I stare at her. I make a point to let my eyes linger, to let the terror and revulsion wash over me.

It isn’t real. He’s trying to mess with me, and it isn’t going to work.

Another horrific vision greets me in the next cell. Nine, back when I first met him, except now there’s a bedsheet tied around his neck, and he dangles from a rafter. I don’t spend so much time staring at that one, mostly because I don’t buy it for a second.

“Why don’t you cut the shit and show yourself?” I say out loud, knowing he can hear me. “This is getting boring.”

Up ahead, the screaming grows louder. I approach a room that I remember the Mogs set aside for interrogation. There’s a window to watch through. In the middle of the chamber, a set of thick chains hangs from the ceiling.

Sam is wrapped in the chains. Those are his screams. A viscous black acid trickles down the metal links and burns fresh scars into his wrists.

Setrákus Ra stands in front of Sam, but not the way I’m used to seeing him. His head isn’t pale and bulbous and black veined, he’s not eight feet tall and he doesn’t have that thick purple scar around his neck. This Setrákus Ra is a young man, like the guy I saw in the vision of Lorien’s history. His dark hair is slicked back from a widow’s peak, his features are sharp and stern and he looks distinctly Loric.

He’s one of my people. The thought is still mind-boggling.

He acts like he hasn’t noticed me, although I know that isn’t true. After all, he brought me here. I stand outside the interrogation room and watch him. Setrákus Ra paces back and forth, and every time he crosses in front of the chains, momentarily blocking them from view, the person tangled up in his torture device changes.

Sam becomes Six, her screams filling the room.

Then Adam.

Marina.

Nine.

Sarah.

I punch through the glass that separates the hallway from the interrogation room. It shatters easily and doesn’t hurt at all. I float over the waist-high wall and land a few strides away from Setrákus Ra. He turns to face me, smiling like we just bumped into each other on the street.

“Hello, John.”

I try to keep my gaze from drifting towards the vision of Sarah, tortured, unconscious, that hangs behind him.

She isn’t real. She’s not here. She’s at peace.

I make a show of looking around the room and whistle through my teeth.

“You know, back in the day, these dreams used to spook me.”

“Did they?”

“Now I know it’s just you casting about in desperation.”

Setrákus Ra smiles indulgently and crosses his arms. “You remind me so much of him,” he says. “My old friend Pittacus Lore.”

“I’m not like him.”

“No?”

“He showed you mercy. I’m going to kill you.”

Setrákus Ra circles around, putting Sarah’s body between the two of us. He gives her a gentle shove, and she begins to swing back and forth.

“How is my great-granddaughter?” he asks, making small talk.

My eyes track Sarah, then flick back to Setrákus Ra.

“Much better than when she was stuck with you.”

“She’ll come around,” he replies with a smile. “When I’m done with the rest of you, she’ll come back to me.”

“Will your army come back to you too?” I ask, tilting my head. “While you lick your wounds and hide out in my dreams, they’re abandoning you.”

His expression darkens, and I feel glad that I’ve struck a blow to his ego. He steps away from Sarah and towards me.

“The Mogadorians were always just a means to an end for me, John. A neutered species of beasts that made their own home world unlivable with their thickheaded love of war and pollution.” He spits on the floor. “The humans will make for much better subjects once they’re brought to heel. The others will be ashes on the wind.”

“Is this why you brought me here?” I ask, staring at this younger version of my most hated enemy. “To drive home how evil you are? Because I get it.”

Setrákus Ra smiles, comes closer, studying me. His eyes aren’t the pure inky black that I’ve seen before. They’re dark but normal, not changed through years of experimentation. The sick mind behind them is still the same.

“I am old, John,” he intones. “Those visions my great-granddaughter put us through, to see my youth again. . . . I felt something like nostalgia. Once Pittacus Lore was my friend. If he had only listened to me, if we had worked together, we could have spared the universe so much death. We could have uplifted all life.”