They were rude. Not quite unbearably so, but nearer than was comfortable for Adele.

The three acted like they belonged to a secret club of which they were the only members. They shared inside jokes, jargon and slang that flew over Adele’s head, until she lost any idea what half of their words meant and what their conversations were even about.

“I’ve almost finished the script for the first batch.”

“Only the first?”

“Not entirely certain how the Z-types are going to react. For all I know, I’m just making them angrier.”

“No, I meant: all this time, and you’re only on the first?”

“I’d like to see you try to script.”

Adele didn’t dare intrude with a question lest she receive a death glare from Danah. There were flamethrowers that left less destruction in their wake. Not that her behaviour was unjustified; Adele wouldn’t trust herself either and, as the trio’s elitism indicated, she trespassed on hallowed ground. She was lucky they allowed her the privilege of their company at all, ignored or not.

The tea party never ended. Whenever the pot ran dry, any one of the three would fetch another. Eventually some frozen crumpets were retrieved from the refridgerator and toasted, butter slathered on to overpower the freezer burn, and some stale cookies that were more chemical than organic were found in the back of the cupboard. They had the makings of a proper “tea party,” as far as Adair was concerned.

Sooner rather than later — she was drinking an abnormal amount of tea, after all — Adele excused herself to the washroom, grateful for the breathing space. If not for the fact she had endured worse experiences, she probably would have left altogether.

The bathroom was less of a respite than expected. The mirror revealed the smudging beneath her eyes that had once been eyeliner, the sickly yellow tinge to her tan skin, and, oh glory, her hair. It was a few more days of not showering away from transformation into dreadlocks, haloed around her head in a greasy black cloud that was not at all attractive.

Of course they looked at her with disdain. She looked like a schizophrenic vagrant ready to lunge at the first hint of paranoia.

You’ve looked worse, she reminded herself. Just usually closer to the end of your grand adventures, not the beginning.

The knock at the door startled her. She unlocked it, but Magnus pushed his way in before she could touch the knob.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” she said.

“Were we getting to be too much for you?”

“A while back, yeah.” Honesty remained the best policy in her mind. She scritched behind her ear, itchy now that she was all too aware of how desperately she needed a shower. “Did you need the bathroom?”

He smirked. “No.”

Alarm bells began ringing in her skull, and she cast an askance glance in the direction of the nearest unblocked exit: the window. She could shatter it with a kick, right? “Then why’d you come in?”

“You look terrified out there,” he said. “We terrify you, and it’s not surprising. We don’t have visitors very often. It’s especially hard to relate to someone who doesn’t tell us anything about herself.”

That didn’t quiet the alarms at all. “I haven’t been given a chance to.”

“Adair didn’t know your name until he guessed it.”

“I like my secrets.”

“Your name is a secret?”

Her eyes found a crack in the filthy laminate flooring. He wasn’t about to receive any sort of explanation.

“Then you’ll fit in well,” he said. When she looked upward, the shape of his grin bore uncanny resemblance to a crescent moon, if the moon were made of tea-stained teeth. “We’re mad, in case you hadn’t noticed. Not normal. And I think you aren’t either.”

No, no, I’m certainly not. “Do you think I could borrow your shower?” Not that getting naked a door away from a bunch of crazies seemed very bright, but she wasn’t sure when she would have another chance for some time.

“As long as you return it when you’re done.” He finished with a smug chuckle, evidently amused at his own cleverness, and then left her to her own devices.

She locked the door. Wackos.

✖

When the hot water had run out and the bathroom was sufficiently filled with steam tinged with chlorine and fluoride and whatever other chemicals they put in the water supply, Adele turned off the tap. Without the rush of water drowning it out, she could again hear the dreadful screeches of an overpopulated city.

She could also hear someone in the washroom with her.

“It’s just me,” said a (thankfully) female voice. A greyish towel was shoved through the side of the shower curtain by a hand small and freckled and scarred along the knuckles.

“I had locked the door.” Adele took the towel and wrapped it around her body before she tugged open the curtain. “How did you get in?”

“It’s my apartment,” Danah said. “And I’m an expert lock picker.”

“Put that on resumes, do you?”

“Depends on the job posting.”

“Hackers don’t ordinarily have use for lock picking.” Not that Adele knew a grand amount about computer hacking.

“They don’t.” Danah leaned back, against the sink. “I’m not a hacker, if that’s what you were getting at. Didn’t Adair tell you?”

“He didn’t really tell me anything,” Adele said.

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” said Danah. “He tends to think everyone is on the same page he is. You should hear him ramble on about the latest, hottest black market tech or new coding language at a mile a minute. I think he even confuses Magnus sometimes.”

It was at this point Adele realized Danah had forgotten to be outwardly hostile, perhaps because she no longer had the appearance of a feral madwoman ready to eat the next cat that crossed her path. She was sure the dingy bathtowel rather than raggedy cotton apparel certainly made her appear less vicious as well.

And then Adele realized she had yet to leave the shower stall.

“I should get dressed.”

“I brought you some clothes.” Danah pushed away from the sink, towards the door, gesturing at a pile of black folds on the countertop. “Sort of a mish-mash between my stuff and Adair’s.”

“Thanks. Really.”

Danah shrugged off the gratitude, but almost smiled. She twisted the lock on the door before she left, allowing Adele to her privacy.

✖

The clothes didn’t fit the best, but they were something.

She hand-washed her bra and underwear, wringing them out as much as possible before putting them on. Even damp, they were more comfortable than wearing a stranger’s under things.

There was a black tank-top that probably belonged to Danah, almost too tight over Adele’s chest to breathe, and an oversized sweater that probably belonged to Adair, a few marble-sized holes worn in the knit. The trousers could have belonged to either, almost too tight in the hips and thighs if not for the stretch, made of some PVC-like material with the sheen of an oil slick. Purposefully, she suspected.

She considered herself lucky not to be wrapped in latex and fishnet. As it was, her outfit had a definite “Fetishwear Industrial Derelict” vibe. At least now she’d fit in better. She hoped, anyway.

Not being prone to incessant vanity, she hadn’t expected to receive any approving or critical looks once she left the washroom. Even so, she hadn’t expected to be so ignored, either. The mad trio — how eerie that their combined initials suited them so perfectly — had circled around the laptop, staring into the turquoise glow with wide eyes and tight jaws. The tension was palpable enough to leave an indent in.

“Well.” Adair straightened his back, eyes rimmed white around black even though he appeared otherwise calm. “It appears we have less time than expected.”

“Less time for what?” Adele asked, since it seemed to lead into any other questions she might have about the horrified expressions remaining on Magnus and Danah’s faces.

“For the not-running,” he said. “Actually, I don’t even think we have time to run. The apartment building has been surrounded.”

Right on cue, a helicopter swerved dangerously close to the windows, a white beam cutting into and filling the open space. She mentally thanked them, given it was the first proper light had since she’d entered this dank, nasty little city.

“Is there any way we can escape?” asked Danah, voice almost snatched away by the revolving vworp-vworp of the helicopter blades.

“Look at it, Dane.” Magnus spoke octaves higher than usual, syllables clipped, leaking an accent previously hidden. “Every exit, soldiers. Every door, every window, every possible way out.”

When Adele lifted her eyes to Adair, his were regarding her intently. Waiting for … what, exactly? Some clever moment? Some revealed secret that she was the one behind this sudden ambush?

The black machine hovered like some monstrous hummingbird, a guttural voice shouting orders through a speaker system. It probably had guns, if not missiles and laser beams. If Adair was truly as dangerous as he appeared, she bet they would rip the entire complex apart just to destroy him, innocent tenants and all.

She hated corners. Especially being backed into them.

“Bathroom,” she said, and promptly received three quizzical, dubious stares in response.

Being someone who often received incredulity, this was nothing unusual. The bathroom was just as susceptible to explosives as the living-slash-dining-slash-cooking room, if not more so.

But they had no time to argue with her faulty logic, and they must have realized this. The moment she started off towards the bathroom, they followed. Surprisingly enough, they were not chased by gunfire or spray of liquid fire but by a line of further threats roared from the loudspeaker. They wanted the hackers alive.

Too bad, suckholes. Adele had other plans.

She clambered onto the countertop and kneeled in front of the stretch of mirror, three grimy panels lit from above. They were cracked and in need of a proper washing; she could only hope they had ample space.

When she formed a fist and drew back her arm, Danah grabbed hold and nearly wrenched Adele from her perch. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Wait. Let her go,” Adair said.

“Why?” asked Danah.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Seven years of bad luck,” Magnus muttered.

“Precisely.”

“Fine.” Danah relinquished hold and stepped back as far as she could, as far as the tiny washroom would allow. “Go ahead.”

When Adele punched the mirror, there was a snap but no cracking; the glass did not shatter nor break. Instead, the reflection became drastically clearer, the room thrown into sharp focus. The ring on her hand sparked with residual energy, like a cigarette lighter that couldn’t quite catch.

“You can either follow me or stay here,” she said. “Sorry to say, but it doesn’t much matter to me either way. Your decision, not mine.”

And then she crept through the mirror, smooth surface warping and shimmering, refracting light onto the ceiling and walls. It gave to allow passage, swallowing her body like a liquid mercury pool.

She supposed she’d find out on the other side what they chose.