Young Writers Society

Ivor Volkov | Stitch
Illinois

The man watched Tom's card trick with a guarded expression. His eyes narrowed as the impossible happened, and a card changed colour in mid-swipe.
"Nice Shift," he breathed, shooting an appraising glance at Ivor and Tom. "I have no doubt you have been putting your gift to better use, however."
"Yes," Tom replied coolly. "Really useful sort of trick to know, especially for travel. Of equal use to yours, I assume."

"You are a Viper," Ivor said as they fell into step, moving toward the exit.
"What?" The man looked taken aback.
"A Viper, an eraser, an obliterator." Ivor scowled.
"Good guess."
"And?"
"You're right, of course. The name's Burrows. Richard Burrows. Who're you?"
"Tom Banks, but they call me Meta," Tom said with a smile that would have been winning if not for the situation.
"Ivor," Ivor said roughly. "I am a Stitch. Ve are 'ere for something …"
Tom flashed him a look.
"Well, what a coincidence," Richard said. "I happen to be on a little errand, too. A person by the name of X … ?"
Ivor nodded. "But before ve start, I 'ave some mail I need to take care of."

The group hired a car and took of for Ivor's collection point. It was a mark of the situation that nobody asked him what he was collecting. Tom and Richard were discussing how to find X, Tom narrowing his eyes at a card every few seconds, watching its face flicker into any number of impossible suits.
Ivor stopped the car in a back alley.
"Seriously?" Richard said with a derisive snort. "You're taking a delivery here? You'll send the poor man running for the hills!"
Indeed, when the courier's van pulled up and a spotty, stubbly, bespectacled kind of bloke stepped out, Adam's apple bobbing in alarm, he seemed ready to wet his pants. His eyes seemed to bulge beyond the limits of possibility, and there was a glassy look in his eye which almost made Ivor suspicious. The expressionless Russian took the collection and the man drove off hastily, tires skidding slightly.
"Tactless choice of location," Richard said as Ivor returned to the car. "Did you see that man's face?"
Ivor calmly unwrapped the package and examined his revolver carefully.
"Tom," he said quietly, "you remember ven you asked me 'ow long I had been in ze Mafia? Ze answer is seven years. Just by ze vay, you know."
The icy silence was broken by Richard's exclamation.
"What's that?" He stuck his hand into the wrapping paper and drew out a flyer. It was to advertise a believers' meeting at the Claremont church.

June 6th
7:00 P.M.
63 S. Hemingway St.
Claremont, Illinois

That was when Ivor realised that he really should have mistrusted that glassiness in the man's eyes.

Tom Banks • Shifter
Claremont, Illinois

Something told Tom that the card was not to be trusted, and that going to the church might be a suicide mission. That meant that Tom should go.

"I'm an atheist, though," said Tom. Nobody seemed to care. He fiddled with his card and turned it to a cross, then a star of David, a little statue of Buddha, the Islam's star and crescent, the star in a circle, symbol of the devil, and finally turned it back to the original card. The other two watched him with an expression he couldn't quite guess.

"My bad. The believers. Is that even a real religion? It better not be some kind of Justin Bieber fan club. If it is, I'll shift the flyer into a cactus and shove it up the sender's ass." Nobody talked for a while, so Tom broke the silence. "So, about this church, you guys think it will get us any closer to X?" The look they gave him told him his answer.

"Let's go," said the Russian. Nobody argued.

Tom thought about the date, two days from then. He was sure they would get there before that.

"I suggest we go now and stay a safe distance from it," said Tom, "Let's just observe first to see what goes on. Try to keep in the shadows. We'll figure out a plan from there."

The newcomer, Richard, just nodded in approval. He seemed to be a shady person, that Richard, and Tom didn't fully trust him. From what the Russian had said, Tom didn't want to wake up one day without any memory of his whole life.

"I better not wake up without any memory," he said, speaking his thoughts.

"I can't make any promises," replied Richard.

"If you try something, any funny move, you'll find your face shifted into a mashed potato."

Richard laughed at that, but there was no humor in his laugh. With that happy note, the three men set off towards the church without a real religion.

Creed Coyle | Watcher
Illinois bar

Creed's spine twitched and shivered, unaccustomed to the touches of a Stitch, which still lingered like an unwanted hangover. His bones (especially his face) still ached with the memory of pain, and questioningly searched for it after it was for the most part wiped away. He could almost still hear the popping of his ears after their normal hearing returned. But the only thing that mattered is that he looked normal, not that he felt it.

Creed motioned for Kennedy to stay where she was by making a nonchalant gesture in her direction and grunting a blunt "Stay here." She scoffed, muttering stuff she probably had never said in her life before under her breath, but with only a little resistance she obediently leaned against the outside of the bar. Creed cracked his neck, the buzz of booze and exhilaration fresh in his mind, and strutted back into the bar he was just thrown out of.

The hulking, bear-like man was chugging down a good one at the bar, blurting out loud, aggressive sentences and laughing like a boar. He had a shiner coming on and a good long cut on his cheek, but the man had gotten much more of Creed, and Creed could barely see the discoloring of the man's knuckles, where the younger man's blood stained his skin. The sight fueled something toxic into him, mixed with the alcohol, and conjured a snarly baring of teeth that mocked any smile into a quivering whimper.

"Hey there, Beautiful." Creed daringly shouted at the man's elephantine back. The foul simper flashed his teeth like a pimp's money. The heavy man swiveled in his chair, and at the sight of grinning, unscathed Creed, stood. "You come back for some fucking more?" He belted, towering over Creed.

While it was only now slowly dawning on the man, others who were more sober had already realized the feat that the young man must have pulled. Some stood, nervously inching away from the mutant, the freak. And in the middle of it stood Creed, his head tipped back and laughing like a madman with his teeth still bared and his Adam's Apple jumping merrily up and down his throat, sharing in his vigorous glee.

"Wh-what the fuck are you?" The bear man said, backing and stumbling against the counter in drunken fright. Creed strangely reveled in this aura of pure fear, respect, and speckles of disgust. But despite his enjoyment and his wanting to make this last a little longer, this too, like almost everything else he'd been doing since he arrived in Illinois, was for a calculated purpose. And it wouldn't do to linger.

"That's right, that's right. Back away, humans. Go ahead, tell your buddies that you got to see a mutant right in front of your eyes. Tell everyone. I don't give a damn what you do." Creed spat. He felt like he was beginning to play this role a little too well, and backed out of the door, still grinning like a fool.

Kennedy gave him a disturbed expression when he met her outside.

"You're messed up, and you're going to get us all killed." She spoke, her eyes both weary of the beast in front of her and of the remnants of the task of healing that beast.

Some of the liquor must have gotten to him, because instead of his usual uncouth response, Creed replied with this as he entered the cab Kennedy must have called while he was in the bar. "Sweetheart, I'm one messed up person in a messed up world filled with messed up people. That's why they say the good die young. You gotta be a little messed up yourself to scrape along, a little more to survive. So, either you die young, or get a little messed up in the head too. And it's about time you start getting a little messed up if you wanna live, partner."

Kennedy just looked at him out of the corner of her eye, but Creed had already slipped a cigarette in his mouth and was relatively gone for the rest of the night. She turned to watch the ghetto through the window, the trashy cars as they passed by. With a shake of her head, she said, "God, what have I gotten myself into?"

When they entered the motel room, there was a flyer neatly laying on the bed.

Kennedy Blake|Stitch
Illinois hotel

I'm mentally chastening myself for my choice not to leave when I could when we enter the motel room and spot a flyer lying on the bed. I frown, confused. "I'm sure we locked the door." I pick it up and read it aloud. "Meeting of all believers at the church in Claremont, Illinois, on June 6th
7:00 P.M. Funny, they don't say what sect, even what religion, they are."

Michael lights up another cigarette. "Church's more your thing than mine."

"Actually, I'm nonreligious. Some...incidents in my youth. But I don't think this is a religious meeting. The mutants back at home called themselves the Believers. I never got to ask them why. Didn't join up. But still, I'd say it's worth looking into.

I fall silent, staring at the flyer. Some incidents in my youth. That's a mild way of putting it. I remember walking out of the school one day and seeing Mom waiting for me, her eyes rimmed red from crying. "They killed your father." Before I could ask any questions, she dragged me into the car and drove out of town forever. Later, when I asked about it, she told me my grandma on her side had called the officials, demanding they get rid of "the demons who had ensnared her daughter with their honeyed words." My father and I.

"Hey, sweetheart, you awake? I asked you if we're going to go to that church. Claremont's over a day's driving away; might as well get started."

I dropped the flyer like it had singed my fingers. "Yeah. Yeah, let's go. I tore my eyes away from my trembling hands and glared at him. "And don't call me sweetheart."

~*~
A couple days later in Claremont

I stare apprehensively at the small church. It doesn't look all that impressive, but...

"Well, aren't you going in? I went to the bars, you go to the church."

I sigh softly. "Fine." I climb the stairs and ease the door open, my skin crawling with the unreasonable fear that I'm about to get a bullet to the brain. A Stitch can only repair so much, after all. I remind myself if these believers wanted me dead, they could have killed us back at the motel. After all, they obviously knew where we were staying. I ducked into one of the last seats-they were all empty right now-and waited. I thought about taking out my phone and looking at pictures of Myra and Asha to calm my nerves, but didn't want to be startled if someone came in. So all I did was wait.

Zafrina~Mover
Illinois Motel

Stepping inside the office, the bell above the door jingled annoyingly, aggravating the already pain in my ass head ache, and I felt the urge to break something, though I stifled it. My power liked to go a little haywire when I had head aches like these. The pudgy middle aged guy standing behind the counter eyeballing me like a piece of meat didn't make it any better.

"What can I do for you, honey?" he stared at my chest.

"Look at my face and not my chest before you're staring at the ceiling, or the back of your eye lids," I answer.

That wiped the smile from his face, wariness wiggling it's way in. I pull out my wallet, saying, "One room, please."



As soon as I'd gotten into my room, I crashed so hard my Butt was sore when I woke up. I sat up slowly my head ache thrumming around in my head, and noticed a piece of paper on the floor in front of the door. Hm. She motion the paper towards her, and it floated over as being guided by a gentle breeze into her hand.

June 6th
7:00 P.M.
63 S. Hemingway St.
Claremont, Illinois


Guessing it was from X, I nodded, and went back to sleep. I wondered what had taken her so long.

X | Division Headquarters

"I trust you've been keeping an eye on the church, Dom?"

"Yes, ma'am. There is always a Division person on guard. Waiting for them."

"How many have arrived so far?"

"Roughly five or six of them, last I heard. I think one had a boy."

X's eyes widened behind her sunglasses. Dom could tell by the raised eyebrows and the pout that formed on her red lips. "Hmmm.. oh, fine. Having a child around will be rather frustrating, but as long as he's in check. Keep an eye on them. If no more arrive by nightfall, greet them and take them to the dorms. Keep guards on watch for more that may arrive late. I'll meet with them in the morning."

"Yes, ma'am."

After Dom left, X turned back to the documents on her desk. At the moment, she was looking at two documents, both about the enhancement drug she named Chemical X. The first was the original drug and the second was the finalized drug. The chemicals and ingredients listed ranged far and wide, and there seemed to be no similarity between the two. Of this, X was sure. The new drug would work. It worked on TS-52, didn't it? She did die two weeks later of heart failure, but that had nothing to do with the drug, of course not.. she was weak.

X hoped these new and hopeful mutants would be stronger than TS-52 was.

Chase Greysin | Shadow

Chase decided that it was time to go and get her once he had finished his food and Selene's was still on the table growing colder as the minutes dragged on. The waitress came by once again and Chase paid her, grabbing a box as he finally got up and left to get her. He grabbed his guitar and strapped it across his back. his right hand falling to its usual place at the end of its neck. his left knocking on the door, he was about to call out to her when a flyer flew up against the window pane of the diner.

June 6th
7:00 P.M.
63 S. Hemingway St.
Claremont, Illinois

Strange it didn't have anything else on it accept the church. No religious text or scripture or opinion that the sect of the religious methodology shared. It just had the words, and everyone else seemed to just look away like it was no big deal. But it felt like a big deal to Chase, and he had a pretty good suspicion as to why. He opened the door, startling a woman as she went to dry her hands. As he ripped open the stall Chase new that Selene would have figured to be in since it would be the first door Chase would open. Thank god she was a watcher.

He could hear the woman complaining to the manager about him. He grabbed her up, despite her voicing of opinions and dragged her out of the diner. His tension was rising as he walked with her in tow until he finally hailed a taxi off the side of the road, hopped in, and spoke to the man up front.

"Clairemont." he said slowly, as he tried to control himself.

"That's a good ways away, you sure you can aff--"

"Yeah I'm sure. Please start driving." Chase said as calmly as his voice was allowing at the moment. "And please close the window." he said and the driver did so, the dull thud of the bass filtered through the windows cracks as he turned on the radio. Finally Chase turned to Selene, who looked obviously flustered to no end as she tried to understand what was going and fix herself up. Which she looked even more flustered about trying to do both at the same time, which more than likely made her more irritated with the situation. Chase handed her the box of food and leaned back against the door, strapping in his seat belt. Fitting the guitar firmly between his left leg and the driver's seat in front of him. A hand squeezing and relaxing as they drove down the streets towards the highway.

"Selene... we are going to see X. If you do not want to, I won't stop you from getting out of the car. But I have to go. People are going to need my help to get away from her. I understand if you don't want to get involved, but I am going regardless." his voice was calm, and he did not turn his eyes away from her. "It is up to you. But I need to know now? You staying or going?"

Selene Fox|Watcher

"I need to know now. You staying or going?" Selene could hear Chase talking, but it took her several minutes to gather her thoughts enough to answer.

"I'm going," she said decidedly, "of course I'm going." She stopped then, unsure of why she had made the decision so quickly. Then again, she had come to Illinois for this, right? She couldn't turn back now, even though she couldn't even see a foggy version of the future.
"I'm going," she repeated a third time, but then added, "although I have no idea what the future will bring. I haven't seen anything," she said.
Chase didn't answer, he was staring out the window, so Selene left him alone with his thoughts.

Strangely, as the drove wore on, Selene began to feel calm. She was surprised to find that the emptiness of the future didn't terrify her as much as it usually did. She felt ready for anything, and brave in a strange, new way.

Eventually the taxi neared their destination, and Selene told him to stop a couple of blocks away from the church. Chase gave her a curios look, but she ignored him until they were out of the car.
"I just feel like it's smarter to walk there," she told him, "I don't know why, but I think we should walk. It's not a vision, really, but maybe it has to do with being a Watcher, as well."

Chase didn't argue, so together they began walking the streets, which seemed oddly deserted, both of them silent as they prepared to meet whatever future awaited them inside the church building.

Richard Burrows| Wiper
Claremont, Illinois

It had all gone rather quickly, and left me in quite the daze as I sat contemplating what had happened in the past couple of days. The two characters I planned to follow discretely had managed to identify me as a Wiper. I had never contested to the fact, for I knew it would be just as easy to wipe their minds of my face- and the stress of even trying to remember me would put them off enough for me to make a getaway. Should I feel it necessary.

The Shifter was right for not trusting me, yet I knew as well as he did that he had little choice. At a moment's notice I could leave this duo behind and continue on my route to the rendezvous - which recently I discovered to be the Hemmingway St. Church in this very village- but that would remove my safety precaution, and that was something I couldn't allow. Once we had started walking through the small settlement conversation did not come easily, any time someone attempted to say something it was out of place or simply awkward. Here we were, three men, marching towards their unknown fate, trusting it in the hands of some psychotic bitch that had killed many of our 'kind' before. And to think I even remotely considered my paranoia misplaced...

Avoiding the topic of the possibility of imminent death, I ended up questioning X's motives as to holding a meeting in this quiet little place. On the one hand the authorities were much less in number than a place like Springfield, on the other hand, however, a sudden increase in visitors wasn't exactly going to go unnoticed by the locals. I supposed that they might just pass it off as a religious pilgrimage, since we'd soon all be gathering in a church. Needless to say, I was still very curious.

Every person I saw in the desolate village I was suspicious of, perhaps they could quite happily wipe my own mind, or make me shoot myself, or scream my ears out... oh I was a perky piper that day, I'm sure.

Soon we all came to a stop at the sight of the church- this was our destination.

William James | Mover | Claremont church

"So this is it," Holly said. They stood on the sidewalk, a little to the left of the entrance of the church. Her head was back, her long hair into a messy ponytail as she took in the scenery. "It's small."

"Did you think X would have a group of mutants meet up somewhere extravagant and populated? Might as well wave a red flag at the government." Will grumbled. "It's a church. All that matters is what's inside. Let's go."

Holly and her son followed him up to the doors, then hesitated. "I stopped believing in God when I was 10 and my parents were killed in a gas station." she said aloud, as if she meant to think it to herself.

Will felt his lips curve into a frown and he reached out, patting her shoulder. "It's only a meetup. No one's gonna force you to pray."

She nodded and swallowed back whatever it was she was feeling, then placed her hand on Jackson's head. "Stay close to me."

"No one's gonna touch the boy." Will muttered, then pushed inside before he could catch the surprised look on their faces.

There were already people inside, scattered across the pews. He would've assumed they were human, but the moment he entered, everyone tensed and turned, as if they were expecting someone.

Will met each pair of eyes, then slowly walked up to the podium. He noticed many people giving a shocked look at the boy and it made him usher the mother and her son behind him, then slowly approached the podium.

Standing behind it felt weird, so he slid to the side and cleared his throat. "First generation Mover. Call me Will." he said, in a way to start off the awkward introductions.

"Holly. Second generation Pusher. My son, Jackson. Third generation Pusher." Holly said from behind him. She had her hand on his arm and he felt comforted by her presence, his eyes watching the people in the pews, waiting for them to stand up and introduce themselves.

Zafrina~Mover
Claremont, Illinois

Sitting in one of the many pews of the small church that every mutant in here was directed to, I watched everyone fidgeting and twitching as they waited for everyone else to arrive so we could get this show in the road. No one knew what to expect, so I can understand their nerves, but damn. Get a freakin' grip. They were making me twitchy. Then there was the fact that half of the people were starring at me like I was some kind of anomaly. I knew there aren't many first generations left, but you'd think they would at least try to be discreet.

Being in a church had always made me a little edgy. I'd never had been very good with churches. They made me uncomfortable. People thumping bibles at you and calling you a demon tends not to leave a good taste in your mouth and with your reservations about anything having to do with churches. Now that I was in here, I kind of wondered if Holy Water would burn me, and then laughed to myself at the thought.

For the most part, everyone stayed with their own kind. Watchers with watchers, Movers with movers, you get the point. They also kept their conversations to a hushed whisper, which meant for the most part, it was quiet. I hadn't sat with anyone, so I was by myself and and another reason were staring at me. Especially the other Movers. They were all whispering and looking back at me. I almost rolled my eyes. if you're going to talk about someone, the last thing you wanna do is turn around and look right at them. I'd been sitting here for about twenty minutes, and that's all they'd been doing. When they turned to look at me again and caught me staring, their eyes popped wide and they almost broke their necks turning around, except for one guy, who kept staring for a moment before turning back to talking about me with the rest of them.

Now they seemed to be arguing. About what, I didn't know, but me being a lip reader and all, it wouldn't be very hard for me to find out. They were arguing about whether or not to approach me. And the guy from earlier was obviously the one who was for it.

Before anything could happen, the guy from the dinner walked in with the woman and little kid, and everyone watched them, tensed and turned, as if they were expecting someone. They headed to the front and to the podium. He looked around at everyone, not seeing me. He pulled the woman and little kid behind him, shocking me. The man didn't seem like the type to care for any other person except himself.

"First generation Mover. Call me Will." he said.

From behind him, the woman said, "Holly. Second generation Pusher. My son, Jackson. Third generation Pusher."

They must have been trying to break the silence that had swept over the church. I sat back in my seat and waited to see what would happen.