Question Better to Give (Complete)

I walked along a line of weary and wounded men. But they weren't men, at least not normal ones, their eyes were too big, the ears were pointed like an elf, they're skin was flawless except where dirt and wounds marred the almost angelic appearance. I'd have said they were the most beautiful people I'd ever seen except for their eyes, their eyes were hard, I'd seen similar eyes before, but those were pretty few and far between. Every single one of the men who were wearing what looked like fantasy armour, with real weapons that had seen hard use were staring at me as if they were thinking about the easiest and quickest way to kill me if I became a threat.

My hand moved, reaching into a sack and pulling something out. A big strong hand, my hand I realized, gave a sword to a man who had been trying in vain to bend his own back into shape. The hand that was mine, but wasn't, disappeared into the sack again, pulling out a bottle of something that glowed, giving it a man who had a deep cut on his face that was a brilliant red.

Reaching into the bag for a third time, there was a cry from up ahead. Everyone grabbed their weapons and got back to their feet. Looking across the battlefield I saw something that I could only call pure evil. What it looked like, I don't know because thankfully I woke up.

**

I groaned and rolled out of bed as the alarm clock blared, almost tripping thanks to my too small nightgown trapping my legs. The three other girls I shared a room with in the group home also got wearily to their feet. We didn't talk as we went to our large bathroom, there was another one for the other four girls who stayed at the group home, and three half baths so we usually didn't have to wait too long for a bathroom. But in the morning when we had to get washed up, do our makeup and hair it was a serious pain.

Through unspoken agreement I got first crack at the sink, brushing my teeth, and doing a very quick washing up, then I was out and back to our room. I couldn't afford any makeup, since I'd only just started to get an allowance, most of which had gone to buying some clothes. Combine that with my extremely short hair, along with a beanpole body, and I was often mistaken for a boy. The fact that my formerly cute button nose was mashed flat from being broken didn't help matters much. That was all thanks to my Mom. I was the newest girl to the group home, after calling the police on Mom when she decided I was evil, cut off all my hair burned most of my clothes, beat me up and said she'd get rid of the evil in me once and for all when she got back home.

So the morning routine was pretty easy for me.

It was my turn to help Joyce, one of two house mothers in charge of use, with breakfast. I headed downstairs in an old t-shirt and shorts ready to get my chores out of the way, and heard Joyce singing to herself, some old song from the 80's about a love shack.

“Morning Mary,” Joyce said, being careful not to make any quick movements in my direction and shifting her body so I couldn't see the knife she was using to cut up some green onions. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” I said simply, trying not to cringe. I have a bit of a problem around older women from living with Mom over the last two years, I keep expecting them to slug me for being prettier than they are, or for looking at their man. I'm getting over it, but I'm definitely what my social worker calls a work in progress.

“Can you scramble up some eggs?”

“Sure.” I went to the extra large fridge and grabbed the eggs, getting a bowl and whisk as I went to counter as far from Joyce as possible. I worked quietly while Joyce sang to herself. At first she had stopped singing when I was working with her, afraid it would upset me, I'd taken a few days to work up my courage and told her I liked hearing her sing. she was a good singer, and since she wasn't directing it at me I didn't mind. I didn't tell her that it also let me judge what type of mood she was in, and could subconsciously reassure myself that nothing bad was happening or about to happen to me.

By the time all the girls were downstairs, we had breakfast on the table. Gabby, the other house mother was busy talking with the girls reminding them of their chores and talking about the plan to go to the beach in the afternoon.

I listened quietly, not sure how I felt about going to the beach. When going shopping at the thrift store with Gabby and Claire, one of my roommates, they'd convinced me to get a pretty baby blue bikini that miraculously fit. But with my smashed nose, hair that was little better than a brush cut, and visible ribs thanks to eating only at school for the last year, I was very self conscious of my looks.

Still everyone wanted to go, so I had to. At least I could wear a baggy shirt while I was there.

After breakfast, I loaded up the dishwasher and then had some free time while the others vacuumed, dusted, mopped, did laundry and the dozens of other chores that needed to be done everyday to keep the big house reasonably clean.

Sitting in the rec room, I had some music playing but wasn't paying attention to it, I was thinking about things. Because of Mom being a paranoid, narcissistic, hell bitch, I'd never been allowed to wear makeup, and if I tried to make myself look pretty it just resulted in a beating. I knew lots of girls at my ripe old age of thirteen wore a bit of makeup and jewelry, but the one time I borrowed a friends and put it on, well lets just say the broken nose proved that it was a mistake.

Now that I was away from her, I was curious what I could do to try to salvage my looks. None of the girls here were willing to share their makeup, not that I could blame them. They were nice about a lot of things but we each had so little to call our own, giving things away to anyone but a close friend was really damn hard. So I just had to think of what might look good on me, until I managed to scrape up enough money to get some of my own. I thought that a dark red lipstick might go well with my pale skin, or would it be better to get something that would make my pasty skin look more vibrant. Maybe I could get a tan at the beach and that problem would fix itself.

Getting up I put my hands in my pockets and paced quietly thinking about makeup and being pretty and other things. It took a few minutes to realize there was something in my right pocket. Pulling it out I found a tube of dark red lipstick, it looked brand new. How had it gotten there?

Not wanting to be accused of stealing, I immediately went to find Gabby. The housemother is only twenty two and looks a bit like a teenager, so I felt more comfortable talking to her. I found her washing windows with Elizabeth, the oldest girl here at seventeen.

“Um, Gabby. I found something in my pocket just now. I don't know how it got there, but it's not mine,” I said staring at my feet, and holding out the lipstick.

She took it and whistled. “This is pretty expensive stuff. Elizabeth, do you know if this belongs to any of the girls?”

“I haven't seen it around. And I don't think any of us could afford Estee Lauder,” the girl said. “Where did you get this?”

“I don't know,” I insisted. “It was in my pocket, and I just found it.”

Gabby took the lipstick back and thought for a few moments. “I'll go around to all the girls and ask if they're missing any lipstick. If they know the colour and brand, I'll just return it and say it was found in the bathroom. If they don't, well it must have been left there by the previous shorts owner and you'll get it back.”

“Thanks, Gabby,” I said. I knew there was no way it had been in the shorts when I got them, they'd been washed twice and the lipstick was brand new. But I wasn't getting accused of theft and I might be able to get it back which would be really sweet. Scurrying back to the rec room I thought about how it would look on me.

**

“I need a drink,” Claire said. She was the same as I was, so we'd become friends over the last two weeks.

“I think I drank my water, but let me check,” I told her reaching into my bag. At first I didn't feel anything, but just as I was about to give up my long fingers brushed against a bottle. That was odd, but I just chalked it up to forgetfulness and passed the bottle over.

We were sunbathing and watching everyone's things as the rest of the group played beach volleyball or were swimming in the cool lake. I'd pulled off my tank top after going for a swim, and was hoping my ghostly white skin would darken without burning. I hadn't been able to work up the courage to talk to talk to any of the other teenagers who were there, and none of them had really noticed me. With my beat up face, and the fact I was one of the foster kids, from the big bad city that was foisted on their town made me unnoticeable, except for a few sneers and one or two pitying looks.

I kind of liked it that way, being unseen had been a way of life for me for half of my life. While I was willing to fantasize about being in the spotlight, and was willing to start moving to the edges of the crowd, I was shy.

“Where did you get this water?” Claire asked.

“It was in my bag. Why?”

“I've never heard of this brand before.” My friend handed me back the bottle, and I was suddenly as confused as she was.

The bottle was small, and it had writing on it that looked like they were Japanese or Chinese, the only English on it said 'Tibetan Spring Water'. “Ok, this is getting weird,” I said.

“First the lipstick and now this. Where are you finding all of this stuff?” she demanded.

“I don't know. I'm just pulling it out of my pocket or bag, I don't even know where I could get any of this stuff in town,” I insisted.

“Oh, maybe you're a big scary mutant,” Claire teased. “Try to pull out some money.”

I rolled my eyes, Claire was a big cape watcher, always going on about Champion, or Super Hawk, or Spectrum or whoever had made a big splashy display of saving the day. “Fine let's find out. I want a hundred dollars,” I said reaching into the bag.

My jaw dropped. At the bottom of my bag was some paper, pulling it out I saw five twenty dollar bills. Claire looked just as surprised as I was.

Shoving the money back into my bag, we looked around nervously hoping that no one had seen the display. “Don't tell anyone about this, please,” I begged.

“Yeah, it'll be our secret,” Claire agreed, staring at me in astonishment.

**

I was in a camp of some kind. Smokeless fires that didn't need wood were lit up as far as the eye could see, surrounded by soldiers who were sharpening knives and swords, drawing strange symbols on their armour and weapons, drinking something that smelled like alcohol, eating, telling stories, singing or dozens of other things. I was walking past them, patting a few who looked like they needed the support on the shoulders, whispering encouraging words in a deep voice, reaching into my pockets to hand out little things like sharpening stones, a snack, a bottle of something to drink, some needle and thread, whatever someone might need.

The clothes I was wearing felt oddly stiff. The edges scratched against my skin, my beard caught on buttons and hooks on my coat. I hadn't realized I had a beard, it should have shocked me, but I realized that for my dream self it was perfectly natural.

I reached a small tent and stepped inside. I should have had to duck but the ceiling rose high above me, and I couldn't see the far end. Inside were thousands of items, enough to equip an army. Rows of weapons ready to be used, armour piled high in many different sizes and types, mountains of food, bottles that shone in every possible colour, and so much more. Tiny people only three or four feet high, obviously not human but close enough to pass as one in dim light ran between the aisles and stacks, counting items, preparing others to go out on sleds that hovered above the ground pulled by gold and silver deer, and bringing order to chaos.

“How is everything going? Are the supplies for the refugees complete?” I asked, a tiny person who was overseeing everything.

“Ready when you are, sir,” he said. “But why don't you let one of us do this? You've been at the front lines you should take a break.”

I patted his arm. “And not do the one part of the job I actually enjoy. Do you want me to become just as bad as the war leaders or the queen? All work and no pleasure.”

He sighed. “Fine, but I'm going to insist you get to bed as soon as you get back, and we're not waking you up tomorrow morning. We've got everything well in hand here, you need the sleep.”

“Fine, fine. Let's get going, it's a cold night and they need the blankets and food. Everyone mount up, we're heading out!” I bellowed, going to the largest sled that was loaded down with supplies.

**

I woke up, rubbing my head in confusion, what was with these weird dreams?

The clock said I was up an hour early. I didn't think I could go back to sleep so I carefully climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom, I could have a nice long shower without worrying about a line up. Getting in, I let the water soothe my sore muscles from all the swimming I'd done the day before. My skin had a bit more colour than it had before the beach, it was redder than I thought it should be, but that wasn't too bad, it was better than being pasty faced.

I started running a hand through my hair, I stopped dead. Jumping out of the shower I looked in the mirror, my hair was an inch longer than the day before. But it wasn't the usual dishwater blonde, it was pure white. The original colour was still their around the tips, but nowhere else.

What was going on?

Getting back in the shower, I finished washing, trying to calm down. I had to tell someone. Should I tell them everything? That I could make things appear in my pockets and bag? They'd say I was a mutant, and who knows what would happen. I knew that H1 was around and they'd get on my case. I'd seen one girl in my old apartment forced to leave in the middle of the night because they said she was a mutant and people had started breaking her family's stuff and refusing to talk to her or anyone in her family.

I was just getting comfortable here, would they make me leave?

Pulling on my hair, I realized I had to say something. I'd just tell them about my hair, they didn't need to know about the other stuff. Maybe it was a medical problem.

Getting out of the shower I dried off and got dressed. Slowly I made my way down to the kitchen where Joyce was drinking her morning coffee. “Mary, what are you doing up so early?” she asked, then did a double take. “What happened to your hair?”

“I don't know. I was just having a shower when I noticed it,” I said, hunching down and hating the way I cringed.

“Has anything else happened?”

“No,” I lied, staring at my feet.

“Ok, just relax. I'll call the doctor today and see if we can get you in. I'm sure there's a perfectly normal reason for this. Do you want something to eat since you're up already?” she asked.

“Yes please,” I muttered, wishing I could just be normal.

**

The doctor I visited later that day was clueless. He didn't know anything that could have done it, so he took some blood samples and sent them away for testing and life went on almost normally for a whole week. The 'almost' was entirely my body's fault. Every night I had dreams of being a big guy, wandering around battlefields and camps, giving out things to soldiers and people, real humans sometimes. These ranged from weapons to food and everything in between. Along with the dreams came changes, I couldn't see my ribs anymore, my entire body seemed to be thickening, not with fat but muscle. Things that would leave me struggling, like carrying the big vacuum cleaner upstairs were easy, I could carry it one handed by the fourth day. I wasn't getting any taller, still just shy of five feet tall, and while my breasts were finally starting to come in, so was a belly.

I was eating twice as much as the other girls, and I was still hungry. To keep from using up the food budget just to feed me, I was finding private time to reach into my pocket and pull out energy bars, snack foods and candy. Claire kept giving me odd looks, but kept her word and didn't tell anyone what I could do, she also didn't bring it up again, which I appreciated.

And then it all fell apart.

“Mary, can you come down here?” Gabby called from the stairs.

Getting off of my bed where I'd been reading a book, I headed downstairs wondering what was going on.

Gabby met me halfway, dry washing her hands and sucking in her bottom lip. “We have some good news for you,” she said.

“What?”

“Just wait, there's some people waiting to talk to you, but we know what's wrong with your hair and body.” She guided me downstairs, and I realized that I didn't hear anyone else. In a house with eight girls, there is always some noise, but it was as quiet as a tomb.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, hunching down, letting my now long white bangs cover my eyes, trying to hide as best I could.

“They've gone out for a walk. It's ok,” Gabby said, putting her hand on my shoulder.

We reached the living room where three people in suits were waiting. Two of them were men and they stood with their hands behind their backs, shifting to hide whatever they were obviously holding. The woman was my case worker, Mrs. Mitchell.

“Mary, how have you been?” Mrs. Mitchell asked.

“I'm doing ok. I really, really like it here,” I said, sitting on the couch, scrunching myself up as tightly as possible like I used to do when I lived with my Mom.

Mrs. Mitchell leaned forward, a big smile on her pudgy face. “I'm so glad, you are looking so much better than when I first saw you. But, I have some good news and bad news for you.”

I waited for her to tell me more. An irrational thought told me that Mom had gotten off on her charges of child abuse, assault and battery, neglect and attempted murder, they were going to make me go back to live with her because family is sacred, even if it would get me killed.

“You are perfectly healthy,” the social worker said. “Your fast growing hair is from something called a Bit. You're a mutant, even if you haven't shown any powers, an exemplar I'm told.”

“Ok,” I said, hoping that was the bad news.

“Now for the bad news. Things can go wrong with mutants, and you need special care, so we'll be sending to another foster home where they can help you adjust to your coming changes.” There was a moment of silence as all eyes focused on me.

“I want to stay here,” I whispered.

“I'm sorry,” Gabby said, patting my hand. “It's the rules, mutants can't be kept in a general group home. But you can phone me whenever you want, and I'll give you my email.”

I couldn't say anything without bursting into tears.

Gabby took my hand and stood up. “Let's go up and get your things, Mary.”

“Actually she'll be leaving now. You can pack her things and we'll have someone pick them up tonight,” one of the men said.

“But-” Gabby fell silent nodding in resignation. “Come on Mary, I'll take you to the car.”

Numbly I followed her, the two men followed several feet behind me. I was led to an SUV that looked like it was made for prisoners, with a metal grate covering the tinted windows, metal blocking the back where I was sitting, from the front. There were metal rings along the seat and the roof.

I think Gabby gave me a hug and told me to phone her as soon as I could. I know she slipped her phone number and email address into my pocket. One of the men lifted me up and put me in the seat. I did up my seatbelt and the door was slammed shut, with the sound of a big, heavy lock being put in place.

A minute later the SUV started up and we were driving away. I couldn't even give Gabby one last wave, the tinted windows were pitch black inside. The only illumination came from a small reading light above my seat. Looking at it closely it seemed like it had a camera beside it.

Hugging myself, I finally let myself cry.

**

After driving for hours, and having to hold in my pee, while my stomach was growling, we finally stopped. The moment the door opened I rushed out, not just to use the bathroom but also to get out of the claustrophobic interior.

“Bathroom!” I squeaked, when the uniformed men stopped me.

“Wait we need to make sure you aren't bringing in any contraband,” the one who'd done all the speaking so far told me.

“I can't wait. I didn't have time to get anything!”

A stern faced woman came out of a brick house. I didn't see any houses nearby, and only a small gravel road led to the house. “Spread your legs and arms, lean up against the vehicle.”

Clenching my teeth, I did as I was told, the woman patted me down everywhere, even though I was wearing tight short shorts and a t-shirt with a flimsy bra underneath, I honestly don't what they thought I could hide on me, a post it note might fit under my bra.

“She's clean,” the woman said, “where do I sign?”

I had to wait several agonizing minutes as they filled out the forms. When they were finally done, the talkative man turned to me, “Mary Annabeth Chisholm, you are now in the custody of Anastasia McCloud. You are to obey her instructions, obey the law, as well as following the guidelines regarding being a mutant foster child in the state of California. If you are found in violation of any of these, you can be arrested by the MCO and brought up on charges of public endangerment, as well as whatever crimes you have committed.”

“YES! Fine! Can I please go to the bathroom!” I practically cried.

“Sign here,” he said, holding a form out for me.

I signed it and ran to the house, only to find the door was locked. My foster mother followed along much more slowly, and unlocked the door for me. “Take your shoes off, and no running in the house,” she said.

My shoes were off in record time. She pointed out the bathroom and I managed to not quite run to it. A few minutes later, much relieved I came back out to see what my new home would be like.

“Come into the living room, please,” the woman said.

I walked in, keeping my head down, trying to keep from gasping in fear. Ms. McCloud was seated on a beautiful white couch, I went sit in a matching armchair.

“Don't sit until you're given permission,” Ms. McCloud said.

I jerked, and stood their dumbly waiting for her to speak.

“Good, you have some hope,” she said grudgingly. “In this house I am in charge, you will not back talk to me, and you will call me Ms. McCloud, or ma'am at all times. I will give you a list of chores to do in the morning and they must be finished on time. You will be home schooled, most of your lessons will be online, every month you will take tests, if you do not pass them you will be found to be in violation of a mutant foster child. You will be given one day a week to go outside for shopping, or some other type of outing, provided you have successfully completed your chores, acted appropriately and completed your lessons. You will keep your room clean, ensure you have a tidy appearance, and wash your clothes. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I whispered, wishing with all my heart that I was back in the small but comfortable room with the other girls.

“I didn't hear you, speak up.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said louder, still staring at the floor.

“Good. I'll show you you're room, supper is in three hours. You can begin your lessons while you wait,” Ms. McCloud said in her no nonsense voice.

I followed meekly, memories of my Mom running through my head at breakneck speed. When we got to the large closet that could hold a bed, a smaller closet, with a low dresser inside of it, and finally a desk with an old PC and used the bed as a chair. There was a small window with security bars on it to let me get some sunlight.

“Load up the computer, your lessons are bookmarked on the browser. I have a parental control program so that is the only thing you can access,” she said, turning to leave.

“Can I send emails?” I asked, thinking about emailing Gabby and Claire.

“Once a week. I'll be reading your correspondence to make sure they're appropriate.”

“But- but the rules say I can get mail and emails privately,” I said.

“For baselines, certainly. You aren't a baseline, the rules have to change to meet your new situation. I'll show you the rules and guidelines tonight after supper, so that you don't make any mistakes.” With that she left, closing and locking the door behind her.

Reaching into my pocket, that was more decorative than useful, I pulled out an energy bar. Turning on the computer, I fought back tears as I ate. Did I have to go five more years like this? If Mom hadn't decided to try to kill me or at least cripple me, it would have been better staying at home. At least there I could escape to school and friends houses, the less I was at home the more Mom liked it.

Looking at my new home, my new life, I started to cry.

**

Supper that night was not enjoyable.

The door was unlocked by Ms. McCloud, and I was allowed to wash my hands in the bathroom and was then led to the depressingly drab dining room. I waited until the meal of fried pork, microwaved mixed vegetables, and baked potatoes, with a glass of water was on the table and was given permission to sit before sitting down. Not sure about anything, I didn't touch anything until my foster parent filled my plate with a single pork chop, half a baked potato and two spoonfuls of the vegetables, and only ate after she started to eat.

Eating in absolute silence except for the sound of silverware against plates and our chewing, I finished quickly. Reaching for another piece of meat, I jumped in fright when Ms. McCloud slapped the fork from my hand.

“What do you think you're doing?” she demanded.

I cringed at her harsh tone, ducking as low in the chair as I possibly could. “I-I'm s-s-still hungry. I'm sorry.”

“You ask if you can have some more, this is not a boarding house.”

“Can... can I please have some more?”

“No, you've eaten enough. You're getting fat, you should go on a diet,” she said, looking at my growing belly.

“All right,” I murmured.

I sat in silence, trying to ignore the growling of my stomach as she finished eating, taking an extra potato and pork chop for her own plate. With a contented sigh, Ms. McCloud pushed her chair away from the table. “You can clean up. Save the potatoes and meat they go in the fridge in a plastic container, wash the dishes and then you can go back to your room to continue your lessons. You'll go to sleep at nine, not a moment later or earlier, this house runs on a tight schedule.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She left and I got to work. It wasn't that bad, I did the same back when I lived at home. The hunger wasn't even too bad, especially because I reached into an oven mitt a few times and pulled out some dried fruit to munch on.

I heard a knock at the door as I was scrubbing the pans by hand, not wanting to get in trouble or make Ms. McCloud angry I just ducked my head and kept washing, ignoring the quiet conversation. By the time I was done washing and putting everything away whoever had visited was gone.

Hesitantly I walked to my room. My small suitcase was empty at the foot of the bed, and all of my things spread out on the bed being looked over by Ms. McCloud. I didn't mind so much seeing my clothes out like that, they were mostly second hand outfits that I'd bought a month ago, but seeing her pawing through my well worn diary was too much.

“What are you doing?!” I demanded.

“According to the rules of fostering mutants, I am to ensure you are not corresponding or associating with mutant terrorists. This gives me the right to look through your correspondence, personal letters, diaries, journals, emails and record your telephone calls. If you try to stop me, it is within my rights to contact the MCO and they will begin an investigation into your actions,” the woman said, not looking away from my diary.

“But my diary, it's mine. It's- it's personal.” I didn't know how to convince her to put it down, that I'd poured my soul into it as mom had gotten worse and worse over the last two years. What I couldn't tell my friends, I had told my diary. Everything I'd done, felt, thought and imagined was in those pages. I'd actually expanded it by cutting it apart and stitching in new pages while adding cardboard to the spine, because I couldn't bear the thought of replacing it.

“Rules are rules. Do you think I enjoy reading about what boys you like or how you cried at night?” she snapped.

I jumped back in terror, than I spun around and fled the room heading for the front door. I pulled on the handle but it didn't budge, flipping the lock didn't do anything and no matter how hard I hit it nothing happened. I hid behind the couch crying, wishing I'd never called for help. If I'd just ran away to a friends house to get away from Mom, give her some time to get over things I'd have been ok. I would still be with my friends, I'd have some privacy, Mom only came into my room if she was going to yell at me, and if I locked the door in time she'd just bang on it for an hour or two.

Biting my finger until it bled, I wondered when my nightmare would be over.

**

Ms. McCloud came out a while later, throwing a thick bundle of papers on the floor in front of me. “These are the rules for being a mutant foster child, read them and learn them. And as you noticed during your temper tantrum, you're not able to leave without me or a person of my choosing.”

“What if there's a fire?”

“Find me, and I'll make sure you get out,” she said.

Kicking the papers away, I snarled at her. “I should have stayed with my Mother. She just hit me sometimes, she didn't lock me up.”

There was no sympathy in her voice or expression. “This is for your protection and the protection of everyone else. Now get to your room and read the papers. Tomorrow the MCO will pick you up for powers testing. The lights will automatically shut off at nine. If you're on your computer you'll have five minutes to save your work and shut it off, before it turns off. You will be allowed to go to the bathroom to wash up and then you will go to sleep. Now get to your room.”

Glaring at the woman I marched to my room slamming the door behind me. She locked me in and I noticed that there was no way to lock or unlock the door on my side. All of my things were put away in the drawers or hanging in the closet. Going through it all I notice that the hundred and twenty dollars I'd had with me had vanished. The twenty was from my allowance, the hundred dollars I'd been too afraid to use. I knew Gabby wouldn't take my money, so it had to be Ms. McCloud or the two men.

Grabbing the stupid papers that were all the rules I started reading much more quickly than I normally could. The very first rule stated that I'd lost all privacy, everything was to be monitored for anti-social, anti-human and anti-government behaviour. The second rule said that I couldn't have any money, any purchases would have to go through my caregiver, I didn't even warrant having a foster parent it seemed.

It went on like that. I could only leave the house under the guidance of my caregiver or someone she had vetted and was over the age of thirty who was aware that I was a mutant and had a means of contacting the MCO at all times. I could only socialize with people vetted by my caregiver and a person over thirty had to be present at all times. I couldn't go to school, it was home schooling all the way. I could not have a phone, and my computer was monitored constantly, if I was a gadgeteer or a devisor, I could only use a computer when monitored personally by the caregiver or someone vetted by them. I could not use any powers without express permission of my caregiver while monitored. And on, and on, and on, for thirty pages of small print.

If I broke any of these rules I would be investigated and possibly arrested, if it was found I had broken the rules willingly, I would be thrown in a detention center until I was at least twenty one years of age.

Murderers in prison had more rights than I did.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a chocolate bar, still hungry after my small supper. As I ate it, I glared at the locked door. If my mutant powers had let me I'd have torn the whole damn house down with my bare hands.

**

I was walking through a camp full of people. Many of them were injured, they all looked scared. We could hear the distant crashes louder than any natural thunder, hellish screams of abominations, and the shouting of tens of thousands of fighters. If the army was defeated in the field, this pitiful camp of exhausted and wounded people who had seen their homes and families destroyed would be next. There were humans, and elfen people, though there were other stranger creatures as well, mostly women and children. I knew instinctively most of the men had died trying to buy time for their families to run. The strongest and fastest men had sometimes survived, making back to their people. In other dreams I'd seen them staggering in with broken weapons fighting exhaustion and pain. I and the people under me had given them what help we could.

I still didn't know what this persons name was. I had no control in the dreams, and there weren't any mirrors so I didn't even know what I looked like except that I was a man, with a white beard. He seemed kind though, helping as much as he could, which was pitifully little.

“Sir!” the small second in command came running up. “The enemy is coming! A small band is coming this way.”

“How small?” I demanded.

“No more than twenty beasts. If we can contact the general we-”

“No help is coming,” I said, cutting him off. Hopelessness filled me, that small force would slaughter the hundreds of people here. “The army is fully engaged. How much time do we have?”

“Half an hour at most. The few scouts we have are trying to lead them away, but they smell the camp,” he told me.

This was time for decisiveness. “Get anyone who can fight, refugees and our own people, give them any weapon they can use. Load the youngest children and their mothers onto the sleds, pack them in as tight as you can, strap them on if you have to. You'll lead them as far from here as possible. Have everyone else start moving immediately, split them into groups and send them in every direction that could lead to safety.”

“What about you sir?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

I loosened my long leather robe and put on black gloves that were etched with symbols. “Someone has to buy you time. It's been an honour, my friend.”

He hugged me. “The honour has been all mine.”

Racing away he started yelling orders, bringing order to the growing panic. I started chanting, words I couldn't understand or remember filled the air. Bitterly cold air came from the north, shrouding the edge of the camp in frozen mists and blowing snow. Weary men and women marched into the mist determined to buy time. I followed behind still chanting.

**

The two men who had dragged me away from the group home came to pick me up after a small breakfast of buttered toast and apple juice. I didn't talk to them, not that they cared, they just asked Ms. McCloud some questions and ordered me into the back of the SUV. This time I made sure to go to the bathroom first, and wore a tracksuit that had pockets so I could pull something out if I had to. For some reason no matter how hard I tried I couldn't make something appear in my hand unless it was hidden.

We drove for a few hours. I tried to get away from the camera by moving to the other side of the bench seat, but the nearest reading light and the camera attached to it turned on and focused on me. So I sat back, gave them the finger and pretended to be asleep.

We finally came to a stop in a parking garage. They ordered me to get out and silently I did. They took my fingerprints, blood samples, my name, scanned my eyes and made dozens of pictures, including several of me in my underwear, focusing on distinguishing features like my birthmark, as well as a couple of scars.

Then they did powers testing. I didn't show them my trick of making things appear. With how everything was going I knew I might need it to survive, or at least to avoid malnutrition. So I did everything they asked, but when they asked me questions I replied by nodding or shaking my head. Refusing to speak. Even when I had to guess a card they were holding, I used my finger to trace out a symbol in the air.

By the time we finished they seemed ready to throw me in prison and throw away the key. They actually threatened me with it a few times. I gave them the finger and kept quiet. They frog marched me back to the SUV, under armed guard.

“This is your MID, keep it on you at all times. If you do not have it on you when requested by your caretaker, police, government official or the MCO, you will be arrested and placed in juvenile detention,” the guy in charge told me.

I took the card and got into the SUV, glaring the entire time.

When we finally got moving, I took a moment to look at the card. Apparently my codename was Ward 22, and I was an Exemplar 3. Not knowing what any of that meant I put the card in my pocket, and fell asleep. At least they'd fed me enough so I could do that comfortably.

I stared at my body, there wasn't much else to do unless I wanted to do homework. If I'd been doing the homework in class, or with a partner I could talk to and joke with it would be really interesting. I was somehow picking up facts and things a lot more quickly than I had before. Even physics was making sense. But when you're all alone, with only a nasty bitch to talk to, you kind of lose the incentive to get stuff done.

It had been two weeks of hell, and I had no idea how I would last all the way to the end. Ms. Bitch had taken me out shopping once, to a tiny thrift store that was a single room, with old cast offs that were stained, worn thin, and badly patched. We'd passed a few bargain basement department stores, where my money could have gotten me some clothes that were the right size and new, but we couldn't have that of course. Ms. Bitch in her infinite wisdom and need to see that the public was kept safe from my mutant ways, had contacted the police so I'd been under armed guard while I was there, which had made it even worse. As if that hadn't been enough my white hair drew a lot of attention, I hadn't been allowed to get it cut so it was really messy, starting to get long enough to get into my eyes, and the tips were still dark.

With how my body was changing, I'd just bought a couple of really baggy track suits. Looking at myself, I could guess that I'd grown over an inch, my hips, breasts, waist, and face were changing, becoming more male. I was even noticing a change down below with my clitoris growing. It didn't take a genius to know that I was turning into a guy. I still hadn't told Ms. Bitch, she already knew my every step, she didn't have to know about this until it was too obvious. I'd even stopped writing in my diary, no reason to let her read all my personal thoughts twice.

Grabbing the bed, I picked it up without much effort. I was already really strong, and if the weird guy I was still dreaming about was anything like I was turning into, I still had a ways to go before I topped out.

Reaching into my bag I pulled out a magazine. After I was done reading it, I'd have to put it under my shirt, then get it into the garbage and cover it up so Ms. Bitch didn't see it, but I needed to do something, or I'd find out if it was possible to dribble a persons head the next time I saw my guard.

Fifteen minutes later I had a problem. I had to go to the bathroom.

I was usually able to plan around the allowed bathroom breaks, but whatever was happening inside of me sometimes messed up my system. I'd had a period the week before, and after a three day break, I was having another one. So my bladder was just as messed up.

Knocking on the door didn't get me anywhere. Listening at the extra strong metal door didn't reveal any sounds, so my oh so caring guardian was either asleep or out. I still wanted to know what I was suppose to do if there was a fire, this had to be breaking at least a couple of laws.

Unfortunately when I had tried to speak with my social worker, Ms. Bitch had hung up the phone the moment I began to complain, and threatened to contact the MCO so I'd be arrested. That option was looking better everyday. I hadn't been able to talk to Gabby or Claire at all, even though the rules book said I could contact them as long as my guardian was in the room. No amount of trying to rules lawyer my way into a call did any good, it depended on her discretion and I'd done nothing to warrant a call.

Slamming my fist on the door had about as much effect as knocking.

I was starting to get desperate. The stupid bathroom was just across the hall and I couldn't get to it. I could practically picture the grey little room. Cramps bent me double and I felt like I was about to explode.

Closing my eyes I screamed with pent up fury at how fucked up my life was, wishing I was anywhere but in that damn room.

The room spun. I grabbed hold of the doorknob to stay up, only to fall forward. It wasn't there anymore.

Opening my eyes I looked at a familiar room, the bathroom of my old home. Urgent matters kept me from really thinking about what was going on, a minute later as I washed my hands, I came to two possible conclusions, I was insane, or I could teleport. Seeing as how I could take things from somewhere else, teleporting to my old home didn't seem to be much of a stretch.

It was two in the afternoon, so I probably didn't have to worry about Mom being there. I went quietly to my old room. It hadn't been touched, everything was pretty much exactly as I remembered it right down to the left over sandwich which stank of rot and mold, it was mostly just dusty.

Sitting down on the tiny bed I tried to think about what to do. If I didn't go back to the foster home, I'd be wanted by the police and the MCO. But if I went back, I'd probably put a knife in Ms. Bitch by the end of the year which would be worse. Going to my battered and wobbly desk, I pulled out a small photo album and looked at my old friends. It would be nice to see them again.

Hell feeling the air on my face for even a minute would be preferable to going back to the prison the social workers called a home.

Did really have to go back? I could get all the money and things I wanted, I could move around freely. Even if the MCO found me, running wouldn't be a problem.

Getting a backpack that barely fit me I put the pictures inside. The next hour was spent getting keepsakes. I started grabbing a few essentials but put them back, I didn't want to be lugging around anything more than I had to.

That done, I went back one last time to the small room I was forced to call home. I wanted my diary and then I could get on with my new life.

Ms. Bitch was there, along with two MCO agents.

We all stared at each other in shock for a second. One of agents was digging through my things, while the other one was talking on his phone.

“Stop right there!” the guy pawing through my underwear shouted reaching for his gun.

I didn't know what to do, I just reached into my pocket and thought about something that would help. My hand clutched something hard that felt like a gun, I brought it out pointing it at the three people who had ruined my life. The MCO agent was still fumbling for his own pistol, mostly because it wasn't there anymore.

“I just want my diary and then I'm leaving,” I said, trying to keep my hand from shaking.

“You're not going anywhere,” Ms. Bitch said, stepping towards me her hand extended to take my gun.

“Stay back!” I shouted, trying to watch all of them at once.

While the two agents wisely stayed still, the woman kept coming. My hands were shaking so badly, I didn't know what to do. When she grabbed for the gun it let out a huge bang flying out of my hand. I screamed, expecting to see blood. Instead the air in front of her seemed to shiver and the bullet fell to the floor with a soft thud. She and the MCO agents seeing that I was unarmed jumped on me.

Closing my eyes I thought of going somewhere safe even as I toppled the floor with three heavy adults on top of me. A second later I was free. Looking around I saw that I was in my first foster home where I had actually felt comfortable. I knew I couldn't stay there, taking a moment to my breathing and tears under control I thought of a park in my old town that wouldn't be crowded during a school day.

The wave of dizziness came over me again, but it wasn't as bad as the first time, and I found myself sitting behind some bushes in my favourite part of the park where I'd spent so much time avoiding my Mom just writing in my diary, doing my homework, or reading. It was calm, peaceful, normal.

I broke down in tears.

**

Eventually I recovered from the shock of running away, shooting Ms. Bitch, and knowing that I was a wanted fugitive. I still didn't have my diary, but I had an idea I wanted to try after seeing how I'd stolen the agents gun. Thinking really hard about my diary, the sewn together binding, the pictures and thoughts inside of it, I reached into my pocket and grabbed it.

The moment I felt the thick book, the well worn cover, the stickers I'd put on it over the years I began to smile. I had it, and suddenly all was right with the world.

Staying in California was right out. They'd be looking for me, I'd probably be on America's Most Wanted in a few hours. I'd once visited family in Houston, that would be a good place to get a new start. I wouldn't actually say hello, I barely knew them, but to get new clothes, a haircut, a big meal it was perfect.

I tried to picture a place in Houston I'd visited that wouldn't be too crowded. I thought about a mall I'd visited there, specifically the restrooms. It came to me a lot more easily than I thought it would. Closing my eyes, I teleported.

Before I could open my eyes, there was an ear piercing scream. A saleswoman was sitting on the toilet, trying to cover herself and push me away at the same time. I screamed back in shock, and broke down the door trying to get out.

I bolted from there, and didn't stop until I was out of the mall and a block away. Seeing a busy fast food restaurant, I slipped inside, hoping not only to get a bite to eat but that the crowd would hide me. Money obviously wasn't a problem, so I ordered the biggest meal with another burger on the side and dug in.

Shooting Ms. Bitch didn't feel so bad once I had the chance to think about it. I hadn't even hurt her, probably because she had a forcefield generator like I'd seen on Tales of the MCO. So I wasn't a murderer, and I hadn't meant to shoot her. They'd probably say I was a horrible murderous person, but I really didn't care anymore. They'd already been treating me like a criminal so what if they wanted to add more to it.

Getting another meal to go, I munched on it as I looked for a hair stylist. I had two problems which nicely solved each other. The biggest problem was that I was on the run. The second minor problem was that I was turning into a boy. No one knew I was turning into a boy yet, so it was time to cast my femininity aside and embrace the new me. I could do that, it wasn't like I was super attached to it.

By the time I'd finished my take away, I found myself at a hair salon that was practically empty. Five minutes later I was getting my short messy white hair, that could charitably be called a pixie cut rather than a mop, turned into a more boyish one. It was still white, but that didn't matter much to me. I practised making my voice deeper as we chatted. I found out where the nearest G-Mart was, and even better a youth hostel where I could probably get a place to sleep.

With my new haircut and my baggy tracksuit, I didn't look out of place getting jeans, shirts and other things from the men's section. I'd have preferred shopping with some friends, but still getting clothes that looked OK, and actually fit my new body was a welcome relief. And paying for them was as easy as reaching into my pocket.

A quick trip to the bathroom and as long as I didn't stick my chest out too much, no one would think I had ever been a girl. At the youth hostel I checked in as a boy, and for a few extra bucks they didn't bother asking me for ID. I signed myself in as Chris Kringel, using the last name of a distant cousin that I always thought was funny.

Lying down in a room, able to write in my diary and look over the photos of my old life, I finally felt free of all the cares and worries I'd had to live with for so long. That night I slept like a baby.

I massaged my leg which was horribly scarred as people worked on the estate that was spread out before me. People, humans and others, were tending gardens, herding reindeer, cleaning the steps of the mansion which looked like it was made of ice. They were the people I had helped save, and their descendent. Watching them creating beauty in the frozen north, even with the odd perspective from having a single eye, and knowing that my once strong muscles had wasted away over the years of pain that never went away and my own lameness, made it worthwhile. The people still respected me, worked for me willingly, knowing that I had done everything I could to keep them and their parents alive.

There was a chime from the door. Grabbing my staff, I awkwardly stood up, my lean and aged body covered by warm blue robes, leaned heavily on the rune inscribed hardwood drawing strength and energy from the inscribed hardwood that glowed with power as it fought the festering poisons that were hidden within the scars that covered my body and refused all healing. My wasted face broke into a grin at seeing my old companion. “Kenoes, what are you doing here? I thought you were busy doing my old job in Atlantis.”

The diminutive figure shuffled his feet almost in embarrassment, seeming to shrink into the specially made leather robes. “I've come to warn you, sir, something horrifying is coming.”

“I've seen horror, my friend. What could be worse than the war we barely survived?” I asked, my bones aching in memory of teeth ripping into muscle.

“I don't know. A... friend of mine is a seer. She saw something, the end of everything, or almost everything, she couldn't be sure. She told me and a few friends, the next day she disappeared.” He wiped away a tear. “She said it was coming soon. And then I was ordered to prepare all the weapons of war we had ready, anything that couldn't be gotten in less than a fortnight was to be left behind.” He shook his head sadly. “I was expecting orders to follow behind to keep them resupplied. But I never got them. The army left with only a fraction of the supplies they would need if they planned to returned. A few quartermasters had orders to prepare a supply train to meet with whoever survived, but I wasn't one of them. I had to warn you in person.”

“Thank you my friend. If your seer friend is right, we face a grave future. Fortunately I've prepared for them,” I said.

“You've prepared for it. How?”

“I'm still a quartermaster at heart. We have enough food, weapons and essentials, for every Sidhe, human and spirit living here to survive anything short of the end of the world. Come, let me show you my workshop,” I told him, heading down the long flight of stairs to show him supplies that would support a small city for a year.

**

One of the first things I needed to do upon getting free, was getting a whole new wardrobe. The clothes I'd bought on my first night of freedom were nice, but they had made my skin itchy and red for some reason. They didn't hurt, but I'd spent the first night and most of the day scratching and wishing I had some skin lotion. Two days of trial and error shopping, and I found out I could only wear all natural clothes, including underwear. Looking at the bill for a leather coat, all natural cotton pants and shirts, silk underwear, and leather boots would have kept my Mom happily drunk for a month. Fortunately I didn't have to worry about where the money was coming from.

That done, I had some time to breathe and try to decide what to do. With my powers, I could live very comfortably for the rest of my life, but something about that just struck me as wrong. Maybe it was the dreams I was having, but I couldn't help thinking that just sitting back and relaxing would be an insult to the powers I had been given, kind of like Spider-mans with great power comes great responsibility. But I wasn't about to put on spandex and go off to fight crime.

I also couldn't just go around handing out money and things to people without a plan. That was a good way to attract attention I couldn't deal with. So I did what anyone else would do, went to the library and got on the computer.

I didn't have much of a plan, I just started looking for people in trouble. There were hundreds of stories of people who needed money, cities with large at risk groups, failing neighbourhoods, and more. But they either needed things I couldn't give them, or they were so large I couldn't hope to make any kind of a real impact.

A week into my search I started to feel discouraged, nothing felt quite right but I KNEW the answer was just at my fingertips. Then I found it on an Evolution Rocks website.

In Chicago there was an old place that had belonged to the church called the Cloisters, now it was abandoned and a home for homeless people. A lot of them were mutants. A year ago ER! Made an expose about how runaway mutants were forced there, to be used and abused by criminals, and hunted by the Knights of Purity. The ones that survived became criminals, with a lot of new C and even one or two B listers coming from there.

I don't know why but something clicked, and I knew where I had to go.

After studying some pictures of the area, I went back to the hostel to get my things.

**

I teleported to a tiny backroom of what used to be a religious school in the Cloisters. It was the middle of the day so it would probably be abandoned with the usual squatters out trying to get money. It was bitterly cold, I'd known it was December and was wearing a good winter coat along with a hat and gloves, but I hadn't realized it would be so cold. Growing up in California, and spending the last few days in Texas, hadn't prepared me for what a real northern winter could dish out.

Reaching into my pocket I pulled out a handful of pocket warmers. Putting them in my pockets and sliding one each into my boots made the weather bearable, if not comfortable.

Wandering out of the room, I heard something crackling like a fire and people talking. Cautiously ready to teleport if it turned bad, I started towards the noise. Down the hall and in what looked like it was once a music room was a large metal barrel with a roaring fire in it. Five people huddled close to it, the most obvious was a huge guy who looked like he was made of ice, beside him was a kid who could be a girl or a boy whose skin was fluorescent orange and looked at me with big grey eyes. The third, probably a girl had floor length red hair that simply wouldn't stop moving like snakes. The last two could have been twins boys one glowed blue, the other yellow and they were each holding their hands over the fire making their light flow into it. They were all looking at me.

“What the fuck do you want?” Icy growled, his voice sounding like glaciers grinding together.

“Can I warm up? I'm freezing,” I said.

“No room for pretty boys. Fuck off!”

I teleported a few feet closer to them, keeping my hands visible. “How about for mutants?”

They looked at me carefully, not giving me an ounce of trust. After a full minute they shifted a little so I could at least warm my hands.

“You don't look like the type to be down here,” the orange kid, probably a girl from the voice, said.

“Yeah well the MCO and the state of California decided I needed to be put in solitary when they discovered I was a foster kid mutant. I just made sure they didn't know everything I could do and got out. I'm Chris by the way. What about you guys?” I asked.

“Trish. My parents tried to kill me,” the orange girl said. No one else said anything still eying me warily.

“Look, I need a place to stay and I don't know anyone in town. Hell this morning I was in Houston. I'd like some help learning what to watch out for, who to avoid, who might be able to help, and who needs help. You guys need something ask me, all I'll ask for in return is information and maybe a friendly conversation,” I said.

Icy snorted, “Yeah right. No one gives anything for free here, you trying to start a mutant gang? Fuck off, we got enough of your kind already.”

I reached into my pocket pulling out some energy bars for everyone. “I'm a teleporter, I just reach into my hand and pull out something I need. Does it look like I need a gang? I just want to find some people who might understand what I'm going through and not call the MCO screaming in fear.”

“Are you goddamn Santa Clause?” the red head rasped, revealing a nasty scar that looked like someone had tried to hang her.

“Funny you should say that. I'm calling myself Chris Kringel,” I joked.

“No strings?”

“Not a one.”

She grabbed a bar, ripped it open and crammed it into her mouth. When it was all gone, she gave me a small smile. “I'm Carrie. The big guy's Frosty, and we call the wonder twins Blue Boy and Sunshine since they don't talk. Welcome to the Cloisters, closest place to hell we could find without actually dying.”

**

I set myself up in what had probably been a small broom closet, filling it with blankets and other things to ward off the cold. The door was so badly rusted it would only open an inch or two, which suited me fine, I could trust that my stuff wouldn't be stolen too easily, and a flashlight gave me enough light. My irreplaceable diary and photos, went into a metal box and were stored inside a hole in the old crumbling brick wall well hidden by the blankets.

When I grabbed the blankets and flashlight, I'd gotten blankets, coats, ski pants, warm gloves and winter boots for the others. That hadn't gone as well as I'd hoped.

**

“What the hell will I do with those?” Frosty, the not so friendly snowman demanded, when I teleported back with several large bags.

“Wear them so you don't get cold,” I suggested.

He raised one of his big hands that could encircle a basketball. “Idiot. I'm ice, I don't get cold.”

I shrugged, trying not to look intimidated. “Fine, don't use them. Trade them, use them to sit on, give them to someone else, they're a gift.”

Trish and Carrie were hurriedly getting dressed, since I'd purposefully gotten stuff that I thought would be on the large side, they just slipped the ski pants and coats over their multiple layers of pants shirts and thin coats. The twins, simply looked at the offered items and shook their heads, their expressions impossible to make out through their glowing lights.

Trish who I'd found out was only eleven came over and gave me a hug. “Thank you, I haven't felt this warm since summer. I can't give you much for it, but all of this has to be worth at least a couple of hours together.”

“A couple of hours of what?” I asked.

“Sex. I've got a little place where we can light a fire and the blankets are pretty clean.”

I tried to look everywhere except at the young girl in front of me, and noticed that Frosty was looking straight at the fire with an almost scary intensity. I'd never had an offer I wanted less, even if I was growing the proper equipment. “I- I don't think so. I told you I don't want anything.”

“Nothings free here,” Carrie said taking my hand, her hair caressing my cheeks. “If she's too young, I can pay for both of us.”

“NO! I don't want that! Just take them, please. It's not like they cost me anything.

The girls looked at me like I was crazy, Frosty gave me a glance that didn't make me feel like I was the scum of the earth. The twins ignored me, creating a light show in the air between them.

“Do you girls do stuff like that a lot?” I asked.

Carrie shrugged. “We don't have any powers people want to pay for, and we can't get any of the support the norms can. We've got to do something to stay alive. We're all at the bottom of the barrel even for here. The twins are so out of it they can't follow instructions, and Frosty refuses to do anything beyond some protection work and lifting jobs. There's about fifteen or twenty other mutants who stay here, they mostly do anything that will get them some food, cash, clothes, weapons.”

“I didn't think there'd be that many.”

“There used to be more,” Frosty said. “Then the KoP came to town and they like doing training missions here using us as targets. A bunch of us tried to leave, but everywhere else is held by gangs, respectable people, or shit we don't want to even think about. There'd be fights and even if we won, we'd have the police, the KoP or the heroes coming down on our heads shooting to kill. So a lot of our friends left town or came back here. At least here we get a couple of weeks of peace between attacks.”

As he told me that I really couldn't imagine how people could live like this. But then I thought of what I'd escaped from. A month or two more of that and I could picture myself seeing this type of life as an improvement. “Well if you guys need anything, just ask. I know what it's like getting screwed over like that, even before I turned into a mutant.”

That got several skeptical looks.

“I didn't always look like this. My Mom broke my nose before she tried to kill me, that's why I was a foster kid. You can believe it or not. And it can't be any worse asking me for something than working with whoever comes along,” I said carefully.

“”You've got a point,” Carrie said. “Got anymore food?”

I handed her a couple of granola bars. “So what do I need to know about to stay alive here?”

**

“You got anything for the cold?” Angela asked.

Smiling at the fair haired girl who had tightly woven vines and leaves in place of muscle and skin, I pulled out a ten pack of pocket warmers, and a take away coffee. “Best I can do. Do you need some blankets or something? I can get you some tomorrow.”

“This is good, my ski suit is still warm enough,” she said. “You're not like most people here, you know that right.”

“I know. You seem pretty different from most of the others to.”

She sipped the coffee, keeping it close to her face as the liquid warmed her up. “I've only been here for three weeks. I thought, get to Chicago, contact a superhero and become a Robin or some crap like that. I couldn't stay home, Dad had already been beaten up a couple of times, and Mom's boss was letting her know that if they didn't do something about the mutant freak she'd lose her job. With a bunch of brothers and sisters, I couldn't let that happen.”

“Why didn't you join the heroes?” I asked.

“I phoned the hot-lines for the Chicago Crusaders and the Windy City Guardians, tried to get in to see them for three days each, and nothing. Security turned me away, said they were busy with a crisis and since I don't have a phone they couldn't call me back. Then a gang found me sleeping in a doorway and told me to come here or they'd shoot me and leave me for the rats.” She sniffed, whether from the cold or sadness I didn't know. “It's not too bad. I've got it better than some of the others here. I get a big meal everyday helping out some grow ops with their plants. One of them is thinking about hiring me on full time so I'll have room and board, even some spending money.”

“Want me to go with you to the Crusaders tomorrow. Maybe they aren't so busy now, I can take you right to their lobby so you don't have to worry about H1!.”

She shook her head, a little more fiercely than she had to. “I don't want anything to do with them now. I saw what the Knights of Purity do, and the heroes don't do jack to stop them. They don't care about us, only about looking good for the cameras. At least the criminals I work with think I'm useful, and in a week or two I'll be off the street for good. And why would they let someone who looks like me onto their stupid team. None of them look like monsters, I'd probably spoil their goddamn precious image.”

Putting my arm around her, I just held Angela as she drank her coffee, sniffing and wiping her eyes, refusing to cry.

**

A hand enveloped my shoulder from behind throwing me at the nearest wall as I sat around a fire listening to the evening talk. Without even thinking I teleported, changing my direction so that I landed with a painful jarring of my bones on my feet facing my attacker.

“What the hell is your problem?!” I demanded, glaring at some guy with metal hands and metal plates over different parts of his body.

“I don't like pretty boys. And you're in my spot,” he sneered.

“Mitch, shut up. Chris is cool, even if he is too pretty,” Frosty said.

Rex, another boy who looked like a shark growled. “He's like a never ending vending machine. You want to fuck him up and you'll be dealing with me.”

“Is that so,” Mitch said. “OK vending machine, give me a hundred bucks.”

“No,” I said. Giving Mitch what he wanted would make me go from being someone they were starting to trust and value, to being a vending machine they could bully. I still wasn't sure what I was doing in the Cloisters, but that was the last thing I wanted.

The new guy tried to loom over me. “Why not vending machine? I'm not good enough for you?”

“I help my friends and people I like. Not assholes like you. You want to sit down, talk to me for a bit and I'll think about it.”

He didn't like that answer. I made sure I was on the other side of the room as his fist connected with the wall, cratering it. “You're not making me like you, you know that right?” I taunted him.

Mitch jumped over the heads of the group, planning on taking my head off. I teleported again, using my new reflexes to get behind him while he was still in the air and snagged his leather coat bringing him to an abrupt halt and a nasty fall to the floor. He slammed his hand down and my leg was encased in metal.

It couldn't hold me, and I was behind him again pulling a firecracker and a lighter from my pockets. As he got to his feet, I lit the fuse and threw it at him. He flinched back as it exploded, blinking furiously and rubbing his ears, even though the small explosion didn't look like it had hurt him.

While he was blinded I pulled out a bottle of good beer from my pocket and opened it up. “Hey, Mitch is it?” I waited for him to look at me through his red and teary eyes. “I can't hurt you, I'm not strong enough and I don't want to. So lets call it quits and have a drink, K?”

Nodding, Mitch came over and took the bottle. I wasn't ready for the sucker punch to the stomach. He didn't use his full strength because I wasn't killed, but I fell to my knees and had to swallow back some vomit.

“Now we call it quits, Chris,” he said.

“Glad to hear it,” I chocked out.



**

“What the hell are you still doing here? It's been three weeks and you've spent enough to get a decent apartment but you're still living in that old closet.” Rex the shark boy said, taking a sip from his bottle of homemade booze.

“I don't know yet,” I admitted.

“We have a fucking pilgrim. Probably following the voices in his head trying to ass kiss to the angels,” said Inky, a girl who was pure black and could change her shape.

I smiled at that. “I wish. Than I'd have some clue of what to do next.”

They'd slowly let me join their not group, but more like a loose community. Giving money, food and anything else they needed except drugs and alcohol had made me an important resource, none of them were willing to turn down. It also kept me out of the almost daily fights that helped decide disputes and acted as the evening entertainment.

“If I had your looks and powers I'd find some guy and make him my sugar daddy. You wouldn't see me on the street ever again. Silk sheets and a feather bed, that would be the life.” someone said from the edge of the circle.

A bottle was handed to me, I took a sip and only supreme willpower kept me from coughing and throwing up as whatever it was burned all the way down leaving me feeling lightheaded. There was laughing as I practically threw it to Frosty who was sitting beside me.

Catching my breath, I saw a boy handing a needle to Carrie, and the two headed off his hand on her ass. When I got my attention back on the group, Rex was telling a story about how he'd helped a gang beat up a mutant supervillain looking for minions, willing or not. I smiled as he talked about snapping the villains tusk and ramming it through his hand, even though I was disgusted at the violence. Most of the others laughed drunkenly.

Just then someone came running in, passing through the wall as if it wasn't there. “KoP! RUN!” the mutant girl screamed.

Everyone scrambled to their feet, grabbing coats, the alcohol, whatever they thought they had to have. Frosty broke a hole through the back wall so that we wouldn't have to go through the hallway where the sound of stomping metal feet could be heard. That was a mistake, there was the roar of guns and Frosty fell back his chest cracked.

Rex jumped through the hole screaming curses, metal clanged, and the rest of the kids ran through the hole scattering in all directions. Trish stayed back, trying to lift Frosty who was groaning in pain, running to their side, I helped lift the giant iceman. “Come on, lets get out of here,” I grunted, as Rex was thrown through the wall followed by a plasma bolt that burned his chest.

As bullets and plasma bolts tore through the building and kids screamed, I realized we couldn't run for it. Too many kids were going to be caught. Letting go of Frosty, I saw the white power armour that had taken out Rex. Not knowing if I could do it but not having any other options, I teleported behind the machine grabbed it and teleported fifty feet above the abandoned school.

I shouted in fear as we both started to fall. Letting go I reappeared in my little closet, it felt like I'd sprinted up five flights of stairs. A second later there was a loud crash that briefly overpowered the gunfight going on outside. Teleporting back into the hallway, I started jogging towards the nearest screams.

Inky was slithering out of a large net like hand, while a machine gun fired into her face from point blank range. A bunch of kids ran past me, intent on saving their own hides, as Mitch created a steel wall blocking off the hallway. I made my move, appearing just under the girl, grabbed her foot which felt like jelly, and got us both outside before the KoP even knew what was happening.

This was almost worse than the battles in my dreams, I could hear people screaming, they weren't friends really, but I'd gotten to know them pretty well and the KoP was trying to kill them, not even giving them a chance to surrender. I tried to see who I could help next. A suit of flying armour was firing at the ground, There was a shriek of pain and at the end of the block I saw Angela explode.

The world began to spin and I found myself gripping the flying armour around the neck. He couldn't get a grip on me, and my hold was too tight to be thrown off but I couldn't get through the armour plates. As we flew through the sky my fingers scrabbled useless for something I could rip and tear, while he spun, dived and did figure eights threatening to kill me once he got his hands on me. We suddenly straightened out, and I looked up to see we were heading right at a window, from the look of it he was going to fly through it and let me hit the top.

Waiting until the last possible moment, I teleported us downwards. The KoP killer slammed face first into the wall and I went flying through the window getting my arms and scalp sliced up on what little glass remained. Rolling along the floor I hit the door on the other side of the room, groaning as it felt like I'd broken a couple of ribs.

I didn't get a chance to recover, a massive suit of armour broke through the wall, its baseball bat like club swinging to knock down anyone foolish enough to be standing close by. I didn't even try to fight, I was in too much pain and feeling too tired from all the rapid teleporting with heavy robots. I vanished.

The restaurant restroom was empty, so no one screamed when I suddenly appeared. Staggering into a stall, I sat down with a groan and fell asleep almost instantly.

**

When I finally woke up, I realized that I was filthy. My clothes were covered in dirt and rotten plaster dust, I had a couple of tears in my clothes and I hadn't realized it earlier, but there was a bullet hole through the front of my jacket, if I'd still had breasts it would have really hurt.

There wasn't much I could do about it since it was almost four in the morning, and I was lucky enough that this was a twenty-four hour restaurant. I washed off the worst of the dirt, and went to get a bite to eat while I tried to think about what to do next. I also got my diary and pictures putting them in my inside pocket just in case the KoP decided to tear the building down.

Ordering a meal, I grabbed a seat and dug in. A TV was playing in the background, but I ignored it at first. As I finished my burger, I realized that the cashier had vanished along with the old man who had been mopping the floor. That's when I saw the TV was talking about a battle between the KoP and a group of mutant terrorists that had resulted in on KoP killed and one more badly injured, there was no mention of them killing any kids. The worst part was when they showed an up close and personal picture of me grabbing hold of a KoP and teleporting.

I saw the huge white shape of a KoP dropship as I teleported away.

**

When dawn came along, I was at a storm drain that I'd visited once with Carrie and Traci. Turning a corner I saw Frosty, the Twins, Carrie, Traci, Inky, Mitch, and a few others shivering from cold. Frosty had his chest covered in dirty snow and ice almost like a bandage, he was unconscious and

“Where are the others?” I asked.

“Rex and Angela are both dead, maybe a few more,” Carrie told me. “The rest are hiding, probably with gangs and villains they've worked with before.”

Inky oozed over, looking more like a half human slug than a girl. “Thanks, those bullets hurt,” she slurred through a half formed mouth.

I patted her shoulder which was sticky and stained my hand. “Least I could do. What are you guys going to do now?”

“Don't know. KoP's declared war on us and since you killed that bastard who iced Angela, the Cloisters is being levelled.” Traci said, looking up from the hand cranked radio I'd given her a week ago.

The group of homeless kids had never looked very upbeat or optimistic, now they looked exhausted, ready to finally roll over and die.

“Who wants to go to Karadonia with me?” I asked.

That got a lot of snorts and looks of disbelief. Mitch glared at me. “How? And what will we do about cash? I know that place, if we don't have money we'll end up working its mines as slaves.”

Reaching into my pocket I pulled out a thick wad of cash, every bill was a hundred. “Cash isn't a problem. And if you don't mind doing it in relays over a few days, I'll teleport all of us. I got here from Houston in one jump, getting to Karadonia won't be much harder. Then we buy a place, a big one.”

“What's this we stuff and why do we need a big place?”

“Because there are a lot of kids, mutants and baselines who need help. Since no one else seems to give a shit about us, I figure we should start looking out for ourselves. We can hire some tutors learn some stuff, and start selling our services, not to do crime but to actually help people,” I said.

Mitch clenched his metallic fists, looking like he wanted to punch something. “Why the fuck should we help any of those assholes, what have they done for us?”

“The mutants and runaways I want to help aren't our enemies. They're being hurt just like we were. I want to help them, if they need it we'll give them a home. And if anyone tries to hurt us again, we'll come down on them like a ton of bricks,” I said. “You want to make a home, a real home, for yourselves come with me and help out. You want to go your own way, I'll give you money and teleport you anywhere in the country you want to go.”

Carrie, Traci and the Twins looked at each other and looked at the cold grey cement of the storm drain. “We're in,” Carrie said. The Twins nodded as one.

Half of the other teenagers nodded or grunted their agreement. The rest looked at Mitch uncertainly. He sat back biting his lip, gouging the cement with his fingers. “You're not in charge. We're not your lackeys or your damn Christmas elves.”

I nodded. “We'll make some rules to keep order, and everyone helps out. Anyone, including me, doesn't follow the rules or screws around when there's work to be done, gets punished and can be thrown out. We're in this together or we're going to keep getting picked off one by one and living on garbage.”

Mitch grinned and held out his hand. “I always did want a big house on a tropical island.”

**

Six Months Later

Walking through the back alleys of New York in a navy blue all natural trench coat, specially battered and stained to look older than it really was, I didn't look too out of place but I still looked better off than the homeless bums and kids that called the place home. It had taken some research and a lot of questioning but I had a general location of a building that some mutant runaways called home. One kid was watching me very closely, his eyes were almost hidden by a thread bare baseball cap that was so stained it was impossible to guess what the original colours had been. I smiled at him and saw a hint of gold iris's.

“Hey kid,” I said, “I want to talk to someone from Freaks Town.”

“Don't know nothin' 'bout them,” he replied.

I flashed a couple of twenties, making sure only he could see them. “You don't need to take me there, I just want to talk to a few of them. They'll like what I have to offer.”

“You ain't lyin',” he didn't make it a question.

“No I'm not.”

“You try anything bad, we's gonna kill ya. We heard what happen' in Chicago.”

Giving him a big smile, I nodded. “Don't worry, I'm trying to stop that from happening again.”