In dreams we strip away the lies we tell ourselves when we're awake. And, it turned out, I wasn't free of the power even when I slept. Different from entering into my own mind, like I had done when under a great deal of exhaustion and stress (inadvertently leading to the Fox-Frog-Monster taking over my body for the second time) - the power, instead, when I dreamed normally, seemed to entertain itself by filling in the gaps of my memory using some of that strange Intuition I had tapped into before. The Intuition which had formed like a smudge in my mind, and which I had then trained the power upon to decipher its meaning. And those pieces had led me to understand just in the nick of time the danger of the coming Sub-Divisioners; Chips, Lure, and Soaks, and their accompanying Pied Piper Task Force officers that had surrounded the mansion.

I had learned after using the power to study several thick medical textbook volumes, that I had to be careful about what information I took in, in that way. After gaining the medical knowledge, and combining it with the healing power, I had managed to heal the crusted-over hump-wound on my back – and in doing so almost choked to death on my own vomit from the pain in the aftermath – it had been Donald that had cleared my airways after I had passed out from the pain.

All of this to say that I had been under a great deal of stress atop the estate tower block, going so far as to convince myself murdering Soaks was the only way to keep my family safe. And, if it had not been for Xandra stopping me at the last possible moment, I really would have carried out my intent to murder Soaks right then and there. And I had been in such a frenzied state of mind it was only within the apparent safety of my dream that I had means with which to piece together all the scattered memories of what had happened that day, and a little bit before, and a little bit after. All of this done, I could only guess upon waking from the dream, as an unintended side-effect of the Intuition power working in the background of my mind like a piece of constantly running computer software.

There was a part of my mind that was lucidly aware of the dream unfolding and my Intuition working hard to combine the scattered memory puzzle pieces into a coherent whole.

The Intuition first got to work on the last thing it had been told before I had finally found sleep.

How much of what I was about to see within the dream was entirely true I didn't know. All I knew for sure was that the new Intuition node within my mind was shaping the vivid dream from the things I had been told, and what I had seen with my own eyes and ears.

By the time Xandra reached the World War Two bunker the sun had already set. She had set out from the mansion fully intending to return to the bunker, because that was where she remembered having to abandon all of the supplies she and Burgess had stolen from the Putsley Bay charity shop.

She remembered talking with Burgess about not going back to the World War Two bunker – the supplies they had left behind weren't worth the risk. But it was precisely because he had told her not to that made Xandra want to go back to the bunker even more.

Besides, she wasn't going to cower in fear of the Peepers. If she had proven anything to herself since leaving home, and then later the home of her Aunt and Uncle, it was that she was resourceful and, when not accompanied by two boys who were as subtle as a marching band.

It felt good to be on her own again to the point she even started to consider not going back to Burgess and Azad after all. Was it that sense of freedom of being alone again that made the evening air smell so much fresher? And the unfolding world as she ran back to the World War Two Bunker to seem as if it were her playground?

Maybe, she thought, Burgess had been the problem all along. Ever since they met she had felt the world become smaller in some way – more restrictive. Maybe it was the way he seemed to look at her as if he could see every thought going on inside her head. At first that kind of scrutiny had been interesting, even a little exciting. But then the pressure of being on the run had started to get to her to the point she found herself doing all sorts of things that weren't at all like how she knew herself to be. From trying and failing to stop herself crying in front of Burgess when they were at the dump heap, to her giggling as she toyed with the idea of letting herself fall off the upper motorway precipice just to feel something other than that awful restrictive dread – even if just for a moment.

But there had been something else, hadn't there? Those looks she had exchanged with Burgess. The way their hands had touched. The way it felt completely normal for her to be close to him, something before with other boys she had always had some barrier, some aversion that made her cringe at the idea of being close to them – even the ones most would consider to be 'good looking'. And they had looked into each other's eyes, hadn't they? Different from all those other times, or at least in a way that was deliberate…trying…searching…and they had both leaned closer to one another…

It came as a small relief to finally reach the World War Two bunker again. Her nose caught the myriad smells of the Pied Piper officers who had tried to ambush them. Many of the trees, and much of the muddy ground, had been torn apart by the Peeper's bullets and explosives. There had been the smell of blood lingering in the air – Peeper blood – from where she and Burgess had been forced to defend themselves to get away safely.

Her legs, her new, tough, rubbery legs, felt both powerful and a little shaky as she made her way into the bunker.

And there they were. The carry bags, right where she had left them. She scooped them up, finding her new body's strength more than up to the task of carrying them all. She spotted the Mega Fighters M manga volumes and the pile of protein bar wrappers which had belonged to Azad – she considered bringing the manga volumes with her, but decided she couldn't be bothered.

It was on her way out, hoisting all of the carry bags with her back to the fresh night air outside the bunker entrance, that she caught the lone smell of a Peeper officer in the wind.

The smell soured her good mood instantly. She set the carry bags down.

"What are ya doing?" said Regina inside her head.

"Shh," Xandra whispered back.

"Only you can hear me you dingus!" Regina piped up.

Xandra shook her head like an etch-e-sketch, which typically worked to quieten down Regina when she didn't take the hint.

Xandra tapped into the power to increase her sense of smell to a greater degree, and in turn a Raccoon-ish tip emerged on her nose. It was like before when she and Burgess had increased their sense of smell to better avoid the Peeper's and their hunting dogs.

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The scent of the Peeper officer nearby was several times magnified. It was a woman, late twenties. With dyed blonde hair. And a smoking habit. The smell of her Peeper officer uniform was distinct – her helmet, her body armor, the gun holster at her hip. She was in the midst of eating a protein bar (one she had found in the bunker during her patrol among a pile of wrappers – the last one).

For a moment Xandra thought she might pay this particular Peeper officer no mind. But she didn't leave. No, she told herself, she needed to make sure the coast was really clear. There was no zipping noise in the air this time – but that didn't mean another ambush couldn't happen.

So Xandra increased her hearing capacity next – her ears lengthening, becoming pointed, and growing a very light coat of gray fur.

"We need-ta go!" Regina piped up in her head again.

"Hold. On," Xandra mumbled back.

The sounds of the night exploded to a level of clarity and vividness that made Xandra wonder why she didn't always keep her hearing so heightened.

The Peeper officer was humming a nothing tune to herself. For a second her radio crackled, and the Peeper officer mumbled back her check-in code.

By this point Xandra knew that the coast was clear. The Peeper officer hadn't seen her and it was going to be easy enough to avoid the officer when leaving the bunker behind.

It was only then that Xandra realised that her coming back to the bunker had nothing to do with getting the carry bag supplies. She had started to breathe quickly, her body felt hot and prickly, particularly her hair – and her canines had lengthened without her noticing. She had felt a sense of dread and disappointment when she first returned to the World War Two bunker to find there weren't any Peeper officers standing about. And then relief, immense relief tinged with sudden, unbridled anger, when she first became aware of the nearby Peeper officer's presence.

There was nothing rational in Xandra's mind about what she did next. The anger and frustration of being on the run had built up inside her to the point something snapped. She started walking briskly towards the Peeper officer making no attempt to mask her presence.

"Are ya crazy?!" Regina squeaked in her head, "Stop! She'll see us!"

Regina considered taking over control of Xandra to prevent her from making the mistake of walking right up to the Pied Piper officer. But, as much as Regina wanted to protect Xandra, there was a line she wasn't willing to cross. Regina knew Xandra better than anyone else - had known her even when Xandra thought she was just a figment of her imagination. Once, when Xandra was five and had run around her house with a knife to play pirate, Regina had stepped in to take control of Xandra to keep her safe. That had been the start of Xandra realising that Regina wasn't just an imaginary friend – but it had also created a great deal of mistrust between them that took years of work to build back up again. With everything that had happened with Burgess and him losing control to that awful foxxy-froggy-monstery-thing, Regina didn't dare to rob Xandra of any of her personal agency.

By the time the Peeper officer caught sight of Xandra it was too late. The officer reached for her gun and Xandra in turn leapt the remaining distance using the springy power in her rubbery legs, and slammed her body hard against the officer's chest. The officer grunted and fell hard onto her back. Xandra grabbed her gun and chucked it away and then grabbed the officer by the shoulder straps of her body armor and lifted her off the ground and back to her feet.

"Please!" the officer begged in an American accent, "Please don't hurt me!"

Xandra had no plan for what she was doing beyond needing to enjoy the look of panic on the officer's face.

"That's right," said Xandra, "Keep begging!"

"Please! Please! I'm sorry-" the officer begged, immediately giving up any idea of fighting Xandra off and instead becoming a blubbering mess. Xandra had cut her off.

"-and what are you sorry for exactly?" said Xandra.

She gave the officer another hard shake – could feel the officer's neck resisting the movement.

Xandra liked this. She did it again. The officer's begging stopped short because the intensity of the shaking caused the officer to bite down on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, which Xandra could smell several times magnified.

Somewhere among her rage at the officer, Xandra felt a twinge of sympathy. And that sympathy was threatening to make her stop what she was doing.

"WERE YOU SORRY WHEN ONE OF YOU PEEPERS THREW A GRENADE AT MY LEGS?!" Xandra yelled at the top of her lungs.

The anger felt so good. She felt alive with it.

The officer sobbed, what little mascara and eyeshadow she had applied that day starting to run down her cheeks.

"OH YOU'RE CRYING?!" Xandra yelled, "DO YOU THINK I CARE?!"

Xandra shook the officer some more. It was so easy with the rubbery yet tough strength of her body – the officer flailed helplessly in her grip, to the point she had to stand with the tips of her steelcap boots the only part of her touching the ground.

Xandra started to giggle – a mad, mirthless giggle – as if pretending to find it so funny how the officer was fearing for her life.

The officer stammered something – something about it not being her – about paying for college – but her words were short and gasping because of how much her head was rag-dolling from side to side with the force of Xandra shaking her.

And Xandra shook her more, and more, as if shaking with as much strength as her toughened rubbery body and arms could muster was justice for all the wrongs the Peepers had done to her.

Xandra hadn't noticed when the officer had stopped begging for her life. Xandra hadn't even been looking at the officer the moment it happened. She had closed her eyes, had lifted the officer higher off the ground, and had started to shake her with even more violent intensity.

Shortly after the officer went limp, Xandra's giddy madness subsided. Her sanity returned. And with it the recognition that the officer was no longer moving. No longer breathing. Dead.

When Xandra realised what she had done she had let the officer go. And the officer had fell to the ground with a lifeless thud. Xandra, slow, cautious, as if by barely moving at all she might somehow avoid what she already knew she had done. She reached for the officer's neck, could feel the unnatural bulge where something had snapped out of place but hadn't torn through the skin. The officer's eyes were closed, as if sleeping. Xandra checked for a pulse and couldn't find it. She knew she wouldn't be able to and the whole effort was fruitless, but she felt compelled to check anyway.

Tears started to form in Xandra's eyes. But she managed to keep them back. She stood, turned, and ran back to the bunker entrance. Picked up the carry bags. And then sprang off into the night. The more distance she put between her and the dead officer – the officer she had murdered – the more the memory of what she had done stuck to the front of her mind; a constant, unwavering accusation. She was a murderer.

She ran through the night for a while, until the bunker and the dead officer seemed distant. She collapsed, or rather, she had thrown herself to the ground. The weight of what she had done was unbearable. The ground beneath her was damp soil and she punched it until her wrists fiercely ached. She needed the inner turmoil inside herself to stop. And then she heard it. The distant sound of motorway traffic. And she knew what she had to do.

She picked herself up and ran desperately towards the motorway. The closer she got to it the more she was sure what she needed to do was the right thing. She couldn't live with what she had done. She needed a way out. She needed to be punished. She needed to be free.

In no time at all she neared the motorway precipice and she didn't hesitate. She jumped, finding a small sense of peace that she could finally bring this nightmare to an end. If the fall didn't kill her then hopefully one of the cars or trucks would.

And then as she started to fall she lost control of herself. She had blinked and the next thing she knew she was spinning through the air and falling down to the edge of the motorway. Then, with springy jumps and the use of newly sharp raccoon-ish claws at her fingertips, her body climbed and jumped at different intervals back up the motorway wall and over the precipice.

Regina had taken control of their body for the first time in thirteen years.

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