Billy wished the tears would not come so easily, at a time when he badly needed to see clearly.

Don't worry kid. You'll be okay. You saw the route. Remember.

'I can't!' he muttered, seeing nothing but chaos and darkness. Menacing shadows. Piercing sirens creating ripples of jagged lights to accompany him down the corridors.

Mayhem and madness.

Yes, you can, said the little voice patiently. Think about the map as you saw it in the computer.

Billy snorted back the tears, and for want of a better plan, tried to focus on the voice. He thought it was probably the only thing he could trust, even if its very presence assured him he was losing his mind.

'The map?' he sniffed, and then cried out in pain, hitting his shins against a large potted plant that had been obscured by the shadows. They fell together, sending soil and leaves and boy tumbling for several yards. He thought he would be re-captured for sure, but was soon back on his feet and running, a little slower perhaps, but running all the same. He did not know if he was still being chased. In the darkness, he could not tell. Best to be safe though, than strapped to a chair in the white room with that insane woman. Davey was here, ahead of him somewhere. He thought back. There had been a map. A whole lot of other things as well, but the map was the last thing he had seen.

That's right. When you saw the old man looking for you. Concentrate on him… There you go.

Billy slammed through another door, which hissed in gentle protest as it swung closed behind him. The fog cleared a little when he tried to remember the map of the building. A wire-frame picture of the basement levels faded into his vision, superimposed against the white corridor he was running down. A little blue light moved along a bright green line.

That's you!

Here and there little red dots were moving towards him, gathering on the other side of locked doors. Like moths to a flame.

That's them!

He did not know where the knowledge came from. There. Red dot. James Munroe: height - five foot six, weight - ten stone. Enjoys walks in the park with his dog, Jasper. Ten years in the Company, passed over for promotion five times. Whatever he looked at was instantly explained in great detail. Then the knowledge was gone completely, only to be replaced by another nauseating wave of information when he moved on to something else. How long each corridor was, the height of the ceilings. The make and wattage of every light bulb.

Billy almost screamed. He did not have the luxury to worry about these things. He had to ignore it somehow. If he made it out alive, then he could demand answers.

Come on, kid. Follow the green line.

The map shifted, becoming three-dimensional, and he followed the green line, seeing the path ahead of him, leading through the complex to the edge of the map.

Excellent. That will be where the old man was. Now run!

The alarms were still shrieking their warnings into the air. Following the map along unknown corridors amidst the bright colours of the noise and the lights was making him quite seasick. Or maybe, he thought, the sight of the burning Techies had done that. KindVoice and WhiteCoat, screaming in the throes of death.

He burst into a large open space. What he encountered in the white room stopped him in his tracks. Even the noise and colours seemed to dissipate, as if to let his mind reel at the shock of what he was seeing.

Glass-walled cells lined the walls. Each cell contained a skinny and frightened child, about the same age as himself. They wore simple hospital gowns and slippers. The children were all watching him, noses pressed against the glass doors of their cells. Some were crying, but all had the same look of abject terror and resignation.

A huge white workbench filled the centre of the room. Glass jars and tubes covering its marble surface like a tiny futuristic city. Another bank of computers at one end, beeping quietly, lights winking. Coloured liquids bubbled over blue flames.

Still burning. That means someone's close. You gotta go now, kid.

'Wait,' said Billy, holding up his hand, forgetting that the box was buried in his pocket. 'They're saying something.' The buzzing of distant bees, growing louder when he focused on the sound. Concentrating just like when he had seen the red blob in the Shadow. He was getting the hang of it now. It was like he could navigate to objects, or thoughts, or sounds just by thinking about them, bringing them into sharp focus to the exclusion of all else. When he thought about the buzzing, he could make out voices swimming up through the undercurrent of hissing noise. Pleading, cursing, raving. Frightened gibberish. Begging him to help. He could hear them, but when he watched their pale faces, not one mouth moved.

What are you doing? The box sounded impatient. You can't help these kids.

'Can you hear them?' Billy pulled the box out of his pocket and held it up. The little cartoon man frowned.

No. But your captors are closing in. Forget these creatures. Find the old man. Move on.

One voice became elevated from the rest. Billy's mind placed it above the undulating buzzing of confused crying, a bold blocky shape that changed colours as it spoke.

'You have it!' the voice said. It sounded delighted, eager.

'What?' Billy said.

Who are you talking to? Let's go!

'It is close. So close. We feel its power.'

'I don't know what you mean,' said Billy, confused. So many things had happened to him, perhaps they meant the Shadow, or the box. Or the powerful computer that had entered his mind, if only for a moment.

'Can you get us out?' the voice said. Its companions echoed the question: Yes, yes can you get us out, get us out, can you, will you let us out?

'I don't know,' said Billy. 'I- I don't think so. Box?'

No way. The locks are all electronic, you'd have to be wired in again.

Billy looked at the bank of machines at the head of the workbench. He wondered if his new-found knowledge would let him plug into this machine as well.

You are joking, aren't you? There. Is. No. Time!

He sensed lights flickering back on. Felt the closeness of unknown enemies. He did not know how long the locks would last, how long it would be before they crashed through the doors and captured him again. The box was right.

'There's no time!' he said apologetically, feeling helpless. The whispering clamour grew louder, more desperate. Billy had the feeling that the voice that had spoken out was having to calm the others down.

'Then you must go,' it said at last.

'But what about you?'

'We will remain until you return. They do not let us out. We will be here until we die.' A pause. 'And we do not die. We will be here.'

In the corner of the room, Billy saw fists hammering on a barred window. Then a face. Angry, but a little bit frightened. That would be the lab worker. He must have locked him outside when he cleared the route. The man moved away for a moment, and then the door shuddered, as if struck with a heavy object.

'I'll come back,' he said. 'I'll get help and I'll come back. I promise.'

'We will be waiting,' the voice whispered. 'You have part of what we need. Find the rest, and return. We will be here.'

Come on, kid. MOVE!

It was not far to where Davey was waiting. Billy shrugged off the voices, which faded quickly once he was out of the room. He ran. Following the green line, and trying not to think.

That was weird, the box said, with perverse interest. Left here. Through those doors. There!

Billy threw himself into Davey's open arms.