4. Breaking the Core
As they left the lift, the doors glided shut and it slid out of sight once again. Charlie looked around. They were not back on the white floor. This floor was completely silvery, like a gigantic mirror, made of some kind of metal. Like the white floor, it was hard to tell where the walls ended and the floor began. There were no screws or nails or anything, just the smooth surface of the mirror like metal. It was very disorientating. Charlie found himself reproduced infinite times in the surfaces, as the walls and floor and ceiling reflected each other. Several times, Charlie walked into a wall because he could not differentiate between the corridor ahead and the mirrored image. When there was a corner, it was almost impossible to tell.
Feriador opened a door to his left, which Charlie hadn't seen. This door was also made of the shiny metal, the only way of distinguishing it against the wall being a thin gap and the jutting handle. “In here, Charlie.”
Charlie followed him in, looking around at the medium sized room. It was the same metal, but decently dulled. Charlie was thankful for this as it allowed him to see his surroundings and tell the difference between reality and a reflection. His eyes relaxed.
The room was empty except for some thick blue mats like the ones they use in P.E. in schools, the kind that it never fails to amuse people to jump on, a few white plastic garden chairs and a basket of dummies. The dummies were ripped and frayed, their worn bodies dappled with holes, from which stuffing poked out. These dummies appeared to have been subjected to some very severe attacks, clearly defeated, battle worn and beyond dead.
“What are the walls made out of?” asked Charlie curiously. Although it was similar to silver, it was different in a way that he could not define. Something deep within him told him it was a barrier. Like a force field, untouchable; unreachable; indestructible. When he moved his hand close to it, he felt a tiny pulse, like the strumming of a guitar string, in what he would previously have said was his heart, but was now more likely to be his core.
“Titanium.” answered Feriador. “The one substance that cannot be affected by our powers. A lot of our weapons are made of titanium, so that we can't accidentally destroy them, and they can't be used against us. We have entire cities built out of titanium, hidden away from prying eyes.”
“Wow.” Charlie imagined a city where you could see things reflected in every surface. Mind you, he would have so many bruises in a single hour from walking into walls he would look as if he had purple skin. But it would be a stunning sight. Especially in the sun, blindingly so...
He moved into the centre of the room, waiting for explanation as to what was next. He tried to push the metaphorical hole in his heart away, to forget about it so he could concentrate on the task at hand, like he had sworn to himself he would do.
“To start,” Feriador instructed, “You must connect with the power in your core. Once you have done this initially, it is unlikely you will have to ever do it again. Only if you neglected to use your power for decades would you have to reawaken it. Even then, it might be too far gone for you to retrieve.”
“So how do I...?” began Charlie.
A shadow seemed to flit across Feriador's features, and he gave Charlie a careful, searching look before replying, “You have to remember why your core exploded in the first place. You have to remember how you felt. How you reacted. What you were thinking. You have to try and relive the moment as realistically as possible.”
“But I don't remember-”
“Think about how you would have felt, then. Do your best. The memory is most likely lurking in some dark corner of your mind, hoping never to be remembered. What are they called? Suppressed memories?” Feriador sat in one of the plastic chairs, observing him closely. His pale purple eyes gazed at him, as if he could see right through Charlie, into the recesses of his core.
