The morning sun began to rise through the park. Dew covered the grass. A light breeze snaked through Jamie's hair. It was cold. Not cold enough for the breath that Jamie exhaled to be visible, but cold enough for Jamie's skin to sting ever so slightly. This was quite typical for this time of day. It was very early. Jamie liked to take walks early in the morning. He liked the fresh air, and there were very few people around. Less noise. More peace.

Jamie took a seat at one of the many benches in the park and relaxed back. He enjoyed hearing the tranquil chirping of birds and the quiet whispers of the wind through the foliage of the trees. This felt like the perfect place to him. He just sat there for a while. Every now and then someone would walk by, but the silence went undisturbed for quite a while.

Jamie jumped slightly when he noticed a man sit beside him, which was very odd. There were dozens of benches in this park, all vacant, except the one Jamie was on. Why couldn't the man just sit in one of the many others? The man wore a very expensive-looking black suit, and a pair of sunglasses - which, again, was odd, considering the fact the sun had barely risen. The man himself looked as if he were in his late 30s or so. He paid little attention to Jamie and stared straight forward.

Jamie did not say anything at first, but after a short while he decided to speak up. "Can... I help you?" Jamie asked.

"James Rolando Marchetti," the man said, turning to face Jamie. It wasn't a question as much as an exclamation. He paused a moment. "Sorry, I hear you prefer Jamie."

Jamie peered at him. "How do you know my name?" He'd never seen this man before, and nobody knew his middle name. The hairs on Jamie's neck stood on end.

"I have my ways," the man chuckled.

"Who are you?" Jamie replied, his tone assertive and direct.

"It doesn't matter who I am," the man spoke in a hushed tone. "Take this. Read it carefully." The man reached in to the inside of his suit jacket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Jamie before standing up from the bench and turning to face Jamie directly.. "If you're smart you'll follow the instructions inside. Wait until you get home to open it. The information is... sensitive. Please destroy it when you have read it in it's entirety."

Jamie peered at the envelope for a moment. "Why are you doing this? Who do you work for?"

"You'll find out soon enough." The man smiled as he began to walk away. "There's a storm coming, kid, and you're not prepared. Be smart. Follow the instructions in the envelope, or you might not be around for much longer."





Jamie entered his apartment still bemused at what had happened at the park. The man had known him, almost on a personal level - yet they had never met. Jamie didn't like it. It made him feel like someone knew about his powers. Surely that was not a good thing. He entered the kitchen and placed the envelope that the man had given him down on the counter.

The envelope included two things; a plane ticket, and a letter.

First of all, Jamie inspected the planet ticket. First class. To Haiti, strangely enough. It was definitely authentic. The flight was in five hours. Jamie put the ticket down on the counter for a moment and picked up the letter that was attached to it, reading it closely.

'Jamie. You don't know me, but I know you. I know it's hard to trust someone you don't know, but I'm asking you to just read this letter and give me a chance. The government has targeted you. That blood test you took last month was taken by every teenager in the country. It was looking for people like you. Special people. You're not the only one. There are hundreds, if not thousands. I'm giving you a choice. Stay where you are now, and die, or be taken away to live out your days as a lab rat - or, alternatively, leave your home, get on that plane and do not look back.'

'You will never be able to have the life that you have planned now, but I can offer you a new life. A life where you can be a part of the downfall of the government's genocide of people like you and I. Your powers are a gift, I can help you use them for good.If you decide to take that ticket, know that a lot of hard work and danger will be coming your way. But ask yourself - is that not better than death? I hope to see you in Haiti. Look for a man holding a sign saying 'Smith Family' when you arrive there. He will take you to your new home, should you choose to take the flight.

'Regards, -W.V.'

'P.S.: If you have family, it's best that they don't know where you're going.'

He peered at it for a moment, extremely sceptical. He knew that something sinister was going on, but he did not know who to believe. Was the government truly after him? Or was it these people that had dark intentions? He wasn't sure. Either way, he was certain that he was in trouble. This couldn't be some elaborate prank or joke, because none of his friends knew of his powers, and that man in black seemed to be the real deal.

Jamie headed up to his room and began to pack a suitcase of his clothes and personal belongings. He wasn't sure whether he was going to take the flight, but he packed nonetheless. His clothes were simple and he had very little else he needed to take with him, so it didn't take long. After he was done, he was just left sitting on his bed, his mind furiously working away to try and make a decision.

Eventually, with scarcely an hour until the plane's boarding time, Jamie decided. He would go. He liked to pretend that he didn't fear death. But he did. He feared for his life. He feared for his family's life. He would risk it. He believed the letter. He believed the government were on to him. He would take the plane, and hope for the best. If it was not real, and these people were his enemy, it was probably already too late anyway.

After burning the letter, he picked up his suitcase and made his way to the airport. He had been here to travel to Italy with his family several times, so he knew the routine. He checked his bags in and headed to the waiting room for his plane. He thought about his grandparents, and how they would worry about him when he was gone. He needed to speak to his grandma one last time. He took out his phone and slowly dialled in his grantparents' number. It was too late to drive down to her bungalow, so a call would have to do. He didn't want to worry her either, so he needed to keep it simple. It rang twice, then she picked up.

"Grandma?" Jamie spoke, his voice not showing the shakiness he felt inside.

"Yes, my dear?" His grandmother replied in her thick Italian accent.

Almost a minute of silence followed, Jamie struggling to find the words to say 'goodbye', without somehow alerting her of his intentions. His grandmother was old and weary, he knew she didn't have long left. This flight to Haiti seemed like a one way trip, and if he ever came back he doubted that she would still be alive. He wanted to go and see her in person, but he knew he couldn't.

"What is it, James?" She continued, concern clearly showing in her voice.

"Love you, grandma."

"Oh, I love you too, dear."

Jamie hung up, and almost simultaneously, the plane arrived.

Emily sat cross legged strumming her guitar in a little nook between a set of stairs and the BART track. She liked how people actually glanced at her. Sure a lot ignored her, but that’s was to be expected. She enjoyed the little tune she was making up as she went along, before switching to ‘Uncle John’s Band’, a personal favorite of hers. There was some change and a whole dollar in the open guitar case in front of her. That had been this sweet old lady, the lady hadn’t stopped, but she had smiled. Emily enjoyed it when people smiled at her.

Out of the corner of her eye she sensed the presence of someone standing beside her. For a moment her heart skipped a beat, wondering if it was a cop coming to tell her to beat it or spend the night in jail. If it were a cop escaping his attention would be easy, the crowds at this time of day were easy enough to slip into. She stopped playing and looked up the leg, realizing the dark suit couldn’t belong to a cop. She let out a small sigh of relief.

His eyes met with her’s. He hadn’t been staring at her, but he did now that she wasn’t playing.

“Got a request?” Emily asked. It was a weird sensation to have someone stare at her that intently.

“Emily Louise Grey.” Emily blinked startled. She stared back at him for a whole minute not saying anything. Her name almost foreign to her, her foster sister these days called her Em, if anything at all. Even in the small shared room the girl didn’t seem to always notice Emily. The parents themselves while nice enough, were annoyed at Emily for having passed only by the skin on her teeth this last year of high school. She had no prospects, no job, no school. It was over for her. The foster parents had her for another three months though, and then she’d be 18.

“What?” Emily finally asked, suspicious. The man didn’t seem to catch that, he only spoke quietly, as if he knew that people wouldn’t see the girl he spoke to.

“Take this. Read it carefully.” He removed from his jacket an envelope, dropped it into her case, and then said. “If you’re smart you’ll follow the instructions inside. Wait until you get home to open it. The information is… sensitive. Please destroy it when you have read it in its entirety.”

Emily looked down at the envelope sure it would explode, or contain some white powder. Her heart pounded, what was this?

“What do you want?”

“For you to read that,” he nodded at the envelope and walked away. Disappearing almost as well as she could in a crowd. Fear spiked through her. If he knew her name, and had found her, not that when she was playing it could be that hard, who was he? Her stomach twisted and she quickly put away her guitar. She needed to read whatever was in the envelope. There would be answers in it.

---

Tessa, Emily’s hot headed roommate wasn’t in the room. That girl had more issues than Emily did, which was saying something. She wouldn’t be at this house much longer. Emily sat on the top bunk that Tessa had delegated to her the first day she had arrived. Her fingers trembled as she opened the letter. Really hoping white powder didn’t fall out. It didn’t. Instead there was a letter, and a plane ticket. She glanced over the plane ticket first. A direct flight, first class to Haiti. What in the world was going on? Answers would be in the letter, hopefully.

‘Emily. You don't know me, but I know you. I know it's hard to trust someone you don't know, but I'm asking you to just read this letter and give me a chance. The government has targeted you. That blood test you took last month was taken by every teenager in the country. It was looking for people like you. Special people. You're not the only one. There are hundreds, if not thousands. I'm giving you a choice. Stay where you are now, and die, or be taken away to live out your days as a lab rat - or, alternatively, leave your home, get on that plane and do not look back.'

'You will never be able to have the life that you have planned now, but I can offer you a new life. A life where you can be a part of the downfall of the government's genocide of people like you and I. Your powers are a gift, I can help you use them for good. If you decide to take that ticket, know that a lot of hard work and danger will be coming your way. But ask yourself - is that not better than death? I hope to see you in Haiti. Look for a man holding a sign saying 'Smith Family' when you arrive there. He will take you to your new home, should you choose to take the flight.

'Regards, -W.V.'

'P.S.: If you have family, it's best that they don't know where you're going.'

Chills spread over Emily’s skin, exposed or not. She remembered that test, and how the school said it was required. She remembered the doubt in her mind. Was this guy ‘W.V.’ really like her? She heard footsteps and the door open so she shoved the letter and ticket under her pillow and picked up her guitar. Tessa came in just as Emily started picking lightly at the strings.

“Oh hey, what’s up?” The foster sister asked.

“Not much.”

“Make anything?”

“Like two bucks.” Emily sighed and leaned back against the wall, letting the guitar fall silent. In a matter of seconds Tessa seemed to forget her foster sister’s presence in the room.

Emily pulled the ticket back out from under her pillow. The flight was the next day. She could do it. Catch the flight and be gone. The change in scenery might be good, and leaving wouldn’t be too hard. Emily sat up, waiting for Tessa’s quiet snores. Not that she couldn’t have packed and been gone without the girl even noticing, but it was easier this way. It wasn’t’ Emily’s first runaway.

She fit everything she needed into her backpack, and the guitar case. Emily had never had much. She lifted Tessa’s sunglasses, a pair she had admittedly coveted for weeks, and left out the front door. Walking right passed her foster father who didn’t as much as glance up. Too easy, it always was.

Now she had a few hours to burn. Time to spend in the city as it went to bed, time she wanted to use to say goodbye to it. She had no idea if she’d ever see it again. Likely she wouldn’t even survive the trip. This W.V. guy could just be a trap, but if it was, she was good at getting out of places. You just had to look like you belonged. But first destroying the letter.

---

When the time came for her to check in she was careful to keep her concentration. Keeping herself visible was an effort, only ever easy when she played, but that wasn’t an option while checking in for a flight. She had some difficulty at the counter; people seemed to not realize she was the end of the line and kept cutting in front of her. When she finally did get checked in, no checked bags, she next had to tackle security. That one she let herself slip a bit, allowing only the briefest of inspection. Not that she had anything illegal with her, but it was easier and faster.

Emily had only flown once, a very long time ago, and then she couldn’t have said she was glad for the assigned seating, but now she was, it meant that she didn’t have to worry about being sat on. That had happened once in school. For the most part people just avoided her. Maybe that guy was less perceptive, or had done it on purpose, she couldn’t say. She wondered if anyone else on the plane would be like her. How many were there out there?

She watched the plane taxi up. As she stood there she spun her phone, wondering if she leave it, or keep it. If the government were really after her, would they be able to track it? A spike of paranoia blazed through Emily and she let herself blend for a moment and then dropped the phone in a business man’s briefcase. He didn’t notice.

Then the call for her flight was made.

Melissa's trainers were a drab, faded red; worn-looking, her sock could be seen through the hole in their right toe. She stared at them with the most peculiar intent. However, her short, fleeting glances towards the papers she had clenched in her first betrayed her actual attentions. Her thoughts occupied, absolutely, the events of that morning; paranoid regrets continuing to form. It was an uncharacteristic impulse that had led her to heed to the letters directions. It had scared her: if her contact could track her down then it would be a matter of time before the authorities discovered her.

'... Stay where you are now, and die ...'

She had awoken to him, peering in at her. It was obvious from the onset that there was something fucked-up occurring; his smart appearance struck a sharp contrast with the surrounding area; the squalid, unilluminated street that even her fellow-homeless avoided. He begun with her full name: that's when she should have puddle'd. But she didn't: she took the letter and she read it: and now she was here; sitting in the airport's first-class terminal, the subject of looks ranging from curious to perturbed to almost-belligerent.

None were undeserved. Her clothing was a-shambles: frayed blue jeans, a stained denim jacket, and a ragged black top beneath. Grime covered her person and she smelled like a sewer. Even her earlier attendant had passed a scowl through her professionalism. It came as no further surprise that no-one chose to seat near her: she sat alone; isolated from her fellow passengers. It wasn't an experience she was unfamiliar with: fourteen months on the street - she still counted - had numbed her to similar treatment; worse treatment.

A message leading with her flight number was announced. It was boarding.

The girl's thumb began to gently massage the edge of her ticket. She passed a brief, nervous glance outside first: the plane taxi'd up the runway, and then towards the corridor she had arrived from. If she started walking she could be outside the airport inside ten minutes. The temptation had been gnawing on her since check-in. But she posed a firm resistance. There was no life to return to: nothing but misplaced notions of comfort to entice her back. Or so she would remind herself.

With anxious determination, she stood up.

' ... I can offer you a new life. A life where you can be a part of the downfall of the government's genocide of people like you and I ...'

Opening his eyes was hard enough. The curtains were closed and his vision was hazy from the faded white light piercing through those heavy curtains. The air reeked of stale perfume, slightly worsening his hungover state. Sam had no idea what day it was, or what time for that matter. He reached for his pants on the floor, snatching his phone from one of his front pockets. It was dead.

He let out a long "fuuuuuuuuck" as he struggled to get up from this unfamiliar bed. He immediately recognized the apartment building he was in, but he had no clue who's room he was in. It wouldn't have been as tough if he didn't still have the bandages around his arms, but it definitely reinforced his ego knowing he could pull something like this off even with his injuries.

Unsure of whether his gracious host would return soon, he quickly dressed himself. His clothes smelled like old Natty Light. Walking into the bathroom, he pulled out his cigarette pack and dug around for a Vyvanse. A 40mg pop would keep him up all day, and he washed it down with water lapped straight from the faucet. He was dehydrated, and it was hitting him quick and hard. He stuck his head sideways in the sink and gulped... hard.

His heart began racing. Looking up at the mirror, Sam saw his eyes dilated. His head cleared. His muscles ached significantly less. In his newly satisfied state, Sam cleared out of the building. The restlessness was coming up. His hands were getting slightly jittery. Outside, he pulled out a cigarette and frantically searched himself for a lighter.

"Fucking-A." Head up, he saw a man in a black suit next to him. "Got a light?

"Samuel Pikus?" Sam's head snapped to meet the stranger's. The man held up an engraved Zippo and lit Sam's cigarette. With his other hand, the suit held up an envelope. "For you." Sam snatched it out and held it in front of his face for a second, still in a slight state of confusion over what was occurring. "I suggest you wait until you get home to open that..."

---

"So, my flight's in a couple hours..." Sam frantically spoke as he walked into his dorm.

"What?"

"Yeah, I totally forgot it was today." He began laying his clothes out and quickly folded them. It wouldn't take long; all of Sam's things could fit into a suitcase, his duffel bag, and his backpack. He enjoyed having minimal possessions. Mere things were nothing to stress over for him.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Bruh, I start tomorrow." Sam had given this story over the phone to his father, who didn't ask many questions and had always given constant unconditional support, no matter what Sam did. This time, he'd have to coordinate his body language so his roommate would buy it.

"Start what? Dude, I have no idea what you're talking about right now."

"I haven't told you? I got an offer for some Data Mining position down in Chile. I'll be gone for the rest of the semester." He and his roommate had bonded significantly this year, forcing their 3rd roommate out and pledging the same fraternity. "The pay is pretty dope, but I'll probably be back next term. No sense in throwing away this degree just so I can live the rest of my life crunching numbers in some shit-hole, right?"

Within the hour, all of Sam's clothes were packed. He gathered all his prescription bottles and began pouring them into the toilet of their bathroom. "Now help me get all this shit packed." He and his roommate had made a killing in the freshmen crowd dealing stimulants en masse. His share of cocaine, MDMA, and every other party and study drug were packed into capsules and his bottles were refilled. "The rest of my cut is in the safe with yours. You can keep it all, I'll just take a bit of cash for the trip."

"You know, they got shit bud down in Latin America. That Mexican brick weed is like the standard."

And almost like clockwork, Sam's cab buzzed his phone. "Gotta go! I'll see you next semester." He exchanged a handshake and hug with his roommate, who would diffuse this news to everyone else. It seemed like a solid story, and nobody would look too much into it.

---

He sat in the terminal of Washington Dulles for what felt like hours. Sam was certainly early to his flight, but that was just the type of guy he was. Ticket in hand, Sam wondered what this was all about. He was quick to respond to this new information, and at first it felt adventurous, but the more he was able to sit and think about it, his decision felt overly-impulsive. What the fuck am I doing? There was no turning back now. Any alternative plan he could have formulated dissipated the second he embraced this one. Surely, it was urgent.

They called his flight to board, and Sam was trying to keep his sanity. At least I'll be riding first class. A smile crept over his face, as he gradually began to accept the adventure ahead of him.

Getting her things together was difficult. Not that packing was really hard, but deciding what to bring. A lot of the stuff Lydia had was precious to her. But she could take it all. Clothes, toiletries, an old childrens book... too many choices. After much internal debate she left it as is. Ordinarily she would not have payed much attention to the warning she was given. It sounded crazy. But the whole thing fit like a puzzle.

A man in a nice suit approached her while she was out the other day. The encounter was brief as her mom was nearby. He knew her name but treated her like anyone else despite her lack of tact. The questions poured out, many of which had no baring on what was going on in the moment. Left behind with a letter she was given explicit instructions to keep it secret. People didn't share secrets with her so Lydia kept it and waited till she was home and alone. Some might think it was deceptive to "trick" someone with her condition.

The young woman wasn't stupid though. Going over the note numerous times she made sure that she understood what it was telling her. Usually quite active at all hours she made herself sit down and think which took a bit. Rabbit trails were tricky things. Using her phone she looked up some information of the mandatory blood draw. While ordinarily she would pay little mind to something like this it wasn't something she could ignore. Her parents could be in danger because of her. It was inevitable that she would be found out. Several close calls had occurred as her ability seemed to grow in strength.

No, back to the blood thing. They would not have done such a thing if they weren't looking for something. It was a health concern of some kind or database kind of thing. Conspiracies abounded among the populace. Most of them were crazy. But the power thing made sense. Statistically she could not have been the only one with an extraordinary power. So if they had a way to find them then biological samples would be about as close as one could get. She wasn't in school anymore, why would she be screened? And the man knew that she had power and claimed to have them as well. Even if she was wrong Lydia felt she could hold her own. Electricity was a powerful force of nature.

And thus the debate ended then. Having burned twenty minutes meant that her time to pack and plan was plentiful. The battery removed from her phone she left the house well in advance of her parents waking. If they got up early to find her not there it wasn't unusual. Most times she would be out for a walk and the neighbors knew to keep an eye on her. Taking a taxi to near the airport she stayed out on the street for a while. Should anyone have approached her they would have been quite unfortunate. Thankfully no one bothered her and when it came closer to time she made the rest of the trip.

Fortunately for Lydia she had flown on several occasions. Either on trips or to go be seen in another location to help her. Trying to keep the interaction to a minimum she got through without much trouble. Once on the plane though whoever sat next to her was not so lucky. Flights were slow and dull. The walking energizer didn't do well with sitting for extended periods so it was either talk, squirm, or challenge herself to solving something "impossible." Somewhere along the way she ended up doing all three.

"Happy birthday, dear Fiona, happy birthday to you.”

Those closest to Fiona had surrounded her, singing, celebrating her turning nineteen years old. ‘Yeah, happy birthday Fiona,’ the redhead would think sarcastically.

She dragged her wrist against her forehead, wiping way the sweat. People always jokes, an Irish girl living in Texas, one day they’d find a pile of ash in her place. She thanked everyone who had just sung the song and faked being surprised, she was pretty good at faking things, so this wasn’t all that hard. It’s not that they didn’t hide the party from her; that much was done pretty well, it was just the fact that they had a surprise party every year, on the same day. But the act itself was nice enough as is.

Fiona’s father rushed up to her and put his meaty palm on top of her head, ruffling her hair up a bit. She promptly fixed the damage he had done as soon as he removed this hand. He was a well-built man, wen to the gym three days a week, had a hard working labor job down at the plant, and ate well enough. He dragged her away from the commotion, something Fiona considered to be her best birthday present so far, including the homemade butter tart she was given to her by her grandmother that was more of an annual thing as well.

”So listen Fiona,” her father whispered in her ear, pulling her towards the front door. I know you were expecting something pretty big this year, but you know times have been tough on everyone and we can only make some much magic happen. Her father grumbled into his salt and pepper beard.

”Dad it’s fine-” Fiona began, but her father placed an hand on her shoulder and another on the door handle behind her. He quickly spun her around and out the door. The view was never much to scoff at, but there were surely better places to live. There was the same old roads, a nice view of the main city from where she lived, her father’s Honda Civic and a Jeep Cherokee with a red ribbon on it-

”What the shit is that?” Fiona said grabbing her father’s arm with a pincer like grip.

”I may have lied about the magic I can make happen, as it turns out.” her dad smirked, rubbing the back of his head with a deep chortle. “Here, she’s all yours, why don’t you take her for a spin?”

Fiona’s first thought was to hug her dad, unfortunately by the time she managed to churn out her first thought she was already putting the key into the car and starting it. She waved enthusiastically at him as she slid the car into reverse. Something about it just felt right, probably a feature they added in to make you okay with spending the amount of money one does on a car these days. She ripped out of the driveway and took off down the road. Through the rearview mirror she could see her Dad grumbling about the way she drove, he hated it. But this was her car, and who knows, maybe it was her world.

---

Fiona had been driving a long time when she finally realized she should be getting back home soon. She had already had to refill the tank back to fill once and was now half empty. The sun began to dip down to her level, her favorite part of living in Texas was just how orange the sky got when it finally began to slumber. She drove out to a local lookout point in order to catch the last few glimpses of the fleeting beauty. There was a certain appeal to it, perhaps knowing that it will be gone so soon, knowing that you only have a few minutes to enjoy it while you gaze into what seems to be the answer to all things. And then before you know it, it’s already gone and all you’re left with is a beautiful memory.

And just like that, the sun disappeared from her line of sight. Fiona let out a long sigh and stretched her arms towards the sky, pushing all the air out of her body. As she was getting ready to head back another car pulled up to the same lookout spot that she was attending. A man got out of the vehicle, probably about thirty or so years old, he was wearing a suit. Which was strange. Fiona was wearing a summer dress and she was sweating and this man was standing in a full suit, he seemed fine. He also sported an expensive pair of sunglasses, real Men in Black style, Fiona couldn’t help but think.

”Huh, seems I missed the sunset, huh?”

”Sure looks that why doesn’t it?”

”Well Fiona, thank god I didn’t miss you.

’He knows my name. He’s either a stalker or this is the second surprise party, I don’t know which one is worse.” Fiona’s thoughts raced at hearing her own name mentioned by a stranger.

”Fiona Elizabeth Redmond?” The man said, his voice was steady, unwavering, he seemed worried yet confident.

”Should we skip to the part where you attempt to assault me and I kick your ass or are you a fan of the foreplay?” Fiona’s voice wavered, it faltered even.

”I’ll be honest Fiona, I don’t really have time to do this with you right now, there are others. Take this, read it carefully.” The man reached into his pocket and he pulled out an envelope. Not one of those shitty envelopes either, it looked like if you ever got mail from the president minus the eagles or American flags or whatever. ” If you're smart you'll follow the instructions inside. Wait until you get home to open it. The information is... sensitive. Please destroy it when you have read it in it's entirety." He handed the letter to Fiona and before she knew it she was holding the envelope and he was gone. Or, rather, she was and she was exhausted.

”Shit, I can’t believe I’m still accidentally running places. Who does that when they get stressed anyway, who goes for a goddam jog…”Fiona mumbled to herself cursing her lack of control and newfound exhaustion. She tore the letter open as her eyes darted back and forth confirming each word was what it appeared to be, along with a plane ticket she now had on her. It read:

'Fiona. You don't know me, but I know you. I know it's hard to trust someone you don't know, but I'm asking you to just read this letter and give me a chance. The government has targeted you. Just like your mother did, they’re going to pin the evils of this world on you. That blood test you took last month was taken by every teenager in the country. It was looking for people like you. Special people. You're not the only one. There are hundreds, if not thousands. I'm giving you a choice. Stay where you are now, and die, or be taken away to live out your days as a lab rat - or, alternatively, leave your home, get on that plane and do not look back.'

'You will never be able to have the life that you have planned now, but I can offer you a new life. A life where you can be a part of the downfall of the government's genocide of people like you and I. Your powers are a gift, I can help you use them for good. If you decide to take that ticket, know that a lot of hard work and danger will be coming your way. But ask yourself - is that not better than death? I hope to see you in Haiti. Look for a man holding a sign saying 'Smith Family' when you arrive there. He will take you to your new home, should you choose to take the flight.

'Regards, -W.V.'

'P.S.: If you have family, it's best that they don't know where you're going.'

---

If Fiona was sweating before, she was now leaking. She threw mismatched clothes into a bag with a fervor. She wasn’t looking at what she was packing, in fact she was pretty sure she had thrown in at least twenty pairs of socks and one bra so far. But that didn’t matter. Only one thought raced through her mind and that thought was of death. Was it impending? Was it unavoidable? Fiona was fast, but she feared that she wasn’t fast enough.

If this were all some cruel trick she reminded herself that she would have to full on murder someone after this. But that was absolutely not a trick she was willing to bet on. She took one last skeptical look at her plane ticket, the plane was taking off in thirty minutes. That was absolutely ridiculous. Fiona had no time to leave a note. She had no time to thank her father for everything that he had done, for shielding her from this insane world.

A part of Fiona felt that maybe this could be her way of shielding him. No one would ever know that she had powers now, she was moving to Haiti.
As Fiona sped down the interstate at speeds she considered to be fatal, she silently cursed the man she had met today. ’30 minutes…' Fiona cursed him silently eyes dashing between the road and the clock. Finally arriving at the airport she grabbed her back and looked at the clock one last time.

Ten minutes.

Fiona raced through the airport, she had only a carryon bag so it didn’t take long at security. She finally reached the terminal and dug around for her ticket to give to the attendant. But it wasn’t there. She had no ticket. She watched as the final passengers bordered her flight and quietly swore under her breath.

She was panting hard in a seat, she was sure sweat would stain it by the time she got up. Her chest rising and falling as if she had just resurfaced after spending hours underwater.

”Ma’am could I get a ginger ale here, maybe two or three actually?” Fiona said grabbing the wrist of a passing attendant who just nodded and disappeared towards the back of the plane.

’Happy fucking birthday.’ Fiona thought to herself, passing out in her seat for what would inevitably be a long ride.

Alex was were he could be found every Saturday morning, elbow deep in a motor. Currently he was underneath one laying down on a roller. Music was playing loudly through the shop, mostly classic rock as currently it was AC-DC. There was only a couple of other people working in the shop this morning as there were only a couple of cars being worked on. It was peaceful as he rolled out from under the car getting up and wiping some grease from from his hands on his overalls. He wore the top of them down around his waist as he moved over to a near by desk with computer on it. Pulling up the file for the car he was working on as he updated it. Simple fuel pump needed to be replaced, at least that was done.

Sighing he closed off the file, he would have to call the owner to let them know the car was done. "Alexander Rodriguez Rhodes" Alex turned around looking at the person behind him. A man wearing a suit, a very nice suit. To nice to be a parole officer for one of the ex-cons his dad hired. He looked over to Carlos, he looked over but didn't seem on edge or walking over to see what was up, and he was the only one here with a sheet at the time. So there was only one other option, Government, he was here for him. That blood test last week at school, it was more then what they let on. The pieces started to fall in to place for him as his mind was racing, eyes started to look around for a back up team before he lashed out. He tried to hear or smell anything indicating more people. Fear his emotion was growing, he could feel it building inside of him, growing ever faster as his fight or flight was staring to take over.

All of this only took a mater of seconds "Yes, can I help you?" He looked at him, the only gunpowder he could smell came from the 1911 locked away in the cabinet behind him, and the one Carlos kept on him. So he was unarmed, that reassured him some. "That mind of yours is a wonderful thing, how many plans have you formulated to escape he handed him an envelope as he furrowed his brow confused now. "216" he answered as he grabbed the envelope, the man seemed to know what he was. He lifted up the envelope and sniffed it, paper, glue sealing, and ink. "Destroy it as soon as you read it" With that he turned and left. He looked at him as he took a deep breath calming down. The man knew how to talk to him, short and direct. Calm and level. Did he know about his lack of control of emotions?

"Estoy de volver a casa"(I'm going home) He called out as the others waved at him "buen día" they called out as he walked off. Changed into jeans leaving on his black shirt as he grabbed his riding jacket and helmet. His mother hated that he fixed that bike after the wreck, walking up to his black Suzuki he put his coat on and pulled on his gloves. Soon he pulled the helmet over his head as he started up the bike and rode home.

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After dinner he sat on his bed looking at the envelope, opening it up he started to read the the letter.

'Alex. You don't know me, but I know you. I know it's hard to trust someone you don't know, but I'm asking you to just read this letter and give me a chance. The government has targeted you. That blood test you took last month was taken by every teenager in the country. It was looking for people like you. Special people. You're not the only one. There are hundreds, if not thousands. I'm giving you a choice. Stay where you are now, and die, or be taken away to live out your days as a lab rat - or, alternatively, leave your home, get on that plane and do not look back.'

'You will never be able to have the life that you have planned now, but I can offer you a new life. A life where you can be a part of the downfall of the government's genocide of people like you and I. Your powers are a gift, I can help you use them for good.If you decide to take that ticket, know that a lot of hard work and danger will be coming your way. But ask yourself - is that not better than death? I hope to see you in Haiti. Look for a man holding a sign saying 'Smith Family' when you arrive there. He will take you to your new home, should you choose to take the flight.

'Regards, -W.V.'

'P.S.: If you have family, it's best that they don't know where you're going.'

He read that letter looking at it, he knew something was up with that Blood test, but this. He looked outside of his door, he didn't want to leave his family. He ran through the scenarios in his mind. He started running through the scenarios in his mind, there wasn't a single outcome where him staying wouldn't put his family at risk. He would have to run, that would work. He could smell or hear anybody comeing, with his mind he could stay a step a head of them. But it was his emotions, all the stress of running. He knew he would lose control, that might cause him to kill innocent people. Then there was the hail merry. Using this ticket. He sighed some as he knew what he would have to do. But to not tell his family, he couldn't deal with that. The worry they would have, they would look for him, not knowing what happened. They lived in a rough neighborhood. He could of died, he had been known to get into fights and it wouldn't of been the first time some one would of tried to get revenge. Sighing he stood up, he would at least tell his mother. He couldn't have her worry bout him, she grew up here. She could lie to the police, file a missing persons so suspension isn't cast on them when the real government comes looking for him. His flight was for the afternoon so he'll be long gone with in 48hrs. Logically he knew it was a bad idea, but emotionally. That was something different.

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Sitting at the airport he waited for his flight as he ran through everything in his head. He stole a car to keep up the appearance that he ran away, parked it a few blocks away from the airport and walked the rest of the way. His passport was up to date for when they went to visit family in Mexico. Soon they were calling to board. He checked in his main bag as he pulled his back pack over his shoulder walking in the first class to board the plane. Soon sitting down in his seat he leaned back in it. He took in a deep breath, he knew this day would come eventually, ever since he discovered his powers. But now it was finally here.

“Hey Nate... some weird guy in a suit is at the front door looking for you.”

Nathan McFadden had a moment when his hungover brain refused to make sense of what his roommate said, or even where he was at the moment. Finally it coughed up the second bit of information. He was in Cocoa Beach, Florida, last night he DJ a party at some nice hotel for a surfing competition's after party. Now that he got that settled he realized what his roommate at the shack he was crashing in told him. “Oh shit... alright alright. Dude what time is it anyways?” Nathan moaned as he got up, throwing on a shirt over the speedo he usually slept in.

Nathan sloughed over to the front door, a weirdly nice looking man holding an envelope, looking at the young blond man with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah whats up bro?” Nathan asked having to hold himself upright against the door frame. Nathan suddenly had the envelope put to his chest. “Read this privately Mr. McFadden.” The man quickly started to take his leave as Nathan just looked on quizzically. “Yeah sure mister mysterious man figure I'm probably hallucinating...” Nathan called back to the guy before before shaking his head. Figuring he might as well comply as he closed the front door behind him.

The lightly tanned man was thankful his roommates weren't seeing him right now. Not only was that guy weird but Nathan had a sneaking suspicion his body was wobbling something fierce. Not even in the traditional sense, but literally swaying to and fro in a way only a spineless fish could. Stuff like that happened when he was hungover or drunk. One time he got so drunk he ended up with a beer belly that practically redefined the term as it hung out a few feet from him. Of course having these powers meant being able to fix that kind of stuff and be back to muscular glory in no time. Still he needed to be able to remind himself to look normal when he was doing anything. One real lapse of thought can cause him to go from stud to what the hell is that in no time.

Getting back to his room Nathan flopped down onto the cheap mattress he was sleeping on and got his pillows propped up to get comfy. After all one can't read really neat secret documents while uncomfortable, that's just a fact. Letting his finger get morphed into something more shaped like a letter opener Nathan opened the envelope with it and quickly watch the plane ticket flop onto his stomach. A ticket to Haiti? FUCK YEAH! Man he knew Kelly Slater was a cool guy but he didn't realize the guy was this cool! The letter came out next, and either Kelly has a sick sense of humor or Nathan's smile quickly fading meant something.

'Nathan. You don't know me, but I know you.

I know it's hard to trust someone you don't know, but I'm asking you to just read this letter and give me a chance. The government has targeted you. That blood test you took last month was taken by every teenager in the country. It was looking for people like you. Special people. You're not the only one. There are hundreds, if not thousands. I'm giving you a choice. Stay where you are now, and die, or be taken away to live out your days as a lab rat - or, alternatively, leave your home, get on that plane and do not look back.'

'You will never be able to have the life that you have planned now, but I can offer you a new life. A life where you can be a part of the downfall of the government's genocide of people like you and I. Your powers are a gift, I can help you use them for good. If you decide to take that ticket, know that a lot of hard work and danger will be coming your way. But ask yourself - is that not better than death? I hope to see you in Haiti. Look for a man holding a sign saying 'Smith Family' when you arrive there. He will take you to your new home, should you choose to take the flight.

'Regards, -W.V.'

'P.S.: If you have family, it's best that they don't know where you're going.'

Dude, the fuck?

Nathan for a second glanced around the room, hoping some guy was going to pop out and tell him how the prank was so good. Sadly it wasn't happening though, what the hell blood test was it even talking about? More importantly why the Hell was the Government after him? What did he do? Yeah his all elastic or something but he has never used it to do anything bad. Sure he uses it to look more beefy than he normally does (Not that he'll ever admit it, all natural baby), and occasionally by himself he used it to get beer out of a fridge while lounging on the couch. IS ALL THAT NOW A CRIME OR SOMETHING? Seriously Nathan was not sure what the Hell to think right now. On the one hand all of this is so messed up none of it feels real. On the other he sure as Hell isn't normal being able to stretch all over the place like those old Stretch Armstrong dolls. On the third non existent hand, free trip to Haiti!

Nathan had to keep mauling over the choices for a moment, holding the ticket and letter in his hand and tapping it against his other hand as he was trying to figure out what his confused brain was going with. As he did that though Nathan started to glance out the window. His eyes widened almost unnaturally when he realized someone was outside, the guy was wearing a suit and shades and coming towards the shack. “Shit!” Nathan mouthed under his breath. Well guess that settles that.

In a frantic rush Nathan hurried to get all of his clothes shoved into the single piece of luggage he had. Almost forgetting to put pants on himself until he was almost finished “Crap crap crap CRAP!” Nathan finally got all his things together when he saw the man just at the door, yeah defiently back door exit time! WAIT! Almost forgot the surfboards, never forget the surfboards! Nathan got everything together, quickly throwing the backdoor open and running out the door, dialing a taxi as he ran away.

“Hey man how did the job interview go?”

“Really good, hey why was Nathan running away from the house like that?”

“Who knows, you wanna play some Road Rash 64?”

“Hell yeah.”

~ Later at the airport ~

Nathan was no stranger to the airport, thanks to a few trips to California, Hawaii, and once to Australia as a graduation present. Though that said the young man still stuck out like a sore thumb as he glanced around at the business men and families around him. Shit his mom and dad, he never did call them. Nathan scratched the back of his head, sadly he didn't really see a need too. Sure he loved them a ton, but by now they did their thing and he did his thing. They didn't talk too much and at least as far as Nathan could tell they didn't mind. Sure if he needed money he'd usually return home, help work at dad's surf shop or mom's bake cart for a while, then head back out to do whatever. It was a good system, well it was until all this crap. Seriously the Government has to put its funds into going after guys like him? Don't they have anything better to do? Nathan sighed as the plane was about to start boarding, who knew going to Haiti could be both so awesome and suck so hard at the same time?

Hannah sat perched on the worn leather arm of her couch, a mug of lukewarm tea clutched in one hand, tiny bits of shredded paper cupped loosely in the other. Her fingers trembled as she took a long sip of her drink, and another, and another. Soon enough she was stuck staring at the little black leaf fragments plastered to the pottery bottom, as if she could divine some sort of greater meaning from their moist, nebulous clusters.

Warm light filtered through her tall windows, casting her sparsely decorated living room in a buttery glow. She could almost pretend it was spring again, that is if she ignored the naked trees outside. Her lungs emptied in a slow leak, air flowing gently out through her nose only to creep back in again. Her breathing was the only sound to break the silence, that and the clock that hung in the hall. It occurred to her as she glanced at its passive face that she had been seated there quite some time, probably since the stranger had left her apartment. That had been a surprise she hadn’t seen coming, and one she still didn’t entirely believe.

At around quarter to nine the doorbell had gone off like a gunshot, breaking her perpetual silence, ricocheting through her home and settling in her bones. The man himself had been rather memorable. For one, he was the first person other than Hannah herself to step inside her fifth-floor walkup. He also had impeccable taste in suits.

When she had first opened her door, swaddled in her blue bathrobe, the stranger made no attempt to introduce himself or shake her hand, a fact which disturbed her quite a bit more than if he had. Instead he greeted her with an inclination of his sunglass-clad head and a simple string of words.

“Hannah Orson Bond, your life is in danger. We need to talk.”

Thinking back she probably should have been more suspicious. Asked for his credentials, identification, his name, something. But at the time it simply didn’t seem important. He wasn’t there to harm her. She didn’t have any physical evidence of course, she just knew. Like she knew he would refuse her offer of coffee, though she asked anyway to be polite. Marguerite would be proud.

Their conversation hadn’t shaped up to much, but it was hard to hold a good tête-à-tête with only one participant. The stranger had given her a letter, the letter whose remnants she now held in her hand, all the while careful not to touch her skin. “This is from my employer,” the man had informed her, “Please read what he has to say and then destroy it. He can help you with what’s coming.” The stranger didn’t elaborate, simply bid her goodbye with a martial nod of his head and disappeared as quickly as he had come. One thing was certain; the man was scared for her. She felt it.

Hannah waited until the door had closed firmly behind him before tearing into the letter.

Dear Ms. Bond,

Though we have never met, know I write to you as a friend. It is hard to place any amount of trust in a stranger, but I assure you I am nothing if not an ally to you, and of course to those like you.

Your abilities (I refer to those which are particular to your person) put your life at immediate risk. The government issued a mandatory blood test at the national level last month, one you justifiably treated with suspicion. The purpose of the test was to locate individuals in the population who possess specific genetic markers and, as a result, exhibit powers considered superhuman or even supernatural.

It was a clever move, switching out your blood sample with that of a classmate, but how long before they find you out? Do not delude yourself into thinking you are safe. They will come for you sooner or later, and I can assure you that when they do everything will be easier with friends. You are an intelligent woman, Ms. Bond. If you are really honest with yourself, you know you cannot survive alone.

Enclosed in this letter is a first-class plane ticket. I can offer you a new life, a life where you can be a part of the downfall of the government’s genocide of people like you and I, a life where you can learn to control your powers rather than fear them. It will require hard work, and I can’t guarantee your safety, but isn’t that better than death?

I’m giving you a choice. Stay where you are now and die or be taken away to live out your days as a lab rat – or, alternatively, leave your home, get on that plane, and do not look back.

Should you choose to take the flight to Haiti, look for a man holding a sign saying “Smith Family” when you arrive. He will take you to your new home. I hope to see you there.

Regards,

W.V.

P.S. If you have family, it’s best they don’t know where you’re going.

Hannah read that letter over and over again that morning she spent perched on the arm of her couch. After the fourth time she had it memorized and could just read it in her head, leaving her hands free to absently shred the thing into oblivion. The message gave her little in the way of information, except to confirm her suspicions about the blood test. Instead it upset a hornets’ nest of questions, questions that now swarmed about her brain. Who was W.V.? How did he know who she was, let alone that she was less than normal? And most important of all, could he really teach her to control… whatever the hell it was that had happened to her?

The clock struck noon and Hannah’s gaze fell to the ticket that lay on her glass coffee table, nestled between research journals. The flight left at two. If she was going to go, she had to go now. She stared at the small colored strip of paper for a long moment, her gray eyes unblinking, then set her mug down with a thud and pulled out her cellphone. She drafted a quick text to her parents, explaining that she was going on a research trip and wouldn’t have Internet access or cell service. It was a lame excuse, but Hannah was certain the Doctors Bond wouldn’t care enough to question it. There wasn’t anyone left alive who did. Hannah read the short message through once more, hit send, and vaulted towards her bedroom.

Haiti, huh?, she thought to herself as she started tearing open her dresser drawers and dumping their contents onto the floor, How the hell am I supposed to pack for that?. New England weather dictated multiple layers this time of year, a practice she was sure wasn’t going cut it closer to the equator. Marguerite would know. She was from Haiti, wasn’t she? A heavy lump settled in Hannah’s throat.

She yanked out her suitcase from under her bed and began to toss in anything she could find with short sleeves. Satisfied, she sprinted to the bathroom, dumped an armload of toiletries in a bag, and chucked that in her suitcase as well. Puffing her cheeks, Hannah zipped her bag closed and took a step back, pleased. After a moment she glanced down at herself. Dammit. She was still wearing her pajamas.

A flowy lavender sundress and a strappy pair of six-inch sandals later, Hannah was out the door, laptop case and bag in tow. She hissed when she stepped out of her building and into the cold, but barreled blithely forward. She was just going to have to suffer until she got to the airport. Thankfully it didn’t take her very long; bored cabbies were only too eager to stop for a half-naked young woman.

The beginning of a flight was always the worst. There was nothing to do and not really much to look at outside. The man had wisely gotten Lynda a window seat, likely to give her one other thing to be occupied with. So far everything was thought of in advance. In the moment she suddenly became aware of someone next to her. Had she really been that zoned out? Having sat down was a red head about her age. A face full of freckles she appeared to be exhausted. Fidgeting a bit she drummed her fingers together.

This was her first flight without her parents which usually kept her away from people. But now she was alone and wasn't sure what to do. That didn't stop the dark haired woman from speaking up. "Hello." She tugged at her own hair a bit trying to decide what to say next. She probably should introduce herself but that wasn't was came out. "Where did you come from?"

---

Fiona gasped for air, her lungs pulling and pushing air from her core vehemently. She tried as best she could to avoid making a scene though and stared straight ahead at the seat in front of her. That was until she heard a dull noise from her left.

"Hello. Where did you come from?" A girl asked. Fiona turned to meet her gaze, she seemed slightly unsure, but not all that unconfident. Like she wasn't used to having to make small talk.

'Oh, no that's right I just appeared beside her." It was at this time Fiona realized she just stared back at the girl instead of answering her. She immediately lifter her hands in a sort of 'my bad' motion.

"Oh I just got on the plane, I live just outside of Austin! Fiona said, she knew that it was best to use truths to hide others. "What about yourself? What is bringing you to Haiti?"

---

The rather pointed question was something Lydia had not anticipated. Fortunate for her any awkwardness trying to come up with a lie would not look much different than any other moment for her. Putting her hands to her face her eyes wandered a bit as if she were searching for something. The seconds ticked by and for a moment it looked like the girl had completely forgotten the question.

Snapping back into the moment she quickly thought of something. "I'm going to meet a family there. I haven't seen them in a long time."Yeah, that would probably do. It was close enough, she was going to see the "Smith Family." Of coarse she had never actually met anyone in Haiti.

---

Fiona winced a little at the mention of family. By all means, she was a nineteen year old woman who was allowed to take trips, but the fact that she hadn't even been able to give him the courtesy of letting him know where she was going. She felt herself drop a little, slouch back in her chair before looking a little past the young woman beside her out the window.

"My name's Fiona. Fiona R-."Fiona stopped herself, it might look suspicious if she's supposed to be looking for a sign that said 'Smith Family'. "Smith, Fiona Smith." She said glancing back at the girl, putting on a false grin.

---

Smith? Coincidence, maybe. Lydia could not be sure in this case. Maybe someone was on to her. Biting her lip she ran a couple scenarios in her head. Could be the man placing someone to watch her and keep her out of trouble. How to find out? "Lydia. It's gra... nice to meet you." Well she had done speaking well up until that point. Offering a hand to shake she hoped to get some kind of reading from the contact.

A couple times Lydia found that people tended to emit signals that gave away if they were lying or telling the truth. They weren't always easy to pick up on, requiring physical contact. "I have never been to Haiti before. This is my first trip anywhere by myself. I don't always do well by myself." Wow, way to be a downer. Her other hand ran through her hair and knocked out the clip. "Sorry, I don't always say things right. Are you... I mean, what are you going to do there?"

---

"Yeah me too, never been out of Austin." Fiona said laughing a little under her breath. She shook Lydia's hand with a warm gaze. "I guess I'm going to just... Get away from some stuff, y'know?" Fiona had finally begun to regain her energy, but her mind was racing a mile a minute. This girl seemed nice enough though. Fiona followed Lydia's hand as it combed through her silky black hair.

"Oh, hey you knocked this out." Fiona grabbed the clip before it hit the ground and helped Lydia put it back in. "There we go..." Fiona said as she helped the other girl place the clip back in so that it would keep her hair out of her eyes. "Oh, shit sorry, I think I shocked you!"Fiona said waving her hand back and forth after getting a little static shock. "Well if you're worried we can stay together for the next little while, safety in numbers and all that, right?"

---

Right about now Lydia wished she could get herself to stop moving. But that would probably be a bad idea since they were going to be in a plane flying above land and water. Who knows what a bolt of lightning would do if it originated from the inside of a plane. Drawing back a bit she fixed her hair a couple times just to be sure it was together before smiling weakly. "No no. That just happens sometimes. When the air is dry." The air lately hadn't exactly been that dry with the sparatic rain coming down. There was probably a better excuse, like none at all, but it was a little late now.

Lying was not the greatest skill she had. Usually things just kind of came out. But with the whole scare of the goverment coming after her, Lydia had to step way outside her comfort zone. Turning away she looked out the window as the plane had started to taxi. Any other time this trip might have been fun. But here and now it just hurt.

---

"Well I'll tell you what, I ran just about the entire way over here, so if you don't mind, I'm gonna shut my eyes for a while, wake me when we get there?" Fiona asked. She was telling the truth, she ran twice today and her blood sugar was pretty low because of it. She could already feel her eyelids shutting down on her. So much so that she barely even realized how out of place Lydia seemed to be. At this moment however, Fiona couldn't care less. She laid back in her seat and looked over at Lydia giving her a smile before shutting her eyes, when she would open them back up, she'd hopefully be in Haiti.

---

---

Since the one person nearby to talk to slept on the way Lydia busied herselt with essentially nothing. The ocean outside was a little intersting, thinking about all the things inside it. More than once she got up and went to the bathroom. A little water in her hair kept it from frizzing out since she couldn't discharge any energy until they reached the ground. Getting hold of a pen and paper she started doing math. The entire page was practically full by the time they landed and the attendant came by to wake Fiona.

Now to find the Smith family, and see if Fiona was going the same way. Or more specifically, see if she went first. Which of course she did, running off to her "family." Before she could get out of reach though Lydia reached out and pulled her back gently. "Wait... Are you different too?" It suddenly occured to here that this was not the time or place to speak about this. She began to go with Fiona to the man with the Smith Family sign. "You're last name isn't Smith is it?"

---

Fiona was awoken by the flight attendant when the plane touched down. She was drowzy, but she kept replaying the letter in her mind. She needed to look for the Smith family sign, or at least someone holding that sign. She watched as Lydia turned to go towards her family and a weight was lifted from her shoulders. 'So she really was just a nice girl.'

However when Fiona stepped towards the waiting area her arm got caught on something. She was still drowsy, had she made a mistake?

"Wait... Are you different too? You're last name isn't Smith is it?" Lydia said to her, joining Fiona on their way to the man with the Smith sign.

"I suppose it's going to have to be now." Fiona said subtly reaffirming Lydia's thoughts about her. "Lydia, it's nice to meet you, my name's Fiona, I can run at the speed of sound. Fiona said grabbing Lydia's hand and walking with her towards their destiny.

---

Lydia wasn't expecting her hand to be held but she wasn't going to complain. At least she wasn't entirely alone after all. But at Fiona giving some more details the dark haired girl made a correctional "Shh." Much like her parents would do when she was speaking when she shouldn't. They were supposed to be hiding.

"Four cops dead and ten seriously injured in terrorist attack on Chicago's very own Water Tower Place along the Magnificent Michigan Avenue. Reports coming in saying that no civilians were harmed in the various explosions that rocked the fourth floor of the building. How this middle aged woman went unhindered through security is still being investigated. Many allegations and evidence found at the blast sight point to religious extremism as the culprits M.O. The name of said individual is currently being disclosed by local authorities."

A camera, likely situated upon a roaming news copter, panned in to Chicago streets to identify the billow of black smoke rising from the blown out windows of the fourth floor. The damage itself looked to be collateral, more of a controlled blast than one likely to cause mass devastation. It was a statement—a calling out.

It was martyrdom at its finest.

The sudden cut to Michigan Avenue's closed off streets felt jarring and panicked, a look shared by the man currently staring the microphone directed just below him down. Something caught his attention and his head jerked upward. He swallowed and nodded, leaning forward to shield the mic from the wind. The reporter shuffled in closer, the camera catching her frustration clean. Her lips moved as she repeated the question, though the microphone inched further away from her. A nod was all he gave.

"She yelled something in some kind of language," he said, refusing to look the camera in the eye, "I couldn't understand it; it was weird, guttural. And then she just... exploded in this white light."

With the microphone lifted, the reporter spoke clearer, "Did you see any explosives on her? Was she wearing some kind of vest or—"

"No, she was in a business suit. Tight pantsuits and fitted jacket. An explosion like that, that close, it just... vaporized her and the four men around her. It was loud but it wasn't—it only reached so far," the man explained, rubbing his eyes in confusion, "One moment she was shouting and the next there was this loud bang. Then she and anyone close enough just—they were just eradicated. It was controlled, though. You can see the circle in there. Anyone standing close enough to feel the heat got severely burned, but nothing fatal. If they weren't standing in that circle, they weren't killed. Everything else was just charred. A lot of smoke. A lot of black soot. A lot of second degree burns. What kind of C-4 does that?"

"I'm sorry, we're gonna have to cut to—"

"Thank you Jane. We just got a report coming in that it was in fact a pack of C-4 strapped to her person. Apparently out of the many on there, only one functioned, which would explain why it'd been so small—"

Quiet as it came, the sound from the speakers fizzed out and the TV snapped shut. A rough growl ripped from Erskine's throat that came prior to the sudden flinging of the remote against the nearest wall. Common occurrence for Erskine Hyde after a bout of frustration. Many people often find themselves at an impasse in situations akin to Erskine's and usually, they quit after the inevitable failures that follow the years of searching. If anything but the powers he had had been inherited from his mother, it was the indomitable stubbornness that ached through the genes of every Hyde and McCullough that roamed the streets of Cairndow, Scotland.

On cue, his current adoptive mother knocked her way inside the small room, bathing the dark in the fluorescent light of the hallway. The room itself smelled of fresh cut grass and daffodils, with potted plants lining the many shelves along the walls. Erskine hadn't garnered much in terms of knick-knacks, unless people called plants mementos. Just above his twin sized bed lay only one track and field trophy, tangled in vines and the thorns of a tiny rose bush. Of course, having all these plants, Erskine had claimed the room with the most windows his and his parents lovingly obliged. Not many people could boast a well teemed garden in their own bedroom. Erskine prided himself in claiming such a title.

"Running through these video tapes one after another won't get you anywhere," Jin Hao mumbled, bending low to pick up the pieces of the remote, "Your mother didn't die for you to just sit watching people explain the sham of her death on repeat."

Shuffling himself up, Erskine furrowed his brows and shot his adoptive mother a frown. "I'm just a kid," his accent fell heavy with sleep whilst he talked and Erskine couldn't resist the yawn that broke a pause in his words, "What else can I do. There must have been some reason she died for this. For what?"

"Well, you aren't going to find that—" the ringing of their apartment buzzer caught Jin off guard and she paused to look through the bedroom doorway. Putting a hand on Erskine's lap to stop him from standing, Jin shuffled from her spot down the apartment's hall. Erskine remained, a frown still stretching his lips; he listened, though, keen and quiet in the creaking of their modern home.

"He's not home," her voice echoed through the kitchen and funneled down to the various rooms that littered their halls "I can leave a message if—no? Yes, I worked with him on the project. I... I don't know what you're talking about. We were being watched 24/7, there's no way either of us could have tampered with the results. I know what you're insinuating, and I will not have that kind of accusation flung at me with baseless evidence."

Silence followed the pause that hung through the white walls of their home. Erskine frowned, listening closely to the padded footsteps of his mother's bare feet. "No, you may not come in. Stay there, I'll gather my things and leave our lawyer a message," her voice grew louder as she paced down the hall. Erskine didn't quite expect the suddenness of her arrival and was even more surprised by the panic stricken in her porcelain features. The silence that hung between them only acted as an irritant to Erskine's own rising panic. Her hand flow to her mouth, pressing her lips to the palm of her hand to stop the sting of tears that threatened to fall. She immediately pointed to the closet door and pressed herself against the door frame. Erskine obliged, pulling out things from within until she nodded erratically at the suitcase.

"I need you to pack quietly. We aren't... we aren't going anywhere yet. I just need you to promise me now that you'll be quiet. As for as we know, I am the only person currently here," she motioned with her hands as she spoke, backing herself into the hallway again, "Please, just stay put. We'll figure this out when your father gets home."

The moment Jin closed the door, Erskine's head snapped to the pile of videos on his desk and the unfolded letter sitting in the trashcan along with the ticket and envelope. No time to spare for clarity and thorough planning, Erskine grabbed all the clothes he could and whatever he deemed necessary for the stay and stuffed them haphazardly into the suitcase. With the ticket and letter in his mouth, Erskine flung open the window directly connected to the fire escape facing the alleyway. Halfway out, a thud caught his attention and Erskine's head whipped up to the door. A grunt followed after and then the loud ring of gunshot snapped him backward to collide with the railing, his hand immediately grasping the bar for leverage.

It took everything in his power to choke the sob and tears down, in order to regain his calm. It took even more to slam the window shut and rush his way down the steps until he could unlatch the ladder that lead all the way down. Five hours to get from where he was situated all the way to Chicago's O'Hare.

'...do not look back.'

Those words burned with the letter.

---

An hour to spare—his new parents always appreciated punctuality. His thumb lay perfectly over the call button directly to his father's cellphone. That was dumb, though. Something as sentimental would get him killed. Regardless, he was likely long gone and now they had their adopted son on the hit list. He just couldn't help thinking this had to do with the blood samples. Both of the Hao's seemed extremely jittery at having acquired the job as specialists for hire. They seemed almost panicked when he'd come home to tell them about it, as well.

The letter just proved that point further. Erskine just didn't realize what they'd done in an attempt to protect the only thing they thought worth living for. Well, now they could die for it.

Furrowing his brow, Erskine shoved the phone back in his pocket and bit back another threat of tears. He succeeded the numerous times it occurred within the hour and all the way until the 'fasten seat-belt' sign clicked off. And then he let it out in quiet sobs inside the airplane lavatory heading all the way down to Haiti. These thing shouldn't happen to children.

But what was he kidding himself for? He'd lost the chance at being a child the moment his biological mother declared herself a martyr for all superhuman kind. He couldn't resent that. She was making a statement in hopes that maybe her child would follow suit in a less self-sacrificial way. Or maybe to keep him from it all—wipe out the entire line of superpowered Hydes. Who knew. Erskine Hao, Erskine Hyde, it was all the same to the government.

And maybe vomiting his guts after crying himself dry would help settle that undeniable fear in the pit of his stomach. Safe for now but security was just a fantasy.

Sitting outside of the SFO Airport with a little time to spare before her flight, Gwendolyn Hayes puffed calmly on a cigarette as she kept an eye on security, and the people around her. Face hidden beneath a baseball cap and an earbud hanging out of her ear, blue eyes flickered from person to person as she watched families and friends unload luggage and see each other off. It was all so sentimental that it almost made her sick, but with a flick of her cigarette and an annoyed sigh, she turned her focus elsewhere. With a warrant out for her arrest she needed to avoid as much attention as possible and glaring at everyone who passed by wasn't going to make her anymore inconspicuous.

Catching glances with a border patrol officer, her eyes casually turned south and her head hung low. 'Speak of the devil.' Slouching forward so her elbows rested on her knees and her face was hidden by her hair, she watched the officer slowly step past her and through the doors of the airport. It was probably her just being paranoid, but she could have sworn she saw the officer pause just for a second. None of that mattered now, though. He had walked by her, and she was in clear, so everything was cool. Everything except for her mood.

Throwing a glare at the doors he walked through, Gwen scowled in the officers general direction, half tempted to throw him the finger. "Yeah that's right, keep walking." Mumbling underneath her breath, she took a long drag of her cigarette before tossing it to the ground and crushing it with the heel of her boot.

Nerves on edge, and anxiety high, Gwen's temper had been through the roof since yesterday. It wasn't every day that some rich dude in a nice suit approached her, especially one that knew her full name without even talking to her before. Not only had that meeting tripped her out, the letter he had given her to read had mind fucked her even more then the plane ticket to Haiti. Spontaneous was her middle name, but this was down right crazy!

Gwendolyn had never been a person to run away from her problems before, but it didn't look like she had any choice in the matter to begin with. 'Stay where you are now, and die, or be taken away to live out your days as a lab rat,' Yeah, like that was gonna happen. She had already got a taste of what the government was planning, and she wasn't about to sit around and get caught again.

Just because she was getting a new lease on life didn't mean she was totally down with the idea, either. This whole Haiti thing could have been a trap by the government, and the rich dude could be the sleaze she assumed had him to be from the very beginning. Going into this with your guard down was like asking for a bullet to the head, and Gwen wasn't going to take any chances. All she had to do was play it safe, and things would work out like they always did.

'You just gotta be cool, Gwen. Don't mess with anyone, and no body will mess with you.' She told herself while checking the time on her phone. With three minutes to spare before it was time to board, she slung her small backpack of belongings over her shoulder and fixed the hat on her head. She had decided long ago that there was no turning back, so with a shaky breath in and out, Gwen hurried inside the terminal to board her flight to Haiti.

It was fresh and windy that night (or morning, depending on perspectives) on the beach. The cloudless sky, though no longer shrouded with the veil of darkness that it had earlier, wasn't quite lit up yet either, still lingering in the marine blue hues of dusk as it waited for the sun to lazily make it's appearance. The Golden Gate Bridge stood proud in the horizon, dotted with flickers of activity from the early morning traffic. The shoreline was shrouded in an aura of complete silence, broken only by the faint echoes of the awakening city in the distance. Balancing precariously on a dry, water beaten old log, stood a lone human figure, arms spread wide as she carefully placed one foot in front of the other, lost in her own little world.

Keran Valkesh, for that was what the aforementioned figure called itself, was a barefooted androgynous teenager, dressed in only a simple pair of black boy's swimming trunks with a red line on the side and a form fitting black t-shirt, worn over a more traditional female bathing suit. She and a few of her friends were on vacation in the city for the spring break, crashing in a small, inexpensive hotel room in one of the seedier parts of the city. It wasn't particularly glamorous, but it was all they could afford on their collective student's salaries. Her companions had decided to head for bed earlier, exhausted from a night of partying, but Keran, with her notoriously inexhaustible reserves of energy, had instead elected to go for a calm, leisurely walk on the now empty shoreline.

Or at least that had been her excuse. In truth, she had just wanted to take the opportunity to use her power for a bit, while it was still sufficiently dark outside. That's right, superpower. More specifically, she had a preternatural control over darkness, allowing her to manifest tendrils, blades and other physical items made of what appeared to be pure solid shadows. Well, technically, she couldn't really get the dark constructs to form into blades sharp enough to actually hurt someone yet, but they did look wicked cool. She could also wrap herself in a shroud of darkness which allowed her to hover, cling to walls like a spider or become virtually invisible at night.

However, that was not what she was contemplating right now. Instead, her mind had fixated on a stranger, even deeper mystery:

How the hell did this log even get here? There aren't any trees planted around, it's way too heavy for the water to have dragged it this far inland. Hell, it's not even native to California. It looks more like some sort Canadian tree, or something.

At least she thought so. She'd been in the boy scouts when she was younger and slightly remembered some of it... Kind of. She didn't exactly have the longest attention span.

Maybe it was like a tornado or something that was so strong that it threw it all the way here. (God that would be so wicked!)... Probably not. Maybe it was aliens?

If she had her own flying saucer, she knew that she'd definitely be messing around with the tractor beam, causing random havoc all around the country just for the heck of it. Speaking of which, she wished she could fly faster using her power, like a bird! As it was, all she could use it for was hover around slowly, except when the wind picked up. She could kick off walls or rooftops to go faster, but she couldn't really speed up mid-air without it, which she thought kind of sucked.

She jumped off the end of her impromptu balancing beam and sat down on the sand, laying her back against it as she watched the sun slowly drift into view in the horizon.

"Enjoying the sunrise, Keran?"

If the teenager had been wearing any socks, she would have definitely jumped right out of them right then. Scrambling to her feet after a vaguely acrobatic motion of questionable gracefulness, she turned spun around to see who surprised her. She was met with the sight of a fairly athletic man in his late 30s wearing a seemingly very expensive suit which looked almost amusingly out of place for a walk on the beach. Immediately, she got a bad feeling.

"Jesus, buddy, you scared the-... Crap. This is going to be one of those "tell me where the bad man touched you" kind of days, isn't it?"

"Nothing of the sort, I assure you." the man said appeasingly.

"How did you know my name?"

"I have my ways." he chuckled unhelpfully.

"What do you want?"

Instead of answering, the man reached into his shirt and pulled out a very official looking envelope and offered it to her.

"This will explain everything. Read it somewhere safe then destroy it. The information it contains is... sensitive."





Keran looked around nervously as she went through airport security. Leaving like this had probably been the hardest thing she had ever done, emotionally speaking. After the man in black knockoff had left, she had quickly found a more isolated location and opened the letter. She has used her power to do so, just in case it contained anthrax or something, but it had turned out to be perfectly clean. It had contained a short letter and a plane ticket leaving for Haiti the same afternoon. She would never get the chance to explain it to her parents. They would be devastated. Hell, once they got the news, they'd probably never let the twins leave the town in their lives. She could have called and tried to explain, but the results would probably have been pretty much the same, minus getting them to think she'd gone crazy.

She took a nearly imperceptible sigh sigh and drank a long shot of coffee from the cheap paper cup. Although externally she still held the same perky and energetic façade as she always wore, on the inside she felt completely and utterly drained. Her disguise was by no means perfect, of course. Underneath her sunglasses, her eyes were bloodshot, and had deep, dark circles underneath them. Although she'd done her best to put it in order, her hair was messy and unkempt, although that probably didn't differ from her usual style anyways.

She was still wearing the same black t-shirt as she had been earlier, although she had replaced the swim trunks with a worn pair of utilitarian looking brown cargo pants. Over the t-shirt, she wore a simple dark green hoodie with black lining on the inside, zippered halfway up her chest with the sleeves rolled up. A pair of black running shoes adorned her feet. Not exactly the most fashionable of outfits, even by her standards, but she didn't particularly care at that moment. Her only luggage was what she had brought with her on the trip, a small black backpack of personal effects and a blue duffel bag containing a few clothes and utilities.

By the time she had finished her coffee, the plane was about to start boarding. She entered the plane and quickly found her assigned seat. She had been on a few plane trips in the past, when she went to visit family in Armenia, but she had never travelled first class. Somehow, however, she felt that she could have done without that particular experience, given the circumstances.

"Would you like anything to eat or drink sir?" It almost didn't register with at first that someone had asked her a question.

Fuck it, I need more coffee.

"Some coffee would be great."she said with a pleasant smile which did nothing to reflect the turmoil in her mind.

Emily found her own seat, the ticket had been taken and glanced at, but once it was back in her hand the stewardess seemed to forget of her existence. Emily was used to that. She took her seat, the aisle seat, she was okay with that. The prospect of flying had built a knot in her stomach that she couldn’t seem to get rid of. Though there was joy of being in first class, so much leg room.

Nervous she pulled the magazine from the seat back in front of her to flip through it. Skymall. How was one supposed to order stuff via a magazine when you were flying anyway? You don’t have Internet access or cell service.

A man, probably not much older than Emily herself, squeezed past her into the open seat by the window. He had tattoos, on almost every bit of him that she could see. Emily herself had never had ink done, too young and too invisible. The guy even had the LOVE-HATE tattoos on his knuckles. Politely he said, “Sorry about that. I’m not even sure if this is my seat.”

“Oh you’re fine, I had my legs out too far.” She paused, “Here let me see your ticket and I can tell you.”

The guy nodded, pulling a slightly crumpled ticket to Haiti out of his back pocket and handing it over. Emily looked at it glancing at the seat number, it was the one next to her’s all right.

“Yep you’re in the right spot, no worries.” Emily smiled and handed back the ticket.

“Cool.” He rolled his sleeves up revealing even more ink. He tilted his head to the side, lips quirked as if unpicking a puzzle. Quickly, almost nervously, he continued, “Never been on a plane before – wasn’t expecting it, either, ‘til I got a letter in. Funny how life works, isn’t it?”

Emily didn’t answer at first, confused that he was actually talking to her. “Uh yeah. I flew once, a long time ago. Before -” Before what? Could she tell this random stranger she hadn’t flown since before she had basically become an orphan? No, that wasn’t plane talk. “Before I moved to San Francisco.” That was safe, and mostly true.

“Ah.” A glum expression crossed his face, brows furrowing, but it vanished as quickly as it came. “From Tenderloin myself so it’s more of a case of, ‘too poor for a plane ride’. Could never afford the ticket myself.” Emily was impressed, the people she remembered from the Tenderloin spoke such broken English, but this guy seemed well educated.

Emily blinked, he was still talking to her, she existed. She wasn’t sure what to say to him about being from the Tenderloin. She had lived there for a while, not a place she had really enjoyed living in. The memory was like acid. It took her a moment to respond. “Me either honestly. This was a gift trip from an uncle.” She stumbled a bit over the lie. Emily was so unused to having to actually talk to people that it was almost difficult, and this guy, Alistair if she remembered correctly from his ticket, didn’t seem at all phased by her existence. Who in the world was he? Her heart dropped, was he from the government?

A smile – crooked, uncertain – crossed his face. In a low voice, Alistair whispered, “Do I look like I’m from the government? Seriously.” Emily’s jaw dropped. She had most definitely not said that outloud.

“You’re... part of the Smith family then?”

“They’re my… mysterious benefactors funding this little trip across the world.” He peered over the back of his chair at the rest of the First Class cabin, eyes scanning those who’d entered the plane already. Turning back around he rubbed at his forehead. “Yeah. Got a letter in about one o’clock in the morning. Thought I was going to get shanked to be honest but no, apparently it’s not safe for me here. Same goes for you?”

“Well in the Tenderloin no one can be too careful.” Emily smiled. “Yeah, people don’t talk to me much, they don’t seem to notice me.” She was being vague about her power, mostly because she didn’t know what to call it. She had been calling it invisibility since she had first noticed she could do it, but that wasn’t what it really was.

“Would you like anything to drink?” The stewardess asked. Emily nearly jumped out of her skin, when the woman had gently put her hand on Emily’s shoulder. She quickly drew it away. “Sorry didn’t mean to startle you.”

Alistair supplied, “Coffee, please.” Emily nodded in agreement. “That’ll be two I think.”

“Okay, cream and sugar?” She asked as she poured the two cups of coffee, leaving room just in case.

“Uh, black.” Emily said, not sure how she liked her coffee.

“Cream and sugar for me, please.” The stewardess nodded, and filled Emily’s cup up the rest of the way, and handed it to her with a lid. For Alistair’s cup she left room, and handed it over with some cream and sugar so he could flavor it as he pleased.

“Thank you.” Emily smiled at the stewardess as she left, and took a tentative sip. She frowned. “Guess I should have said cream and sugar too.”

“Swap? I don’t much like sweet things.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, but was more than happy to exchange cups with him. “Oh, I’m Emily by the way, sorry. I’m not used to... well meeting new people.”

“Alistair,” he said during the swap. “And yeah, when I say I don’t like sweet things, I mean I hate them. I got it just in case.”

“Really? That’s sweet of you.” Emily sipped at the cup Alistair had given her. “That’s much better. Foster parents have this weird notion of not allowing kids to have coffee ever.” She shrugged a bit and took another sip.

“My parents are the same, but what they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em.” Alistair’s eyes kept drifting to the side and he cringed, biting his lip piercings as he shook his head. “It’s no surprise people don’t usually talk to you. That’s weird... Like– trying to hold water that keeps slipping out of my hands.”

“Well thank you for trying, not many people even try. The only time people seem to have an easy time seeing me is when I’m playing guitar, or I’m focusing really hard to keep myself visible. That usually makes me dizzy after a while though.” Emily spoke with a quiet tone, not sure who would be listening.

Alistair closed his eyes drinking a good deal of the burning hot coffee in one sip. “I don’t think it’s through lack of trying… You’re there, but you’re not. It’s – baffling, honestly, like listening to a disembodied voice.”

“That’s just weird. I’ve never had anyone be able to explain it to me before.” She shook her head. “Baffling is a good word for it. Not that it hasn’t come in handy, but sometimes I wish I was just normal.”

“That stewardess doesn’t even see you anymore…” Awe, with an undertone of intense sympathy oozed from his voice. “You might be unluckier than I am when it comes to – interesting talents,” Alistair said, though not unkindly. “But I think we’re probably tied.”

Emily laughed, “Yeah. I can guess why.” She paused and thought, ‘That can’t be fun.’

’Yeah, it gets a little overwhelming at times – whoa, even the thoughts you direct at me are trying to hide.’ Emily got a flash of what she looked like, to not just Alistair, but probably everyone. Her own face, slid from her vision, the image that Alastair was projecting to her. It was almost painful to look at, to hold into focus.

Emily blinked at the image of herself, letting it fade. The mirror or a photo was one thing, but to literally see herself through another’s eyes was almost disconcerting. She took a deep breath. “Okay that is weird. I can see why people don’t talk to me now. Thank you.” She drank from her cup of coffee thinking. Trying to understand not only her power, but the letter and everything that had led up to this conversation. Had W.V. known what this conversation would bring up? Did he know that Alistair with his power would be able to focus on Emily in such a way that no one else really could?

“There’s a 50% chance you might drop off the radar for me as well if I drift off – especially with just the surface thoughts to hold on to. Hence the coffee.” He rubbed his hands on the legs of his jeans again. “And I wouldn’t put it past them. I reckon W.V’s not trying to save everyone, only the useful ones. Not families.” Brows furrowed again. He really was rather expressive. Emily remembered the P.S. of the letter, something that hadn’t pertained to her. She sure as hell wasn’t going to be calling her father and telling him jack shit about where she was going. She let the anger slide through her before speaking again.

“I take it you have some then?” She posed it as a question. Alistair seemed infuriated by that part of the letter, and Emily had to wonder who he had left behind. Not to mention to what fate the person was left to.

“Mom and Pops, sister, three brothers, daughter,” Alistair said, listing them off. With each one, a glimmer of a face was projected onto her mind, along with a quiet, ’Sorry about that. It’s not often I get to… cut loose. Or ever.’

’I like it. She thought for him, savoring the faces, and the love Alistair had for (most) of them.

“And I guess my – uh, ex-girlfriend, too. I’m not too worried about ‘em failing that blood test – but what the government might do to them when they find out we’re missing.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Call me a cynic, but I don’t think W.V. can afford to give everyone related to us a safe house.”

Emily thought of Tessa, and the nice enough foster parents she had deserted. “I don’t know. They don’t know where I am at least, and because of how I am they hardly ever did to them it wouldn’t be unusual. I have eaten breakfast with them, and not a word said to me.” The painful memories of discovering her power pressed at her, but she pushed them away, not wanting Alistair to have to see that. “Shoot, I’ve run away from homes and it was weeks before it was noticed.”

He shook his head about the same time as she forcibly repressed those thoughts. “Yeah, that – that really must suck. At the very least you don’t have anyone they can use as leverage.” Alistair sighed. “God, this’s gone pretty fuckin’ morbid, hasn’t it? Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. We should be prepared for the worst.” She gave a half smile, “How’s that phrase go, prepare for the worst, hope for the best?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Alistair managed a small grin, though it seemed forced. “We should be looking forward to heading to Haiti, even if it’s under unfortunate circumstances.” And then he looked past her, staring off into space for a good twenty seconds.

“Okay, I need to recharge – sorry about this. Focus is hard.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m the one who’s at fault, besides this is the longest conversation I’ve had in... a very long time. Thank you.”

“We’ll have another one soon, I promise.” And he looked down at the phone in his hands.

and



The moment the plane touched down and the pilot switched off the fasten-seatbelt light Hannah was out of her seat, down the gangway and sprinting for the nearest restroom. She bobbed and weaved, careful not to bump into people as she darted for the little pink symbol that marked the women’s bathroom. As soon as she had the stall door firmly locked behind her, Hannah collapsed and proceeded to violently retch into the porcelain throne.

Stupid, she thought as spasms wracked her tiny frame, Stupid, stupid, stupid! It hadn’t been a long flight, only six hours or so, but somehow she had managed to doze off somewhere between the inflight beverage service and trash collection. When the plane landed, Hannah had awoken to find herself drowning in a toddler’s fear, the flight attendant’s resulting annoyance, the spike of lust from the man next to her as the attendant bent over and the sadness of his neglected wife in the row behind them. She could still feel them, as clearly as if they were her own, and heaved again into the toilet.

Long ago Hannah had researched her condition online. The closest thing she came across were cases of people claiming psychic powers and the ability to read human emotions through the color of the aura. Though a shimmering halo of light seemed a tad silly, she often wondered if even that wouldn’t be better than the constant hell she lived in.

It wasn’t that she saw the emotions necessarily, simply that she was acutely aware of their presence, like she was of her own breathing or limbs. They stretched out from people in complicated masses, like amorphous clouds that brushed against (or more accurately pummeled) her body. They had textures, smells, tastes, and worst of all the weight that made Hannah feel like she was constantly being beaten into the ground. People had no idea how heavy their emotional baggage really was, and Hannah was stuck carrying all of it.

If she wasn’t careful the clouds could leak into her body, sweeping her off in a wave of the other. Out of necessity she had built up powerful mental walls over the course of her adolescence, the fortifications keeping the onslaught at bay most of the time. Of course those defenses didn’t work when she wasn’t conscious, hence her current predicament. Emotions were always there, wherever there were people, and try as she might it was impossible to be a total hermit. Hannah was constantly under siege.

Wiping colorless bile from her lips, Hannah leaned back against the stall door and closed her eyes. She started to focus on the rhythm of her breathing, listening as air shuttled in and out of her chest and purposefully slowing it down. In her mind the pictured herself in her apartment, willed herself to that place. There she was alone with nothing but the plants lining her windowsill and her library for company. She could smell the delicate mix of basil, mint and the musk of old paper, feel the slickness of her hardwood floors and the dry cracked spines of her old leather-bound books.

When she opened her eyes her heartbeat had slowed to normal, her stomach had settled and all of the emotions pulsing through her body were her own. Good, let’s keep it that way. Standing, Hannah flushed the toilet and left the stall. At the sink she wet a paper towel, running the damp material over her face and neck. She stared at her reflection with a critical eye; she was still looking a little gray, but her color was starting to return to normal, which was a good sign.

When Hannah got back to her gate she found a puzzled flight attendant waiting with her bags. “Are you alright, Ma’am?” he asked, the concerned smile on his face clashing with the metallic tang of annoyance that sat on her tongue. She nodded tersely, slinging her laptop case over her shoulder. The action drew his attention to her cleavage and the cloud about him grew thick and warm, his arousal running over her like molasses. Hannah had the sudden intense desire to take a shower.

As she reached for the handle of her suitcase her intuition flashed; he was going to touch her. Hannah recoiled when he leaned forward, fixing him with a glare sure to strip paint off of a car. “I was just trying to help with your bag!” he protested, hands raised in a peaceable gesture, his tone affronted. Hannah’s nose wrinkled. She didn’t detect the distinctive musk of guilt, which meant the man was telling the truth. Just an accident, then.

Hannah pursed her lips and grabbed her bag. Though meant to be covert, his muttered “Bitch!” pinched her ears as she strode off towards the exit. Well, maybe the “Smiths” won’t brand me an ass and I can finally have a shot at pleasant social interaction, she thought darkly, though in truth she was far too jaded to even hope.

-------------------------------

The flight wasn't long. Not by Jamie's standards. Probably four hours or so. It was nothing in comparison to flights to Milan - travelling to Italy, including the journey to the airport in the morning, could last what seemed like an entire day. In fact, the flight passed very quickly. Time always had a very strange way of passing. Jamie knew that more than most. It seemed as if time barely moved when there was nothing of importance occurring, but when time was most valuable, it passed by the fastest. Of course, Jamie could slow things down. Give himself more time to think. But whatever amount of time he had, it wasn't enough to deal with the turmoil going on in his head.

By the time the plane had landed, however, Jamie had settled himself down enough to appear to the outside world that he was fine. He was good at that. Acting okay when he was far from it. He still looked out of place in the Port-au-Prince airport - it wasn't the number one holiday destination, considering the recent history of the place, and it was rare to see someone of his age alone, abroad. Nobody stared at him though. Airports were one of the few places where anyone could blend in, regardless of their colour or age.

Jamie retrieved his luggage and slowly made his way to the area where he would wait for the guy with the 'Smith family' sign, if he even existed. Jamie was still very sceptical. He realised that there was a very good chance that this could be a trap. Someone cornering him to exploit his abilities, or perhaps a bluff by the government - maybe they were just luring him here so that they could kill him without evoking suspicion.

He took a seat in the arrivals waiting area. Whatever was coming, he'd try and deal with it. He knew that if the government were truly after him, or these Haitian people had hostile intentions, it was too late for him to escape. He was a man now, yes, but he couldn't protect himself from people with this kind of power. Power to track him down like that. If this was a trick, Jamie would be dead either way. He just hoped that it was real. Hoped there was hope.

The airport's bustling noise put Jamie on edge. He slowed the world around him down. The sounds slowed. The movements of the people slowed. It calmed him in a way. He did feel anxious. Tense.... Scared. He didn't show it. Not one bit. He looked confident - as he needed to if he wanted to make a good first impression with these people. No matter how well he veiled it externally, however, the fear remained. But he would take it head on. He was no coward. He waited.

----------

Hannah strode into the waiting area, heels clipping crisply against the polished concrete, eyes narrowed in search of the man supposedly waiting to collect her. After a moment of scanning and finding no one, she frowned. It was possible this W.V. fellow had lied to her, she couldn’t tell that from a letter after all, but it was equally clear to her that she was in no immediate danger. Perhaps he was simply late?

As she turned to find a place to sit, the sharp tang of fear danced across her tongue. She wrinkled her nose at the acrid scent that accompanied it; someone was genuinely afraid. Hannah blinked, considering this a moment. W.V. did say there were others, and who had more to fear than a wanted man?

Curious now Hannah let down her defenses a bit and shuffled along, following the stream of tension across the waiting room floor, letting the icy sensation pinch her sensitive skin. As she got closer the pinches intensified to shocks of pain that crawled over her arms and legs. Hannah raised her mental barricade when her gaze fell upon a pair of shoes and lifted her head, staring directly into the face of her target.

He was a young man, handsome, swarthy, with curly brown hair and dark brown eyes. Italian, she guessed, Or maybe Spanish? She didn’t waste anytime debating, instead reaching into her laptop case and pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. Hastily she scribbled out a message, flipping it around so that he could see.

“Smith family?” it read it neat, almost perfect script.

Jamie's eyes had been scanning the room for quite a while before he spotted a girl holding a sign that read “Smith family?” Jamie peered at her for a few moments. She was probably a similar age to him, but was very small in comparison to him - probably a foot smaller. She was by no means the intimidating, dark, suited man he had expected to see holding the sign. He noted that she could just be a trick to lure him out and catch him off guard. But he took his chances, waiting to catch her eye and raising a hand of greeting before approaching her. As he walked over he realised that due to the question mark on the sign she held, there was a good chance that she was just arriving here, like him.

"Hey," Jamie greeted once he was within speaking distance with the girl. He was still a little on edge but he made an effort to seem like he had his feet on the ground. "I'm Jamie," he said, the words sounding much less awkward than he thought they would. He hated 'forced' meetings. He preferred to meet people on his own terms. But, alas, beggars cannot be choosers. "Did you just get here too?"

Dammit. I forgot about this part, thought Hannah bitterly as her skin flushed bright crimson. Gritting her teeth, she shoved her embarassment to the side and scribbled another note. “Hannah, and yeah. Just got in from Boston.” She showed it to him and then bit her lip, debating. After another moment she added, “I’m a mute” to the end. He was going to figure it out eventually, but she might as well be upfront. It would make things less awkward in the long run.

Jamie watched as she wrote out a sentence. Initially, he found he behaviour a bit strange, but after her second note, he could understand why she wasn’t speaking. He’d never met a mute before, and until now he hadn’t really realised how much of a difference it would have to day to day life. He considered how difficult it must be to put across your thoughts if you had no way to converse without pen and paper. He nodded reassuringly, trying to show Hannah that it wasn’t a problem of any kind. "So," he began. ”I guess you have…" He hesitated. He didn’t want to use the word ‘power’, it sounded so cheezy. "Abilities?" He said semi-awkwardly.

Hannah chuckled, or rather mimicked what would have been a chuckle, her silent expression of mirth a little odd even for her. He was kind, a rare virtue. She could feel his desire to reassure her and pick the right words pressing against her stomach in a light wave of stress. It masked, but didn’t entirely hide the thick storm of fear that still swirled about his gut. You mean beyond the gift of silence? she joked, adding a smile to her message. Her face felt strange, the gesture using muscles she hadn’t used in a long time. She flipped to a new page and proceeded to write again.

”You don’t need to be nervous. Nothing is going to happen to us. Not in the near future anyway.”

He grinned at her joke. The humour cut through his anxiety a little. It was good to have met someone friendly. At least now if anything went wrong, there were others he could stick with. "Oh, and I’m supposed to trust you? For all I know, you could kick my ass." He smiled. Although he was joking, it was actually possible. Nevertheless, he decided to trust Hannah. He had fretted enough today, and took the opportunity to have a normal conversation gladly. “But you’re right. I am nervous. You’re perceptive. I didn’t think it showed.” He said, forgetting the irregularity of having a conversation with a mute.

Hannah looked down at herself at the mention of ass-kicking. She weighed all of eighty pounds and didn’t clear five feet, not exactly an intimidating figure. “You’re too kind,” she wrote quickly, “And it doesn’t show. You’ve got a good poker face. I am what you could call-” Hannah paused, searching for the right word, “Intuitive.” The hair on the back of her neck started to raise as the pair began to draw the interest of a few onlookers. ”Want to grab a seat away from them?” she asked, gesturing towards a group of young airport security guards who were looking their way curiously.

Jamie glanced the way Hannah was looking and nodded seriously. "Yeah, let’s," He responded, having no intention on getting into a conversation with security. He peered over at the corner of the room where there was a small cafe, as was standard in airports. "I don’t know where we’re going after this, but it might be a while before we can get anything to eat or drink. Want to go for a coffee or something, while we wait?" He gestured towards the cafe.

Hannah blinked. Nobody had ever asked her to grab a coffee before. Nodding she followed in Jamie’s footsteps, a quiet smile on her lips.

Truth be told Nathan wasn't much of an attentive student in school, Hell quite the opposite. About the only subject he really had a liking towards was Science. He still felt some of the stuff from it go right over his head, still it was all stuff that had his interest. Funny thing though about science, it always had a knack for showing up when you forget all about it.

For example, did you know that when depressurized, like in a plane, air pockets can expand?

Nathan does now.

As the plane had landed Nathan looked like he had been stung or had an allergic reaction to something. He kept trying to blame it on the lunch they served, swearing their must have been nuts or something in it. Though he was quickly and repeatedly refusing any service for his weirdly swollen self whenever a stewardess asked. Thankfully the flight being fairly short, few hours that he was never able to keep track of in his bloated panic, and having his smart phone connected to his surf mix on Spotify helped a ton. Still it didn't make getting out any easier, as is puffy body squeaked, at least in his mind, as he had a little struggle getting out of the seat, getting his luggage from the overhead, and getting off the plane. “Sir again I'm so sorry about the allergies, are you sure you're okay?” One of the stewardesses asked Nathan as he tried to hurry past a bit awkwardly “Oh no yeah great its fine really gotta go!” Nathan babbled as he scurried off the plane. Quickly looking for a nearby bathroom. Even with the air pressure back to normal he still felt bloated. He needed a way to get the air out, and sadly he forced himself to do the first thing that came to mind.

...PPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…

Nathan wasn't the type to eat foods that can induce that kind of... flatulence, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Clenching at his finally back to six pack perfection stomach Nathan breathed a bit before sighing. “Ah.... thank God.” He let out in a breath of relief. Quietly though he realized all the other men in the bathroom, looking on in shock and awe of the scene, more importantly horrifying loud noise, that just occurred. Quickly Nathan needed to and came up with an excuse. “Phew... airplane food am I right? Seriously don't eat the chicken next time, stuff is not friendly to ya.” Nathan awkwardly said aloud, feeling his face bloom red as he awkwardly made his leave in a hurry.

---

In first class, Sam refused to settle himself. He used a fake ID to purchase drinks, and he continually flirted with the stewardess whenever she made her rounds. The man next to him instantly regretted switching seats with him, but that’s what he got for wanting a view from the window. Sam swayed across the aisle, restless from the stims and anxious from what would come after the trip. If he had just stayed sober, it would be an entirely different story, but both feelings were subtly feeding off of each other in his obnoxious show. It may have been somewhat excusable if he had even acknowledged the few others in first class, but his focus was on distracting himself with the brunette in her early-30s donning that continued to humor his playful advances up until landing.

All the alcohol Sam had consumed struck him the moment those cabin doors opened. He stood, quickly snatched his duffel bag from the overhead bin. He had strolled between the rows and out of the walkway, now refusing to even glance at the stewardess he had admired for the past couple hours as she bid him farewell. Sam was always good at hiding his drunkenness up until he opened his mouth. He could navigate his way home for miles in a blackout state without arousing suspicion, but the second he would open his mouth, his words would transform into a string of complete nonsense and his mind would struggle to grasp everything lost in translation.

Sam seemed to wander aimlessly through the airport. He didn’t know what he was looking for exactly, but his body seemed to be on autopilot. His mouth hung open, and his eyes struggled to hold any focus. Next thing he knew, he was in the bathroom throwing water against his face. He looked up and saw his miserable face before him: I need to get coherent… fast.

In the reflection, he saw a long-haired blonde man practically jump into the bathroom and pass what could have been the nastiest gas he could have ever smelled behind him. Everyone else present seemed to share Sam’s look of disgust. The guy said a couple words, but they went right over Sam’s head as the smell began to drift, horrid enough to actually sober Sam up a bit. The guy was visibly embarrassed, and quickly made his exit. Not wanting to bask in this atmosphere, Sam followed suit.

---

”Oh man, please tell me unleashing unholy ass bombs like that isn’t your superpower or something!” Sam jokingly shouted towards, what looked to him, the blonde meathead. He probably shouldn’t have been spouting off about bombs in an airport, but then again he wasn’t really giving much attention to his own words.

At this point, having done something he couldn’t get past the shame of, well for the most part, a small sick part of him was proud of what he just did. Nathan just wanted to get his surfboards, get away from this airport, and start finding out who, what, and why. However something caught his eardrum and made him quickly turn around. Okay it wasn’t the bomb part, but that was pretty stupid. It was more the superpower part of it all. Quickly Nathan stopped in his tracks, getting straight back over to the black guy who said all that. “Come on what superpower yeah thats great like anyone would have a superpower thats so dumb bro hahahahahahaha…” Nathan was still embarrassed and this didn’t help matters at all. Trying to play it all off though Nathan realized he just made it worse. So he quickly readjusted with a cough. “No man I just had a bit of bad gas you know, burrito on the inflight meal and all. Heh.”

Sam knew he only made the situation more awkward by bringing it up outside the bathroom. He walked over to the guy and put his arm over his shoulders. It was a clear invasion of personal space, but in Sam’s current state of mind it was a friendly gesture. In a low whisper, he uttered in his ear, in the most intense tone he could put on, ”Well guy, I have superpowers.”

Things started awkward the moment the guy started to tenderly wrap his arm around Nathan’s masculine shoulder. Seriously why do people always assume he’s gay because he likes to walk around with his shirt off and enjoys his own body so much? Though what the guy said, in a voice that dripped of every kind of alcohol the plane could possibly have had on it. That did catch Nathan’s attention. There was a brief moment when Nathan wondered about this guy being involved in that whole ‘stopping evil government’ business he found himself in. Then again the drunk probably just needed some nappy time. “Yeah sure buddy whatever you say.” Nathan huffed as he found himself suddenly dragging along a drunk man towards luggage.

”No, really.” Sam had initially meant it as a gag, but he was actually offended when this guy snubbed him like that.

Nathan sighed, okay now this guy is either screwing with him hard or he was now carrying around a completely slouched brethren of taking down corruption. He truthfully wasn’t sure how he’d feel about the later, but he figured he might as well play along for the time being. “Alright bro whats your big super power? Smelling like a dive bar?”

”Hahaha,” Sam remembered how hammered he actually was. He realized running his mouth like this was a bad idea, but he figured this guy would never really believe him, and if he did so what? He stuck his hand in his pocket and retrieved the letter. He hadn’t thrown it away like he was supposed to, but then again he had read it on his walk back to his room some hours before in broad daylight. ”Well, to be honest, I’m not completely sure…” and he wasn’t lying: Sam didn’t think perfect aim and withstanding impact really constituted him having superpowers, but flying through a windshield and walking away with nothing but flesh wounds didn’t really have a label in his head. ”But, this thing says I’m special or some shit. My guess is I’m invincible.”

Nathan was still doing a bang up job assuming the drunk hanging off of him was doing an amazing job playing his little game with him. However things suddenly got very real when Nathan was face to face with the same letter he had gotten on Cocoa Beach a few hours before. Sighing irritated Nathan quickly grabbed the letter out of Sam’s hand. “You fucking idiot you were supposed to throw this away.” Nathan quietly but not really that much so told the guy who probably wasn’t comprehending it anyways. Ripping the letter up in his hands as quickly and into as small a pieces as could Nathan quickly threw it into a nearby waste bin while keeping Sam upright. ’Man…. First I get turned into a balloon, fart out a bathroom, now I’m stuck with this drunk? Off to a flying start man.’ Nathan sighed, “Look just… here.” Nathan gently hoisted Sam down onto a seat as he got to the luggage carousel. Shaking his head as he waited for the luggage to arrival so he can get his surfboard and get whatever this show is on the road.

”Aight man, look here…” and just as quickly as he was plopped down, Sam stood up. ”First off, I’m good on my feet. Second, I need to get my bag, too. Third, fuck you Mr. Cargo Shorts. What’s your fucking name anyway?”

Nathan sighed annoyed with him as he shook his head slowly. Seriously what the Hell kind of thing did he do to deserve this? It sucked worse because Nathan could see a guy and girl nearby getting some coffee from a stand. Seriously he didn’t deserve this. “Its Nathan alright? Nathan McFadden.”

As Sam stood, his cognitive function was slowly returning. With a single thought, he snapped his head and met Nathan’s eyes: ”Sam Pikus. I’m guessing we’re here on the same shit.” Sam saw his suitcase on the carousel and was quick to snatch it. In a single motion he pulled up the handle and threw his duffel bag on top. ”In that case, I’m gonna go out for a smoke before the Smiths or whoever the fuck get here. I’ll have plenty of time to annoy you in however fucking long this trip is.”

Nathan watched Sam walk past before he spotted his boards in their luggage tote. He grabbed it, hoisting it upright as he sighed. Having to remind himself that the beaches will be worth it. There was a second thought, but he’s pretty sure even when the two are out of public view he still wouldn’t be allowed to coil an arm around that guy’s neck and choke the life out of him….

Alex was more then jittery. Apparently he was afraid of flying, either that or he was afraid of heights. He wasn't really sure, nor did he care. Statistically speaking he had a higher chance of being struck by lightning, he didn't under stand this shit at all. He had a mind that could calculate advanced formulas, quickly read and react, and even help him understand his emotions. Now if it could help him CONTROL them. It was more then fear though. Anger, he was enraged. There was a baby crying, it was like nails on a chalk board digging into his skull, it also needed to be changed. He could hear the two girls in the back of the plane that wouldn't shut up. One of the Pilots apparently was smoking, he could smell the tobacco. Between the first flight, that lay over in Dallas...he was not a happy person.

Sitting in his seat he kept taking in deep breaths, trying to remain calm, he couldn't even take his hands off the armrest. At the same time if he squeezed to hard he would crush them. Soon though he heard some one speaking "Sir?" he heard from the stewardess "What!?" He snapped at her as she jumped and people were looking at him as he spoke a little to loud. "Sorry...I've never flown" He looked forward trying to remain calm "Just leave me alone please". Worst off he could smell gunpowerder, great just what he needed to get arrested by an air marshal. maldito! he shouted in his mind jerking his hand and ripping the arm rest off "Dios Mios!" he cursed as soon the seat belt light came on as he snapped in. They were landing and at least.

Soon they hit the ground, and he wanted off this damn thing. Though he couldn't exactly run out. He tried to remain calm as he stood up grabbing his bag from the over head compartment. They were letting people depart now as he saw the stewardess, walking up to her he tried to smile "Sorry, about earlier...Apparently I'm afraid of flying" he said as she smiled to him reassuring him it's alright and she had seen worse. Good thing he managed to keep somewhat calm...or else they would be looking for the black box of this thing.

Once off the plane he managed to calm down a bit, It was dark out as the brisk morning air filled his lung as he took in a deep breath. The pilot said it was it was 3:00 am as he made his way into the terminal. He was tense as he clutched his bag hard, great he was the tense guy in an airport, worse thing him going off might be worse then any bomb. "leave me be, leave me be" kept echoing in his head as he walked. People kept looking at him as he kind of stood out. Veins in his arms were bulging out of his arms as his his face was crunched up in anger. Going to get his luggage was quick enough, it helped that people were giving him plenty off room. Grabbing his back he put it over his shoulder and walked out of the building walking away from people. He took in a deep breath as he leaned back against a pillar closing his eyes. He managed to fly on two planes and deal with three air ports with out freaking out(to much) and rampaging. Good day all in all.

Melissa couldn't remember the last time she had flown but no amount of recollection might have prepared her for the opulence experienced on-board. Inside consisted of three single-seat columns, parted with enough room to swing a leg; but more like compartments than seats and the separations must have been constructed with basketballers in mind. Each compartment was came equipped with a beige recliner, a similar-coloured dining table, and a personal television. The soft-lighting seemed to cast the perfect balance between enabling sleep and reading. For the street-girl it might have been heaven. She followed the directions on her ticket to the rear-most compartment: 18C; possessing full view of the rest of the cabin and bare metres from the bathroom, secure.

She was quick to settle into her seat as the pilot began to speak over the intercom.

"Good afternoon and welcome ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain: Richard Knox, speaking. We at Virgin Airlines would like to welcome..."

Melissa stopped listening. Her fellow passengers were the focus of her concentration; the young woman's gaze dancing across the seating ahead, checking on suspicious characters. It was for the most part men: middle aged and older; people on business, she imagined. In a number of cases she caught their acrimonious glances back. Nothing might have undermined their self-conceit more than her undue presence: she didn't doubt for a minute she'd be next weeks golf house chit-chat. Nevertheless, there was nothing untoward. It seemed safe - and that made perfect sense. It was at the point where she was close to indulgence in some relaxation when a high feminine voice snatched her attention.

"Hello miss, we've been informed that a meal has been purchased in advance for you. So, if you might just take a look at the menu -" she nodded in its direction: towards the dining table " - we'll be along once we're in the air to take your order." Her tone was professional: stable and calm. Melissa commended her for that and offered a half-smile of gratitude in return. Her gaze didn't linger long enough to catch the attendants parting courtesies - however - herself being quick to turn to the menu:

... Seared, Cured Tourchon, Confit Rhubarb, Brioche ...

She read the first starter: "Foie Gras", not recognising half the ingredients never mind the dish.

If she was being kidnapped, then her kidnappers were doing it in style.