Jason stared at the screen. "He's...singing."

The first guard nodded, jowls wiggling. "Ever since he woke up. Just clear out of the blue he looked at the camera and started singing."

"You should have heard his rendition of the 1812 Overture," said the second guard, a young woman.

Jason rubbed a hand over his face wearily. "He's definitely doing this to spite us. I'm surprised you let him get to fifteen."

The first guard shrugged. "We put him on mute and just let him sing. I mean, it's not hurting anyone, is it? And if it keeps him occupied..." he shrugged again.

---

"One bottle of beer on the wall, one bottle of beer..."

He smirked and raised his head to look at the security camera. He knew they were watching, and they knew he was watching them. Raising his voice, he belted out, "Go to the store and buy some more, ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall!"

---

Jason groaned. "Someone shut that idiot up."

The second guard shook her head. "It's no good. We gave him something earlier to try and knock him out, but it hasn't kicked in yet. I imagine he's getting rather groggy, though."

---

Elijah sighed. It had been a month since he'd last seen Tim. Jason had instantly ordered the writer handcuffed and stripped of his self-inflicted powers (a process Eli imagined to be incredibly painful) and as always his orders were leapt to. Sophia had been particularly brutal with the young man, jerking him about roughly.

"Eli, Eli," Tim had murmured, reaching out to stroke his hair gently. "Eli, I'm sorry--I never meant any of this to touch you. I never would have started my Reunion if I knew...forgive me, Eli. Forgive me."

Adrian and someone else had pulled Tim away from him, pinning his arms behind his back as Sophia cuffed him. Eli was pulled away by someone else--who it was didn't matter.

"Take him to solitary confinement," Jason ordered, cradling his broken arm and glaring at the writer. Eli knew--they all knew--that his intervention had been the only thing that had made them able to win the battle; Eli also knew that his brother would rather literally eat his words that admit as much.

"Eli--my truth!" Tim cried, struggling against Adrian. "Forgive me!"

"Someone shut him up," Jason barked, letting Keth help him downstairs.

"ELI!" Tim's voice rose to a howl.

"It's okay, Tim," Eli had whispered, staying sitting on the ground, his limpness resisting all attempts to get him to his feet. "It's okay."

Eli squeezed his eyes shut. He must have passed out or something--he couldn't remember anything else. He couldn't remember how--or if--they had silenced Tim, or how they had gotten him to solitary confinement, or anything else. The day had ended there.

He had asked around, but there were to be no questions asked about his wayward friend--people were either shut traps, tried to dissuade his questions, or revealed and reveled in the latest rumor. The rumors were wildfire, heating the air with whispers and burning up his questions. Everyone had a theory about that dark morning.

Two students killed in a car crash caused by the freak thunderstorm. No more inquiries were made as to something as simple as that. But a third student, one known for his odd behavior and even odder philosophies--he had gone missing.

His parents refused to talk about it, despite his mother's tears. The authorities had called off the search within a matter of weeks. Eli didn't know what his brother had done in order to install such complete and utter obedience from the town, but he had done it. So completely, in fact, that by now Eli would have thought all memory of the writer had been erased from the community.

And Eli had finally been allowed to see him.

So now he sat in the car outside the innocuous building, waiting for his brother to come back and escort him inside. "Wait here," he had said. Eli had felt the persuasion working on him then and he felt it now--he could unbuckle his seat belt, he could crawl around in the car as he pleased, but every time he tried to open the door and step out he would stay sitting, staring at the building through the open door. And every time, he would shut the door again. It took a particularly strong-willed person to break Jason's power, and Eli was not particularly anything.

So he sat waiting.

Time was meaningless. Eli tried to imagine what his best friend would say in response to that--something poetic and somewhat backwards, no doubt; like "meaning comes only with time" or something like that.

He was jerked out of his thoughts by Jason opening the door and snapping, "Come on." The persuasion faded and Eli left the car under his own power.

He had never been to the silent rooms before. It was spartan in furnishings and smelled like winter despite the pleasant temperature, and security screens covered one wall of the main room. A door on the opposite wall to the entrance had the sign "WARNING: SILENT ROOMS" posted on it, and Eli could only assume it was locked.

One of the two guards in the main room, a jovial if overweight old man, got up from his seat and crossed the room to shake hands with him, the other remaining impassive and staring at the screens.

"You must be Elijah. Nice to meet you--if you'll just come this way..." He led the way across the room to the locked door and unlocked it with a key tagged with a fist-sized teddy bear.

"Makes it conspicuous," the man revealed with a wink. "Harder to steal the obvious."

Eli smiled briefly, snakes of anticipation and anxiety writhing in his gut. What condition would he find Tim to be in? Jason had warned him that his friend was now certifiably insane, but what exactly would that entail? He had no idea.

It was a sterile hallway, even more like winter than the main room had been. There were doors on both sides at set intervals, but not many of them--it was a small building. The door they wanted was the first on the left.

"Forty-two bottles of beer on the wall, forty-two bottles of-- oh, hello Eli." Tim broke off his singing midsentence and smiled at Eli, who smiled back.

"Hi Tim."

The guard brought a chair and set it by the door before leaving, shaking his head and smiling sympathetically at Eli before shutting the door. The boy took a seat and looked at his friend closely. Tim noticed the scrutiny and cocked his head to one side.

"Poor little birdy, you've broken your wings."

Eli sighed. "Don't recite poetry at me, please. I've been worried sick about you--even though no one else is. How have they been treating you?"

Tim's smile was pleasantly bemused. "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood," he replied. "The path I took was the darker one."

"Tim!"

The writer sighed and leaned forward, attempting to stretch his cuffed hands above his head, but only managed to get them parallel to the bed before anatomy forced him to lower his arms again. They had not recuffed him, assumably--his hands were still cuffed behind his back. "They've done nothing to me. Worry not, my faith."

Eli brushed off the odd pet name. "I can't help but worry. You've been my best friend since forever."

Tim nodded sagely and closed his eyes. "Did we ever become blood brothers? It seems people are always doing that in the books."

"This isn't a story, Tim. It's real life."

"Story of my life," the boy mumbled, nodding again. "Real, real, real."

There was a knock on the door--Eli jumped and got up as it was unlocked and the old guard stuck his head in. "Sorry kiddo, visiting hours are over."

Eli bit his lip and nodded. The guard took the chair and held the door open for Eli, but the boy stopped in the doorway and looked back at his friend. "I'll bring something for you the next time I'm here, okay?"

"...yes dear."

As the door shut, Tim started singing again, his voice plummeting to a breathy murmur. "...beer; if one of those bottles should happen to fall...forty-one bottles of beer on the wall..."

"You know, you're extremely lucky you got to come back here at all. The silent rooms are usually off-limits..." The guard shrugged. "I take it you're planning on coming back again?"

Eli nodded soberly. "I do want to bring him something to cheer him up."

"Chocolates?"

The classic gift forced a reluctant smile from the boy. "I'm sure he'd appreciate that."

---

He awoke the next day for one reason only, and that was to shake off the stupor. He staggered upright and scooted off his bed, attempting to pace the room with the least amount of clanking from the chains.

The room was even more blinding than it had been previously. There were no windows, no light but what was given to him artificially.

It drove him mad.

Careful not to get tangled up in his own bindings, he clambered onto the bed and stood up, peering intently at one corner. He knew they could see him and he suddenly didn't care; but he did wish the bed was up against a wall instead of in the center of the room. Maybe if he asked politely they would change it.

There was a knock at the door--he ignored it. Why did they even bother knocking? Was it to alert him that someone was coming into the room and if he wanted to hide now would be the proper time? Not as if there was anywhere to hide; he remained where he was.

He wondered for the fiftieth time if he could sue for cruel and unusual punishment.

When the door opened, he assumed it was Eli on another visit--he'd promised he'd return, hadn't he?--and started speaking.

"Look at these walls. They're like giant sheets of paper--I wouldn't even have to write on them, I could just doodle all over the place. I'd start in one corner and just work my way across until the whole wall was covered..."

Smiling pleasantly, he turned around. There was a woman sitting in the chair, not Eli as he had hoped. She was scribbling in a folder and seemed rather preoccupied--at least, she wasn't looking at him.

Smile fading, he sat down and inched to the side of the bed, staring at her sideways. The motions of the pencil, the scratching of graphite on paper, the graceful sweep of the words; the cuffs around his wrists grew colder than ever and a spark of longing budded in his chest.

When she finished writing, she started speaking.

"Hello, Tim. I'm here to talk to you."

He knew why she was here. She'd taken him on as a special case and it was her current mission to transform him from murderer to normal boy. She wanted to deter him from his aims. It didn't matter--he wasn't going to try and do anything now.

"I know."

She smiled. "Good. Let's get to it."

His smirk was Cheshire. Leaning forward, he looked at her sideways and asked, "What is 'real'?"

Her reaction was perfect. She leaned back and looked at him with wide eyes. "What?"

"Real. What defines what is real? Can we talk about that?"

"Okay. What is real for you?"

He turned to face her and stared at her solemnly. "Don't try to turn the conversation towards me. This is a very interesting topic and I've been dying for a good debate. What would you define as real?"

She tapped her pencil against the folder for a moment before scribbling something else. Tim shut his eyes and gritted his teeth--she was taunting him; did she know what he could do?

"I would say that something real is something I can pick up and touch, like this pencil."

"Like these chains," Tim murmured in response, opening his eyes and looking down at the floor. There was silence for a short while as he regained control over his senses. Words were shivering across the insides of his eyelids...

"Okay. That's our definition right now, then. Something that is real is tangible." He looked at her. "What about pain? I can't pick it up and touch it--does that mean it's not real?"

She shook her head. "Pain is real. I can feel it, I know it's there."

He leaned back and cocked his head to one side. "Let's expand our definition to include emotions and sensations, then." He sat pondering his next question. "Is death real?"

"Of course!"

"But how do we know? I cannot touch death; I cannot feel it."

"Well," she spread her hands, "there's proof, isn't there? We see the bodies."

He nodded. "So for something to be real, if must either be tangible, emotive, or verifiable. That's our definition so far." His eyes wandered to the necklace she wore. "What about God?"

She smirked wryly. "How is He real?"

"Science has failed again and again to give verification. He is intangible, and while everyone can feel pain, not everyone can feel God. What argument do you have?"

She leaned back in her chair and tapped her pencil against the folder again. He shut his eyes and tried to block it out.

"Well, it's written in the Bible."

"Do you really believe everything you read?"

She smiled confusedly, looking at him with humor in her eyes. "Then how do you explain miracles? There's proof they happen."

"If coming back to life is a miracle, doctors would be prophets."

"There are some things science can't explain."

The Cheshire grin returned. "Like us."

"Yes, there is the evolution--"

He cut her off midsentence, a scowl on his features. "No. Not you. Me. Jason. The others. We are inexplicable. Our magic that is not magic. Would you argue that is the work of God?"

She blinked. "What? You're not making any sense."

"Of course not." He sighed derisively. "Fine. So God is real because the Bible says it is so. I think therefore I am?"

"What?"

He got up and paced the room, this time being careful to make as much noise with the chains as he could without picking them up and shaking them in her face. Couldn't have done that even if he'd wanted to. Stupid. He didn't like her at all. "God is intangible, so He couldn't have written the Bible himself. Ergo, man wrote the Bible. How did man know God was real before it was written fact?"

"There's no way you can prove that God doesn't exist." She continued toying with her writing utensil.

"There's no way you can prove He does!"

There was fire in his chest now. He wanted--he wanted it so badly--

She didn't say anything. He rounded on her and demanded the pencil she tapped so recklessly on her papers.

"What?"

"The pencil. Give it to me. I can prove that God isn't real--just as you can prove he is. I can make myself God if I so wish. Give me the pencil!"

She pulled in as if afraid he would strike her. Without so much as a knock, the younger guard slammed open the door and pulled her out of his way. He lunged for her, knowing his efforts would be useless but trying anyway--

--the chain grew taut, tripping him; he landed on his chest and grunted as all the air was knocked out of his lungs. His eyes snapped shut and he coughed as he tried to recapture his breath.

"Eli," he whimpered. "Eli. Don't leave me here..."

---

Another week passed before Jason allowed Eli to visit again. In that time, the days warped together for Tim. She didn't return, for which he was thankful, but the walls grew infuriatingly brighter and the cuffs chafed at his wrists. He spend most of the day immobile on his bed, eyes shut.

The first few days had been spend in a drugged sleep. He didn't want to sleep anymore.

They stopped knocking. He looked over at the door when he heard it open, squinting in the endless white.

"Tim?"

Eli. He wanted to leap up and hug him tightly, but the combination of drugs and chains kept him where he was. He shut his eyes again.

Tim heard Eli gasp, and he felt him sit down on the bed and hug him. "Are you okay?"

"Look at me." His voice was a whisper of what it had been. "Just look at me. I'm pathetic."

A tight squeeze, a touch in his palm. "You're nothing of the sort."

"I'm Prometheally chained, lost in a drugged stupor, deprived of human contact except for these wretched guards--oh, that I would yearn for what I have so long scorned, the irony!" He paused and opened his eyes, staring at the floor as his fury mounted.

Eli was speechless. It sounded like Tim, but he was not comforted by the fact.

"If there is a Hell on Earth, this is it," he spat. "If there is a fate worse than death then it is mine."

"It can't be all that bad, can it?"

Tim turned to his friend, looking like he was about to cry. "The only sleep I ever get is when they drug me so heavily that I pass out. I haven't seen the light of day in what seems like years. The very thought of being able to write again drives me absolutely mad." Another pause; he bit his lip and looked down at the floor.

Eli caressed his friend's hands and waited for him to continue. What could be said?

"I'm going insane here, Eli. Don't let me go insane. Don't leave me alone."

Eli hugged his friend tightly. "Never. No one deserves to be alone, no matter what they've done."

"Then you believe I'm a bad person."

"You did a very bad thing, Tim. I don't think you're a bad person, though."

Tim leaned into the hug, eyes glazed with thought. "Can I be saved, my hope? Can the hands of time be put back so that I never learn of my curse?"

"No. We can't reverse time."

"Is there redemption in Hell?" Tim whispered, closing his eyes. "Is there sin in Heaven? What will we find in this parallel orbit as we spiral downwards and beyond control...?"

Eli was saddened by his friend's mumblings. "I brought you something."

Tim didn't say anything, but opened his eyes and looked at Eli. It was a start, at least. Moving about, Eli reached into his pocket and pulled out a bundled-up item; unfolding it, he held it out in front of them.

"That's my hat." Tim blinked, eyes focusing on his old piece of attire. "Woah. I haven't seen that thing in--what, months? Where...?"

"You left it at my house. I'd been keeping it in my room, but hadn't touched it in...since...while you were away."

"In Hell."

Eli sighed and put the hat on the bed.

"No."

"What?"

"Put it on me," Tim begged. "I know what you're hoping, and I hope the same thing. I don't want to get lost without a flashlight."

Biting his lip, Eli nodded and put the beret on Tim, adjusting it so it fit at a jaunty angle. "You look better with it on."

The writer smiled sadly. "Thanks. Just...thanks so much." The smile grew vaguer. "Maybe next time you can bring paint and color the walls for me."

"Oh, I couldn't do that." Eli shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Jason wouldn't let me." Eli glanced up at the security camera. Tim nodded sagely.

"Ah yes. God wouldn't like it."

"Jason's not God." Eli glanced at his friend reprovingly.

Tim ignored him and shut his eyes, leaning forward as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. Eli looked back at the camera and asked, "Can they hear us?"

"Listen to the screams of the damned, yes. Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer!"

Eli cut him off. "Tim! I thought you'd stopped singing."

"I have. I do that every now and then just to piss them off. Got up--down--to thirty-three once before I got sick of it. Got to twenty another time and they came in and drugged me." Opening his eyes, he stared at the floor. "I don't know what to do anymore..."

"Tim, is there any way we can talk without them listening?" The words were whispered in Tim's ear as Eli leaned against him, his lips barely moving.

Tim bobbed his head once and kept it bowed. "Close quarters, merely a whisper. I could sue, you know. Couldn't I? Cruel and unusual punishment?"

Eli chuckled grimly. "I get the feeling even the Supreme Court couldn't keep my brother from doing this. He'd be his own lawyer and put up the best defense he could, persuasion and all."

Tim yawned. "Pardon me. I feel dreadfully rude, not being able to cover my yawns." He sat upright and looked at his friend attentively. "Do you suppose it's the drugs again?"

"I have no idea," Eli said truthfully. Giving his friend one last hug when the door suddenly opened, he got up. "I'll come back to see you again as soon as I can."

"Seawater?" Eli got the impression Tim had meant to say something else.

"I promise."

The door was gently pulled shut. Tim turned to look at the camera and stuck out his tongue before shouting, "Don't take away my promise! Don't you dare break it!"

---

Jason stared at the screen pensively. He could tell that Tim knew he was there, watching--the boy was amazingly intelligent for one so severely deranged. It didn't faze him, though; Tim knew that he would never let his little brother in the same room without surveillance, it was only obvious.

He tapped his foot impatiently. Eli was talking at him, berating him on the inhumane way his friend was being treated--chatter that had no importance. It was only after he'd repeated the word 'sue' for the fifth time that Jason had any inclination to turn to him at all.

"Eli, he's--"

"He's tied up twenty-four-seven! This is no way to treat a fellow--"

"Elijah. Don't interrupt me when I speak."

His brother stopped and crossed his arms, glaring. Jason ignored the hostility. "He's in there for his own good as well as our own. You saw just as well as I did that he is mentally damaged, and no regular sanitorium could hold him."

"Can't you just leave him in the room on his own? There's no need to cuff him!"

"There's every reason to cuff him. That foolish woman made him want to write again, and if we uncuffed him now there would be no guarentee that he wouldn't harm himself and use his blood to write on the walls."

Eli recoiled as if his brother had hit him. "That's harsh, Jason."

"It's true." Jason tapped his fingers on his cast. "He broke my arm, in case you've forgotten. He tried to kill me. I doubt he would hesitate to harm himself."

Eli bit his lip and turned away. "You're not helping him at all, you know. If he wasn't insane already, he almost certainly is now."

"Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease."

"Oh, you're absolutely infuriating!" Eli turned away from his brother and glared about the room. His eye was caught by the little pink teddy bear; it sat among a few other teddy bears of various subtler colors, assumably put there to make the object less suspicious. "Can we go yet?"

Jason's eyes narrowed. "Just wait a minute." Turning to the younger guard, he leaned close and whispered in her ear, "Don't question my orders. Switch the key to the silent rooms with another key--I have the suspicion someone might try to steal the key."

She nodded, eyes glazing over for a split second. "I'll do that."

Straightening, Jason nodded to himself, pleased; turning to his brother, he smiled. "Let's go."

---

Eli paced back and forth in his room agitatedly. He had to get Tim out of there--being locked up was having a more detrimental effect than any violent conditioning, and he knew that if given the chance the writer would return to his normal life. Eli just had to come up with the right argument to give his brother.

Halting in front of the floor-length mirror in his room, he pushed his hair out of his eyes and stared at his reflection, biting his lip. It wouldn't work. Eli didn't have any powers. There was nothing he could do.

He collapsed and put his head in his hands. It hurt too much to cry; just a dull ache in his chest. Completely and utterly helpless--it was a horrible feeling.

Eli squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a few seconds, watching the black circles dance on the insides of his eyelids. He couldn't go to anyone in HAPGI, because they would report directly to one of the Watchers if there was any question of treason--it wouldn't matter that he was Jason's brother. The rebellion had grown too close to the center of the organization for anyone to be above suspicion anymore.

He opened his eyes in shock as another option presented itself. It would be much too dangerous, and if he were caught he would almost certainly go to prison. Was that a risk he was willing to take?

---

Tim's hat had fallen onto the floor. He must have fallen asleep, because he couldn't recall how else it would have gotten there. Sitting on the bed, he stared at it, not willing to try and pick it up with his feet; he could have done it, certainly, but he didn't really want to.

Besides, even if he picked it up, he wouldn't be able to get it back on his head. It did just as much good on the floor as it did on the bed, so it may as well just stay there.

He sighed, but didn't close his eyes. It helped. He could just stare at his hat and the blindness would go away for a little bit--it remained at the edges, nibbling at his peripherals, but it helped some.

Things had started flickering a while ago. He wondered if that was a result of the whiteness or the spot of green in the sea of nothingness.

"Hello Tim."

He blinked and looked up. There was a person standing next to his bed--nothing particularly remarkable about them. At least, not unless you counted the burn marks across their face.

"Who are you? A hallucination?"

They laughed. The scars pulled at their face. Tim looked away, back to his hat. It sat serenely on the floor, unmoving.

"I'm not a hallucination in the regular sense of the word, but yes, you could say that I am."

"Then what are you?"

"Someone who can get you out of here."

"Scar." Tim shut his eyes. "An escape from Hell to the Twilight Zone, and am I willing to pass through the door? Curiouser and curiouser."

They laughed again. "We're willing to help you get out. Stop being cryptic and give a straight yes or no."

"Were you sent by my blessing? Blesser. Blessed. Or are you an angel of this god?" He jerked his head in the direction of the camera. "Sin in Heaven."

"I was sent by the people who stand against him and his organization." There was no sound, no touch. Tim kept his eyes shut. "We were contacted and asked to fetch you."

"Then you know about us. About me."

"About what you can do, yes."

Tim opened his eyes and glared at the person. "I won't stand against my truth, Scar. I won't be your puppet."

They met his stare coolly. "We weren't asking you to."

"It's a conditional," Tim said, returning his gaze to the hat. "You will set me free if and only if I agree to join your cause. But I won't. I don't want to get involved in your war again--I made that mistake once, never again."

They laughed again. "Is that so? Well! Do you want out or not?"

"Yes. I want out. I want out."

"Then we'll come for you. Is tomorrow good for you?"

Tim rolled his head around, relishing the cracks. "Knock before you come in."

They laughed. He glanced over and they were gone. "How rude. He didn't even say goodbye."

He slept again to pass the time. He was awoke by a sharp slap.

"Sit up."

He obeyed. "Hello Scar."

"Who's Scar?" This person was a young woman--she reminded him of Eli, but that might have just been the skirt. Yes, most definitely. She actually looked more like the younger of the two beastly guards. Actually, she looked exactly like her.

"He's a hallucination. Very rude, too. You look like one of the angels guarding Eden."

She snorted and picked at the cuffs. "I'd heard you were bonkers..."

"I say, do you have a pencil?"

He felt her press it into his hands. "Now stay still while I get these off."

He rubbed his fingers against the smooth wood of the pencil, the soft rubber eraser, the dull point; the fire rekindled in his chest, his mind grew clearer than it had been in weeks. "Just get rid of these cuffs and get me out of here. Then we part."

There was a click. It took him a few moments to realize that she had sawed through the links of the chain, and when he did he gently eased his arms forward, mumbling swear words at how sore and stiff they were. His shoulders ached.

He fell off the bed onto the floor and grabbed his hat. The material felt rough and lovingly worn, a friendly reminder of his old self. He heard the girl--woman?--move to the floor.

"Don't bother." He turned and scribbled on the manacle, smiling to himself when the chain snapped and released his ankle.

"Free at last, free at last," he hissed, pulling himself into a crouch and staring at the pencil with delight. Somewhere in his mind he noticed that his wrists were red with the residue of blood and ringed with scars, but he didn't care. He was free, and even the best author in time--Shakespeare, Tolkein, God Himself--could not come up with words to describe the joy he felt in that.

She was staring at him. He looked at her and smiled. "I take it the rumors are nothing compared to the real thing." She shook her head, eyes wide. He rose to his feet, sweeping the hat off the floor and onto his head as he rose. "Shall we go?"

Crossing her arms, her stare grew critical. "I don't see how you could still need my help."

"Idiot. You seem to have gotten in here easily enough, but there's no way I'll be allowed to walk out of here." He rubbed his wrists tenderly, sticking the pencil behind his ear in a businesslike fashion.

She sighed and got up, opening the door. "C'mon, then." She led him out of the hallway into the main room, where Tim saw both guards asleep at their seats. The doppleganger walked over to the younger guard and tucked a key into her pocket, then led him outside.

There was a car waiting for them. She raced towards it and took shotgun, but before Tim could get in the car tore off. Looking up the road, Tim smiled as he saw three more cars approaching--these he recognized. One was Keth's.

The driver of the first car saw them too, tearing off the road in an attempt to escape them; they crashed into a tree. Tim pulled the pencil from behind his ear and jotted something on his arm, turning on his heel and walking away from the chaos.

"Tim! Stop right there!"

Keth's car had screeched to a halt behind him. He turned again, remaining where he was. He could see the occupants of one of the other cars chasing after the doppleganger woman and the driver of her car.

"Take them into custody. I don't care. I don't know them." Tim twirled the pencil in his fingers and stared at Jason coolly.

"I'm not just going to let you go."

Tim turned away. "I don't care. You can't stop me with that arm of yours."

"Stop!"

"How does it feel to be normal, Jason?"

"God dammit, Tim, freeze!" Tim kept walking, but turned again so his back wasn't to his opponent.

"That's all I want, Jason. I don't want to be involved in your civil war, and I don't want to be a prisoner of it. I just want to be left alone."

"You know that's not possible."

There was the sound of a gunshot. Neither man looked away from the other, and Tim sighed.

"I'm going to try anyway. I refuse to believe that there can be no one who is not involved."

"Tim!"

"I'm leaving." He wrote something on his arm and vanished.