Prologue

31 Years Ago

Nicholas wasn't one to avoid danger but he didn't exactly go chasing after it either—except tonight. Testing the latest variant of the Cure required Nicholas to walk directly into the devil's den, or as the locals in Denver, Colorado called it: Crank Palace. He pulled his black hooded cloak tighter around his face so that no man, woman, or Crank could see his features. In his right pocket he clicked two syringes together like Chinese medicine balls as he walked, each hypodermic needle circling the other in a relaxed rhythm as he entered the hallowed gates. CLICK CLACK, CLICK CLACK . . .

Screams and wails surrounded the inner walls of the dismal place. Fires ignited from Flare pits. Smoke hung in the air and bodies hung in the shadows. No matter how many times he'd visited these hellholes, and he had proudly visited them all, nothing prepared Nicholas for the fresh curdling cries of desperation he felt vibrating through his whole body when he walked through the gates. Screams of death that Nicholas imagined as souls being cooked from the inside out.

He continued to circle the syringes around each other in his pocket, CLICK CLACK, a dance of opportunity for someone tonight within the sacred walls of the original Crank Palace. What better way to rescue the past from itself but to come to Colorado? Nicholas felt someone approaching and looked to the footsteps behind him. A Crank stumbled past. He needed to be more careful with how his test went this time around. The last test subject nearly drew unwanted attention. In testing the Cure, he needed those possessed with only the purest of minds. And even then, his most recent experiment proved that anyone's intentions, anyone's mind, could change in an instant. A person became a different version of themselves when they were dying, and not just the part of them that slowly turned into a Crank. Even when using his telepathic gift, Nicholas found that a person could say almost anything when they themselves were closer and closer to the end, but when given the chance to live . . .

That's when their own beliefs, fears, and desires came back into awareness quicker than what could be controlled. Quicker than what was safe.

Nicholas needed to be more selective this time.

And he wanted someone past The Gone.

If this worked as well as it worked last time, he needed to be sure the Cured Crank—reverted back to healthy DNA—could stay under his study for years to come without waver. Nicholas didn't know how long the Cure held true. A year? Two years? A lifetime? He wasn't sure of that, but he knew the variant within the syringes in his pocket worked more quickly than imaginable but might someday wear off just as quickly. Many more studies were needed.

A Crank more human than not walked past Nicholas and let out a deep-bellied groan. A sound that could have been from hunger or the vocalized grief of having his deepest memories resurface. A groan of one's sanity slipping away. Nicholas walked on. He wouldn't choose a walking Crank, no. He needed to choose a Crank more dead than alive. One on the ground who writhed in pain perhaps, but one close enough to death that the promise he or she made to Nicholas would forever be kept.

He had tested variants of the Cure on so many Cranks that he had lost count.

Of course, somewhere hidden in the journals of his library were the observational notes, the number of experiments and trials that attempted to prove his hypothesis right time and time again: that DNA changes from the Flare could be reversed, and that the same Cure that erased the Flare could unlock a multitude of dormant DNA in the human body. Dead-end genomes that scientists had called "junk DNA" for centuries in their scholarly journals. Nicholas tried to hold back his smile, thinking of the discovery, but how could something so monumental as evolution not make him feel like a God?

But it was a fleeting feeling, to be sure. CLICK CLACK . . . he circled the two syringes together as he watched the Cranks before him. A failed experiment was a failed experiment. Successes were only temporary. He reported back to the Villa what they needed to change in the next batch. Side effects, advanced symptoms, deaths. Most deaths happened naturally—not everyone's DNA was reprogrammable and not everyone's body could take the Cure. Death was a natural part of scientific advancements, even those deliberately caused by the advancer. As when Nicholas' last Crank subject shouted about the Cure within the walls of Crank Palace and put Nicholas' life in danger. "I'm turning back. My hands, look! He's cured me! This man is a God!" The Cure itself was at risk as soon as one muttered of its existence. The Crank had promised to stay silent and obedient but as soon as his life became his own again, he betrayed his own thoughts and Nicholas had to end the life he brought back that night. Easy come, easy go, you might say. Nicholas wanted to test on someone past The Gone, someone easier to influence. Manipulate. Control.

Nicholas wandered toward an alley behind the westside buildings as it started to rain, and he squinted at the sight of a Crank on the ground with limbs as limp as a butchered deer. But huddled over the Crank sat another, and Nicholas couldn't test on two subjects at once. He tightened the hood of his robe again, but the falling rain enhanced his telepathy and he couldn't help but overhear the woman's thoughts. I'd take this pain from you if I could. I wish I was infected with this, not you. Nicholas stopped walking and looked on from the shadows of the alley.

Why the hell was someone healthy inside Crank Palace?

Nicholas wasn't infected, but his presence would be swift and purposeful. This figure in front of him seemed to be mourning her long-lost love. Had she no fear of the Flare? The only reason Nicholas proved fearless was because he had been a test subject of his own unique study, something the Villa knew nothing about. Using one of the variants as a preventative, Nicholas knew it couldn't harm him with the Flare but might just protect him from it. What he didn't expect were the powerful side effects—weird and frightening things like telepathy.

Human DNA was a funny thing. For a Crank, it was about healing. For the non-infected, the Cure resequenced DNA structures that had been left abandoned in humankind, opening new pathways and abilities whose potential had been lost or never discovered. Like clicking in the last pieces of a puzzle.

But Nicholas' gift of telepathy was also his curse.

He could trust no one.

"Can you help us?" asked the voice huddled over the Crank writhing in pain. Nicholas read her mind again. Please. Please say you can help us. He suddenly felt naked, as though she could see right through his cloak to his hand that held the Cure. "Help us." She spoke with an unwarranted confidence.

Nicholas was drawn to her. Her assuredness. Her fearlessness. He walked from the shadows, closer. "What makes you think I can help you?"

"Because you're not infected." I can tell you're different.

Nicholas danced with her thoughts again as the rain came down harder.

"And why do you think that?" he responded.

"Your eyes." Please help us. I'll do anything to save him.

Nicholas leaned in and asked an impossible question. "Would you sacrifice your life for his?"

Without hesitation she answered, "Yes."

He changed his mind. He'd do something unplanned that night.

Something he had never done before.

Once he saved the wretched Crank on the pavement of the alley, he'd also inject the fearless companion with the Cure and study them both, bring them into his inner circle and create the future one day at a time.

One infected, one not.

"I'd do anything to save him. Please." She whispered without tears, "Just tell me what you want me to do."

Nicholas palmed the two syringes in his pocket. "I'll ask for your silence. Not just now, but as we leave the walls and for every single day beyond that. Whatever happens."

"You have my word." Her thoughts and intentions aligned. "Can you save him?"

"I can try. But I'll have to inject you, too, just in case you have an asymptomatic infection." Nicholas wouldn't tell her of the DNA resequencing she'd undergo, needing to know how her gifts evolved naturally, if they evolved at all.

"Anything. Please. You're a Godsend. Thank you."

"God is nothing but a complex, we are all Gods. You'll soon find out." Nicholas gently tapped the inside of her arm to find the vein. He wondered how the sequencing might align her unique strands of DNA. "You'll come with me after this to New Petersburg so that I can keep you under observation."

"Alaska? That's a little far from Colorado?"

"Yes, Alaska." Nicholas engaged the syringe slowly so as not to flood her body too quickly with the Cure. "Not bad in a Berg." He smiled and watched her face relax. "You mustn't make a sound when I inject him next. Not a cry, not a scream, not a shout for the world to hear. If you mutter anything louder than a sigh of relief, I will have to-"

"Of course." She watched on and Nicholas pivoted to the Crank with skin so thick the needle needed extra force to penetrate. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Nicholas."

"Thank you, Nicholas. We'll forever be in your debt. My name is—"

"Doesn't matter." Nicholas stood up from the damp ground and put the emptied needles back in his pocket. CLICK CLACK . . . "From now on you'll be known as Alexandra, and he'll be known as Mikhail."