Christ. Mitchell knew the way their powers worked, at least some of it. The way that it was like a storm, drawing everyone in, leaving madness behind in its wake. How many had come out unscathed? He didn't think even he had, not really. He pretended, played that his powers were just that, just powers, but at the end of the day, he knew otherwise. The damage to his brain was so severe, so complete, and it was more apparent now, surrounded by machines everywhere, all their voices, constant.

"Uh huh. So, you're not here to pull your usual bullshit? Somehow, I'm really doubting that," cold, still hard. No matter how bad it got, he kept his mind on one truth, that Pherson was insane, that he didn't know, didn't understand how bad it was, how bad their creators actually were.

But sometimes he wondered why Pherson, and Suzanne, had both seen it as a paradise, and why he'd seen the truth.