Stray by Rachael Craw

strains beneath the bonds. Tubes from the back of the chair pump something into the veins of his forearms. Soon, his breathing slows, grows deeper, his eyelids droop and his whole body relaxes.
    Nervous, I turn away from the young man to face the observation room. I can’t see them behind the black glass, but I know they’re waiting for me to begin. My reflection shows a much younger Felicity and I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. “Activate Symbiosis.”
    The light dims, the walls of glass shimmer like they’re filled with liquid.
    “Proxy?” I say with Felicity’s voice.
    Nothing happens.
    “Child?”
    The black glass flickers then instantly all three walls transform. Each one displays a confusing mass of pearling shadow. Finally, an image erupts on the screens: a woman’s face, distorted, razor-edged in some places, bleeding colour in others.
    There’s another sharp tug on my wrist. My eyes open on the warm light of Miriam’s kitchen. Ears ringing, dazed by the voices and jostling around me, I come to. It takes me a moment to figure out what’s going on. Miriam has hold of my wrist and Jamie restrains my shoulders. Tesla props Felicity up in her chair. Pale and sweating, her breathing ragged. Her wide black pupils retract, returning colour to her irises, but the look of shock remains. “She can Harvest.”

IMPLANT
    Miriam releases her grip and sits back. Jamie lets me go and returns to his chair. Everyone breathes heavily like there has been a brawl while I was under. My joints are jelly and I sway in my seat.
    “You’re bleeding,” Miriam says.
    I sniff to stop the warm ooze of blood, bringing my knuckle to my nose. Miriam grabs the tissue box from the windowsill. I press a handful of tissues to my nostril, tipping my head back.
    Miriam fills a glass at the sink and brings it to me, closing my hand around it, then she sits and exhales through her lips. “Her abilities are very advanced,” she says.
    Tesla looks at each of us, his frown still buckled tight, and I brace for a reprimand like he caught me fighting on school grounds, but he nods. “Not an exaggeration.”
    I blink at the sharp definition of details. My pupils must have dilated with the let-down of adrenaline. I blink, trying to readjust.
    Miriam pats my hand. “They’ll come right.”
    I try to slow my breaths but I can still see the little girl floating in the tank and the young man strapped to the chair in the room of black glass, his terror. Nausea lingers with the image. I don’t want to look at Felicity or feel bad for invading her thoughts. I don’t care if she’s offended or if she feels judged. I don’t care what the Affinity Project thinks about me at all … or at least I don’t want to care. I force myself to meet her gaze but the accusation and hostility I expect doesn’t show in her face. She appears exhausted and lost, like she has no idea where to begin. My chest tightens. What has she read in my signal? Is it bad? Is there something wrong with me?
    The irony of worrying about whether or not I’m enough of a freak for the freak show. I sit back, hating my desperate curiosity.
    “Felicity?” Tesla prompts.
    She looks at me and my gaze goes to her pale hand. Keeping her expression even, she withdraws both hands from the table. “If I didn’t know you were new,” she says, her voice husky and soft, “I would assume you had been active three or four years.”
    A chair scrapes. Miriam gets to her feet, her mouth opening and closing. She runs her hand up into her hair and turns away to the counter. Jamie finally looks at me, his brow knotted.
    “What?” I say, feeling truly nauseous now. “Is – is that bad?”
    “Uncommon,” Tesla says, staring.
    “How long does she have?” Miriam asks, watching Tesla, her expression fierce.
    “For what?” My voice goes high. “How long do I have for what?”
    “If her DNA locks, there’s no chance for Deactivation,” Miriam says.
    “What – what do you mean,