I laughed, and she moved toward the crib.

  Grace spoke to me in baby talk. “Hi. Hi. How’s my little love? Huh? How are you doing? Hi.”

  I tried to talk, but it came out as gobbledygook.

  Grace smiled and kissed my nose.

  Her citrus perfume delighted me.

  Seeing her face up close, dark circles hugged her eyes. Her skin was pale. She coughed, a little at first, then retched violently.

  “You okay?” Zayne raced into the nursery.

  “I’m fine,” Grace lied. “Just a little cough.”

  “Please go to a doctor. There’s an elder in my village who—”

  “No! We’re never going back to that damn island, okay?”

  “Okay…” Zayne raised his hands in surrender.

  Trying to soften the blow, Grace stood and hugged him. She ran her hands over the back of his arms, his wings awkwardly stuffed into a baggy, long-sleeved shirt.

  He recoiled at her touch. “Stop.”

  “What’s the matter, Zayne?”

  “Nothing. I don’t talk, okay?”

  “Try again,” Grace chided.

  Zayne sighed. He said with extra enunciation, “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  “That’s better. How do you expect to get a job if you don’t speak proper English? Now, come here. I want to see that patch of skin on your neck. It’s getting worse.”

  “No,” Zayne screamed, startling me and my mom.

  “Not in front of the baby.” Grace crossed her arms. “You don’t have to get defensive. I’m trying to help. I have so many nice creams.”

  “Creams won’t help, Grace,” Zayne said. “Leave it.”

  I called out from my crib. “Don’t leave it. Dad, make sure she goes to the doctor. She needs more Life Rite to survive. And Mom, look at his skin. He’s still mutating. You’ve got to help each other.”

  My wisdom fell on deaf ears because I was a toddler in this stream, unable to speak.

  “What’s the use, anyway? You can’t change the past.”

  A portal opened, and a drone entered the stream. It explored the room like a fly, zipping around at dizzying speed with its red scanner surveying every detail.

  I pointed and yelled for my parents to see, but they were too busy arguing.

  The drone pricked Grace’s neck, stealing a blood sample.

  “Zayne, I don’t—” She stopped mid-sentence, a glaze covering her eyes.

  The drone’s insides glowed as her blood flooded into its belly. It blinked its eye several times; click, click, click.

  A screw fell from its eyelid and landed on the carpet. It lit on fire, and the hot metal expanded and warped, heat coursing through every molecule.

  I jumped in my crib, raising a ruckus.

  The metal grew larger and more malleable, mutating into a replica drone.

  It cloned itself!

  The entire transformation took only a few seconds.

  My toddler cheeks turned beet red as I cried and pointed at the drones, but my parents ignored me.

  “Grace? Grace?” Zayne shook her, but she didn’t react.

  A vacant look settled in her eyes.

  The replica drone pricked Zayne’s neck.

  As it synthesized his blood, he zoned out, too.

  My parents froze like zombies, as if the drones sucked their souls from this outdated simulation.

  A molten screw fell from the replica and landed in my crib.

  I clutched my blanket, too helpless to scream, too scared to look away.

  The hot metal expanded and morphed into a third drone.

  They moved into position, cutting off every escape. With needles drawn, the drones were hovered, poised to steal my blood and turn me into a ghost.