The station was quiet tonight; only a few people walked by in the hours I sat there staring off into space. I clutched onto a skipping stone, wearing a green jacket too big for me. A woman stood above me, her fingers playing with my hair.

A train passed, screaming my name--

I jolt awake, head pounding. White walls blind me, forcing me to close my eyes. I’m lying on an uncomfortable cot and voices surround me. I grab my head against the ache and find it partially wrapped in gauze.

“You were hit quite hard there,” someone says, and I squint to find a nurse standing at the foot of the cot.

“What ha--” But I’m quickly interrupted by a blood-curdling scream.

“Let me go, you fuckers!” a man shouts, held down to a cot beside me as several nurses work to calm him down. I wonder for a moment what is causing the man such an ordeal of pain that I feel coming off him, when a nurse walks away to grab something, revealing the bloody stumps where the soldier’s legs once were. The edges of his pant legs are charred, clinging to the wounds.

I find myself gagging, more so at the sensations he gives off that make me feel as if my own legs are missing than at the sight. I find it is one of the factors causing my headache.

“How are you feeling, Connor?” the nurse beside me continues as if she can’t hear the injured soldier.

“I, uh….”

The nurse keeps talking, and I catch the word “concussion” but I’m still distracted. I reach out mentally; it isn’t too hard finding the man’s temper, considering he’s sending off such strong emotions. The pain is like the explosion that took his legs-- sudden and extreme. I imagine holding it in my hands, and I slowly cover it. It feels as though these mental hands are gripping glass, but I endure it. The man takes a deep breath and sighs before passing out.

The nurse must have seen me focus on the patient and gave me a once-over. “Empath?”

I sit up with a groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yeah.”

She pats me on the back and says, “Sorry, kid, but I’m gonna have to ask you to help out a bit. Go take a shower and be back in a half an hour.”

I sigh, nodding and getting out of the cot.

As I walk past another cot, I hear a woman say, “Damn Catalyst. Knew we’d be there.”

I stop in my tracks and turn to the woman. “What did you say?”

The woman looks at me with a scowl on her face. “Didn’t ya know, kid? Catalyst was the rebel arcanes that ambushed us this morning.”

Catalyst? Why would one of the nation’s biggest terrorist groups be concerned with a local rations building? Why weren’t we warned that we were dealing with Catalyst? We should have been more prepared…. “How do you know?” I question.

“Ya didn’t see it, huh?” She laughs. Tapping her wrist, she pulls up her Netscreen and types something in. A moment later, we’re staring at a birds-eye-view of a ruined building. The rations tower. Burned into the remains is a symbol-- the outline of a wolf.