Chapter One: The Worst Last Name You've Ever Heard

He’s like an old woman in his sleep: He drools, makes the occasional snort-choke-gargle, spasms and remains totally unsuspecting. You’d think a guy currently locked in a prank war against the world would barricade himself at night, but you’d be wrong. He’s going to pay for that mistake.

He defies physics managing to stay on his bed, what with more than half hanging on the floor. It does give me an idea, though. My room is beneath his, I won’t be screwing two people over before breakfast.

I grin and extend my left hand towards his bed. Flames shoot from my palms in a straight, condensed line and blare into the ground. The floor begins to simmer and melt-- odd. I thought they fireproofed the floor in the recent update. Oh well. More power to me. I slowly move my hand across the floor, tracing a line a good three inches wide. I step to the right and wrap the line around his bed best I can. I get a solid two hundred sixty degrees and retract the flames back into my body.

I slowly step forward and press the floor down. Applying around two hundred fifty pounds of force, I kick the floor in.

It caves with a loud crash, the floor dropping twelve feet down. The bed follows with a slight delay, and he falls with an even larger one. His blanket falls last, and I catch his gray eyes shooting open before the loud boom and crack. I look down into my floor, the bed shattered and blanket over his face. A throaty groan escapes his mouth from some mountain lion in his gut. He rips the blanket off his face and stares at me, his eyebrows knit. His lips curl in a smile and he runs his hand through his wavy, tousled chestnut hair. It takes him nearly two full seconds to get his hands from his roots to the tips. He kicks the blanket off, and of course, he’s not wearing a shirt. He rarely is. Then again, if I had skin as tan as his, I don’t think I would, either.

“Get your ass up, sunshine.” I call to him. My voice travels down ten feet below, making it sound even lower than it already is.

“You had to drop me in the ash pile.” He groans, rubbing his eyes. A combination of dust, ash and embers set around him. I know they fireproofed his clothes and blankets. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon. You missed breakfast. Andrew made fruit salad.”

He throws his blanket off and scrambles to his feet. “Andrew made breakfast and you let me sleep?” He bends down and jumps back onto his floor. He puts his hands on my shoulders and tries to shake me. You’d think the tall, shirtless, buff guy would intimidate me. Of course it doesn’t. No one intimidates me. “Did you at least save me some?”

“Okay, first, you’re pulling my hair.” I pluck his hands off my shoulders. “Second, last time I tried to wake you up, you hit me in the face.”

“That was one time, Ashler!” He’s going crazy. I have to keep going.

“What, you think I’d forget about it?”

“How many times have you pushed me off the fifth floor?”

“Half the amount of times you pushed me.”

“Whatever, Blondie. What’s for lunch?” He pushes me aside and heads for the door.

“You gonna put on a shirt first?” I ask, spinning around. He looks down and shrugs.

“They’ve all seen me shirtless. They won’t care.”

“Kelli and Cody will.”

His head slumps back, his shoulders drop and he groans. I’m sure his eyes are rolling. “They always do,” He groans. “But,” He straightens. “They never care. We having masala?” He darts out the door and I follow. He stops at the edge of the balcony to stretch. The balcony walls are made of glass, and even if he wasn’t wearing pants, he’d still press against them. That’s the honest truth about Ty. His last name alone should tell you all you need to know about him.

“Yellow curry.” I tell him, standing next to him. I prop my hands against the railing and straighten them to arch my back upwards. I wish I was taller. I’m not asking to be as tall as Andrew. I just want to be taller than Ty. At least the short jokes will end. I’ll still have to deal with the blonde jokes, fire puns and assorted insults. I think I can live with that. My comebacks are always better, anyways.

“Did Andrew pick that?” He asks.

“I did.” I say.

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why they’ve been letting you pick the menu.”

“Because they have me cook their food. Chef Coughlin and Theriault love me.” I don’t tell him that they sometimes put ghost peppers in the food. He’ll figure out on his own.

“Even though you never eat their food.” He snaps.

“Hey, I would if I could.” I tell him.

The railing starts weakening, and I look down. The bar dips under my hands, and the force I’ve been putting on it overpowers the railing. I suddenly fall head-first towards the ground, caught completely off guard. I hear Ty laughing at me as I plummet to the ground, my eyes widening and mouth dropping open.

I gasp and throw my arms in front of my head. I straighten them quickly, palms to the ground. Flames burst from my hands, flipping me so my feet face the ground. I move my arms to my sides and slow down my fall until I’m slow enough to cut the fire propulsion and just drop. I put a dent in the expensive white tile that they always think we won’t.

I hear a yell from behind and turn. Ty throws himself over the railing with a running start and flips forward, going right over my head. He cheers as he falls, waiting until he comes within three feet of the ground to unfold from his flips. His feet smash into the tile, shattering and creating a large divot. A shockwave passes through the ground, barely even tossing my hair. He turns around, shuts his eyes, scrunches his nose and sticks out his tongue.

I put my hands on my hips. “Copier.” I snap. “Would you jump in a volcano if I did?”

“Hell no.” He says, relaxing his face. “I’d laugh and tell Andrew how stupid you are.”

“We’re all going to miss you, Miss Ashler,” A dreamy thirty-year-old’s voice echoes from my left, and believe me, you respond to it. The youngest worker in the facility I’ve grown up in, Dr. Faron, is a looker. The kind of guy you meet when you’re thirteen and, five years later, are still kind of obsessed with him. At least, that’s how he is to me. “But not your destructive ways.”

“What about Ty?” I raise an eyebrow as I ask.

He shakes his head. “We’re not going to miss him at all.” He says.

I laugh the same time Ty yells, “Hey!” He walks over and punches me in the arm. I try to shove him back and fail, because I can barely breathe and my stomach hurts. “You’re rubbing off on them. They weren’t like this before you came.”

Ah, the dark ages. The four months between Kelli’s creation and mine were empty and purposeless, until I brought light to their lives literally and figuratively.

"I'm sure they hated you before I came." I tell him.

"It's going to be boring without you two constantly making stories for me to tell at lunch." Dr. F says.

"It's going to be boring if we can't make you do tons of paperwork." I snap back.

“Dinner!” Chef Coughlin hollers from the mess hall.

Ty sprints across the open floor design of the facility we were created and raised in. Someone somewhere realized that teenagers need privacy and gave it to them. The scientists here decided that was ridiculous. The walls of the building are large windows cleaned every morning at six, when the sun is rising above the forest that surrounds us.

If you were to look up from the first floor, you could see the clear glass ceiling on the fifth floor. There are balconies leading around the edges of the floors for access to the rooms that line the wall, leaving a large empty square of space in the middle. Sun pours in from almost every angle, providing us with constant natural light. We rarely ever require light bulbs. Typically, they just use me to illuminate a room. The walls are all painted white, as it’s the only neutral color there is. Some of us are partial to blue, others gray, others red and so forth.

Ty’s often said that they probably chose white because it’s the color of virginity, and all the doctors here, who spent thirty years of their life in school, can still wear white. I’m pretty sure that if they chose it for symbolism, they chose it because it ties to perfection. More than likely, they just got it because.

I spin on my heels and take off after Ty. I dig my feet into the ground as I sprint and pick up speed quickly. Within seconds, I’ve caught up. He sticks his right arm out to slow me down, and I have not a second to react. I never needed a second.

I grab his right arm by the forearm and slam it onto the ground, yanking his torso with him. He falls to the ground and I hurdle over him. The right side of his rib cage hits, and I’m already across the main compound floor, sliding into the mess hall. It’s a small room in the northeast corner built like a greenhouse. There’s one table that holds around ten people, or, if you’re like us, around five. We’ve all sat in the same seats for five years. It started out as a joke, but now sitting anywhere else seems wrong.

The kitchen is to the left of the mess hall with access through two doors that can be pushed both ways. The kitchen is even smaller than the mess hall, and it’s built like a thermos to keep the food at its desired temperature.

I skid to a stop, pulling open the mess hall door. I slow to a halt past the entrance and sit myself on the far left side of the table. Fireproofed just for me, I can sit with ease. I used to have to wear thick firefighter suits to sit with the others. I’m hot enough without the extra fifty degrees. I often wear either tank tops or crop tops or just my sports bra with shorts. No, not booty shorts. I’m the youngest, strongest and hottest girl here, and I happen to be a miracle of science.. I get enough attention as it is.

Ty slows to an awkward skip transition to a walk. He sits on the edge of my bench and slides to into my side. He punches my right bicep and I kick him back. “I rammed my teeth into the ground, you know.” He says.

“You started it.” I remind him.

“You were being a show-off.” He combats.

I roll my eyes and scoff. “You did like four flips off the fifth floor.”

“You cut a hole in my floor while I was sleeping.”

“What did you expect? Andrew to come flicker the lights? Gently shake your shoulders and sing you into the day?”

“No more singing telegrams.” Andrew announces as he enters. He ducks to get into the room-- we really thought he wouldn’t be that tall-- and sits across from me. I wait for Ty to make the obvious comment.

“What’s with the black t-shirt?” He asks Andrew.

“Amber kicked me in the shins and I spilled orange juice on my shirt. I’m borrowing Cody’s.” He explains. Andrew’s voice is even smoother than Mr. F’s. It’s deep and calm and soothing and it’s like a straight shot of dopamine.

“Why’d you kick him in the shins?” Ty asks me.

“Kelli said Cody taught her to trigger anyone’s reflex, even mine. She hit my knee with the handle of the knife and triggered my reflex.” I explain.

“I have the gnarliest bruise on my shin.” Andrew says.

I roll my eyes and prop my forearms on the table. “It’s not worse than the one Kelli gave him three years ago.” I tell Ty. Kelli tried to kick Ty, Andrew and me after we pushed down the stairs on a library cart, but Ty and I managed to get away. Andrew hasn’t participated in our torment of Cody and Kelli. He wants to remain an “impartial party” and “unbiased in an argument.”

“I don’t think it gets worse, Blondie. That thing was swollen, purple, green, yellow, red and nasty.” Ty says. It inflated his bicep to nearly twice its usual size. Andrew couldn’t use it for a whole two hours-- to be fair, though, it was before our regeneration rate was fast and our strength made us near invincible-- had it have been Ty, he’d have been hospitalized for years. Kelli could never catch or hurt me. She’s tried.

Chef Coughlin leans out from the kitchen. “Everyone here?” She asks.

“Kelli and Cody are still making out on the third floor.” I call back.

Coughlin asks us to please get them. From within the thick walls of the near soundproof kitchen, Chef Theriault tells her partner it’s not that easy, and they’d have to postpone lunch for a good ten minutes.

“Ten minutes?” Ty repeats, slamming his right fist on the table. “I’m hungry now!” He jumps onto his feet and sprints out the mess hall.

“You think he’s actually hungry or bored?” I ask Andrew.

“Probably both.” He admits.

My eyes drift from his eyes colored like the globe-- which are unfairly cooler than the orange eyes I was given, even if they change colors-- to his dark hair. It’s always amazed me that, despite his skin darkening beyond ebony, his hair manages to grow darker still. Here I am, skin a golden shade of medium beige that pushes my hair one step closer to looking white. “You need a haircut.” I tell him. It’s even longer after we train and he sweats. It’s already thick and wavy and drops past his chin. It’s starting to get mousy at the ends.

“You’re one to talk.” He says.

“It’s not so long when it’s up.” I insist, and begin to pull my long, straight, golden blonde hair into a high ponytail. I can still tuck the tips of my hair into my shorts. “Least I have an excuse.” The fire that forms my entire body and hair can’t be cut. The scissors melt every time we try.

“You know what Dr. D says about excuses.” He warns. I sigh and chime in with him: “Like your ex, they have no uses.”

“I know, I know.” I tell him, waving his words away. “And for the record, I can lift more than you.”

“Good lord, Amber, you’re still hung up about that? It was like two weeks ago.” He says, smiling as his forehead rests in his hand.

“Not fair. Ty distracted me.” I refute.

“Ty distracts everyone. I won fair and square.” He puts his hand down. “You won overall. You get to be the captain, isn’t that better?”

“I should have won at everything.”

“Well, Cody beat all of us mentally.”

“Once again, not fair. I’m banned from the library.”

“Because you burnt an autographed copy of Gone with the Wind.”

“I didn’t burn the Bible. They overreacted.”

Ty pushes the door open and strolls confidently in, his head bobbing as he snickers and giggles. Andrew and I exchange a similar look. The hell’s up with him now? He sits next to me, the smuggest smile ripping through his cheeks like white stitches.

“Who’s about to get pranked?” Andrew asks, his voice deflated.

“Already done.” Ty proudly states, straightening his back. Is he imitating me, or is he just excited? “I barged into the room and yelled. They jumped so high Kelli’s head hit the ceiling. You guys didn’t hear?”

“Did they finally kiss?” I ask. Andrew and I straighten and lift impossibly higher.

“I wish. They were just hardcore cuddling.” Ty says, and we both deflate. “What’d I miss?”

“Amber was pouting again.” Andrew says.

“I was not pouting! I should have won!” I snap, slamming my fist on the table.

Ty bursts into vociferous laughter, arching his back and hollering at the ceiling. His eyes shut and he laughs and laughs until watery, dangerous, life threatening, fatal tears start falling down his cheeks. He flings forward, his head against the table. He wraps his arms around and pounds on the table, in time with his heartbeat. They always get faster when people laugh. They get loud, too. Everyone else is lucky not to hear it. He pulls his head up, eyes red, tears streaming and chokes out, “You’re still bullhurt about that?”

“I’m not butthurt!” I snarl.

He starts laughing again, moving one hand around his stomach. Andrew chuckles instead of cackling to death, because he actually has manners. Ty’s like my brother. He’ll embarrass me. he’ll make fun of me. We’ll fight and swear each other out, but at the end of the day, we’d die for each other. “I can’t believe how pissy you are about coming in second in one contest!” He cries.

Instead of deny it and stoke the flames, I let him laugh it out. I distract myself by taking out my ponytail and changing the part of my hair from the left to the right. I switch back and forth until his laughter fades.

“I’m gonna die.” He mumbles, chortles still tumbling out.

“Yes,” Kelli says, entering the room at the sharp, loud and stern stomp of her thick black boots. She walks with her arms behind her back, puffing her chest out. Either she’s trying to show off her new black choker or she’s trying to be intimidating. Whatever the case, she sits down on Andrew’s left, Cody’s hand in hers. He sits on her left, across from Ty and me.

Kelli twirls her pointer finger of her free hand around her long black tendrils. Her snow white fingers and pitch black fingernails are such stark foils you can barely stand to look at it. Every color on her is exaggerated. Her hair is ridiculously dark, her skin unbelievably white, her eyes and everything outside her skin and teeth astonishingly dark.

“You are going to die.” She finishes after a dramatic pause. It’s hard to take her seriously. Even in the black robes she decks herself in to cover every inch of her skin, even with the black lips, black eyes, sharp black eyebrows, black tongue and immense black makeup, she has a round face that makes her seem so childish. She’s the shortest, that may contribute. She wears skirts sometimes and lots of jewelry. I don’t know. Whatever it is, her threats mean nothing to me. My light always triumphs over her darkness. She can never manipulate me, she can never look into my mind and make my fears come to life. She will always be second to me, as she’s the second youngest and I the youngest.

Andrew, his forearms lying loosely on the table, lifts one up at the elbow. “Amber and I didn’t do anything.” He says.

Kelli shoots me a glare that I think is supposed to unsettle me. “Not this time.” She begrudgingly admits. I wink at her, and her eyes narrow. She shifts her glare of death to Ty. “You’re shameless. You’re a lowlife. You have no boundaries you have no respect, you have no manners, you have no life.”

“Voltaire once said, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no commandment greater than these.’” Cody says. If only he had the bulky glasses, acne, suspenders, braces, high waist, hunched back, bowl cut and knobby knees. He’d match his inside soul. Damn our perfect appearance. Well, it gets more and more perfect the newer we get. Fortunately, Cody was the first one they made.

“Actually,” I cut in. “That’s from the Bible. Voltaire didn’t say that. Christ did.” I straighten up. “You should practice what you preach and turn the other cheek, Ariel.”

“Enough with the fairy tale references.” He mumbles.

Ty jabs his elbow in my ribs. “The Little Mermaid’s getting pissy.” He whispers. We both giggle, and Cody’s frown grows.

“What do I share with that character?” He asks.

I scoff and roll my eyes. Ty jump right in, holding his hand out to count the similarities on his fingers. “You’re crazy for learning, you whine even though you have everything you could ask for, you fell for a white kid with black hair and no personality, and, oh yeah, you live in an aquarium.” He drops his hand on the table and turns to me. “Did I miss anything?”

“Just that he’s obsessed with an inferior race.” I say. I will never understand his fascination with humans. Their problems are so boring and easily solvable. I don’t have enough respect for a species that contradict themselves daily.

Chef Coughlin and Theriault burst out of the kitchen, a tray in each hand. “You probably worked up quite an appetite.” Chef T declares, smiling at Kelli and Cody. The four trays are placed in front of my team of mutants, we thank the chefs for their hard work, and they dig in. As always, Kelli and Cody share. And they claim they’re not really a couple. They start whispering to each other using pronouns, “it” and “do” and nothing else. I clear my throat, and they both glare at me.

“I wonder what they’ll do without us.” Andrew says, desperate to change the topic. “What’ll happen to our rooms.”

“Dude,” Ty swallows his last beat of steaming food. “Ten bucks they burn the place down.”

“They wouldn’t burn it.” I tell Ty. “They’ve spent way too much money on it.”

“So what, they turn this place into a museum?” Ty asks me.

“Of course. They could charge hundreds of dollars for pictures of me. They won’t change a thing. Bet you twenty bucks.”

“You’re so on!”

Cody and Kelli start mumbling again. Ty groans, I roll my eyes. I whisper to Ty and Andrew, “Make yellow curry as un-sexy as possible.”

Immediately, Ty blurts out, “Yellow curry looks like puke.”

Kelli sneers at him, her hand still on Cody’s thigh. I try to fight my smile. They’re this horny? “Must have been some intense cuddling.” The words are said before the thought crosses my conscious mind.

Ty throws his head back in laughter, Andrew nearly chokes, Cody blushes and Kelli looks ready to murder me. She knits her eyebrows, bares her canines and slams her elbows on the table. Hey, I succeeded. I don’t have to bear witness to their lust and hormones. Thank God. If I had to see them gaze into each other’s eyes, Kelli run her fingers up Cody’s slick black hair that barely surpasses a buzzcut and touch-- I’m going to make myself gag. If only they knew how much better it is not to have hormones.

Andrew coughs up some of his water, and the droplets come barrelling straight for me. Some instinct in my head perceives the event faster than it actually is, giving me time to act. I smash my hand onto one of Ty’s bowls, flipping it up and dumping the rice onto the table. I grab the round end of the bowl and extend my arm, catching the water in it. Reality returns, and I take a deep breath. I hate water. I really do.

I put Ty’s bowl on top of the rice. Andrew sincerely apologizes. “Sorry Amber.”

“It’s okay.” I assure him. He could never spit it fast enough to hit me.

Movement to my right catches my attention. With his right hand, Ty levitates the bowl and suspends it there. With his left, he draws the rice into the air and up into the bowl. He lowers the bowl down gently, and, right as he lands, I knee the table. The bowl topples over onto the floor. I get a snicker from everyone except Cody and Ty. For enemies, they have some in common.

“I hate you.” Ty says to me.

“Call it hate. Your heart knows that what you feel is undeniable love.” I tease, dramatically emphasizing every few words or so. I hold my palm to my heart and smile, batting my eyelashes. He just shakes his head.

“Miss Ashler?” Chef Coughlin asks, walking over to me. She stands as close as she can and tries to whisper, “Mr. C wants to see you.” I nod and stand as she exits the mess hall.

“Where're you going, Ashler?" Ty asks.

"The den." I tell him. We dubbed Mr. C's office after a lion's den, because Mr. C's annoying female assistant always drags us in to face him. Ty and I always ended up there. Always being scolded, always getting lectured. We're more than familiar to it.

"What'd you do this time?" He questions.

I shrug my shoulders. "I probably broke the speedometer again." That's usually it.

On the bottom floor, near the main entrance, there’s a small office. In said small office rests a man in his late forties with thinning brown hair. Said man is also the director of this entire operation. It was he who created us five years ago. He who planned our upbringings. He who controls our future and gives us our orders. He has pale skin and blue eyes, and wears suits he always rolls up just past his elbows. In recent years, he’s gotten glasses to help his vision. He keeps the lights off in his office until the moonlight is not bright enough, and his small desk is crowded with computers and folders overflowing with papers. He often sits with his elbows against the desk, hands folded in front of his mouth, his back to the windows and the forest that traps― I mean hides― us. I push open the door, and sure enough, his folded hands are in front of his mouth. He stares blankly at the other side of the room, where the wall meets the floor. It used to be carpet, and because they can’t make shoes for me, I nearly burnt the entire room. It’s a common theme in my life. Most of the time, his awful assistant is there-- the lioness that turns us in for the slightest infractions. A woman about fifty years old, she has graying blonde hair, tan skin that’s now wrinkling and tinted gray and green eyes that seem very dull. She calls herself Mrs. D., even though I don’t like calling her that, because nicknames often show affection. She always has had some sort of grudge against me, sneering at me and making unnecessary comments. Yes, I, the queen of sassing back, admits that her comments are not purposeful and contribute nothing to society or to our conversation. I don’t want to nickname someone I can barely stand. Fortunately, today, she isn’t here.

"You wanted to see me?" I ask.

Mr. C animates. "Yes, Miss Ashler. Take a seat." He motions to the seat across the desk. As if I need a reminder of the den's protocol. The chairs have been covered in the fireproof fabric I’m sure they’d love to wrap me in. I sit down, facing the man who practically runs my mind. "As you know, a few months ago, we heard of a possible attack on the nation’s capital by some sort of organization. We quickly decided to introduce the five of you to those in charge of our country, to see who’ll be winning us this war." His voice is low, yet he talks fast. He talks with a purpose and doesn’t beat around the bush. "As you know, you were created to protect the country and its elected rulers in the upcoming third World War. After testing to find which one of you was the strongest, you were decided to be leader."

I nod. "I’ve been training every chance I get. I’m honored to lead us." I say. Although Mr. C. was very aloof in my life, he’s had a big impact. He taught me not by using fear, by respect and promising my dreams a reality. Obeying him doesn’t make me submissive or weak. It just means I’m willing to listen.

"Recently, several of our most reliable sources have told us about a terrorist group in California, ready to destroy the state." He says.

"Why California?"

"It’s the most populated state and it has the highest annual gross state product." I know not to understand the role of money in a war. We need soldiers and funding, and California’s a heavy supplier of both. "We have reason to believe this is a chain, the biggest near Los Angeles. All of our sources have gone out of their way to mention the urgency and danger in this situation. What they wrote places this at a higher position than the current condition in Washington D.C." He puts his folded hands down on the desk, his head tilted slightly down to peer over his glasses at me.

"Are you asking me which situation I find more important or are we aborting the D.C. mission?" I ask.

"Neither." He answers, which shocks me. "Both situations are dire. We’ve decided that the best thing to do would be to split the team up."

"Split us up? But we’ve trained to work together. We have codes and special attacks we need everyone for." I protest.

"I’m quite aware of that. While this is less than ideal, it has to be done. I spoke with my sources over what those assigned to the California mission would have to be. They would have to be able to withstand explosions, which eliminates Cody, Andrew and Kelli right away. They’d also have to be impervious to bullets, leaving only you."

"Hold on. Not only are you saying that the team has to split up, you’re saying that I also have to go on a mission alone? Who’s going to lead the team?"

He knits his eyebrows. "You're not concerned for yourself?" He wonders.

"Why would I be?" I ask. I know I can do it. If anyone on earth can, it's me. If I can't complete this mission, it can't be done. Besides, they can't hurt me. They don't know my weaknesses. They don't know I exist. Even if they did, they cannot stop me.

"Kelli can lead in your absence. She'll be eager to." I hate how right he is about that. "Now, I’m going to go over the mission plan with you." He turns around one of his computer screens for me to see. He must have the same image on another screen, because he selects a file. A map of California pops up with several yellow dots and long orange lines. "We know for certain that the first part of the group is in Sacramento. We believe that if you move south, defeating a new segment of the group each time, you’ll find the definite location of the largest segment, the ones masterminding the entire scheme. Each segment, as you move south, rises in power and importance. Each segment will have guns and bombs ready, and the sources suspect them to take hostages in a crisis. Now, if you look at the map, you’ll notice five yellow dots. Each marks either the location or our best estimation of the location. The orange lines are the quickest routes, giving you options in case there’s a problem. Understand?" He asks.

"One question. What’s that?" I ask, pointing at the green dot northeast of Sacramento.

"That is our location. We’re currently in the Tahoe National Forest." He says. No one’s ever said anything about where we are. All we’ve known is that we’re in the United States. I’ve never been outside; I couldn’t see if the air was humid. I don’t know what kinds of people inhabit the state; I’ve only seen the scientists and doctors that work here.

Something in the back of my mind bolts to life and focuses on a certain point on the map. Near the large bay I recognize as the San Francisco Bay is a small bridge on the southern end. Fairly close to it is a small town called Redwood City, and I immediately notice the words. They stand alone in my thoughts, tall, bold and vivid. Like a magnet, I want to go to this city.

"Is there any way I can go through Redwood City?" I ask.

My words seem to startle him. He straightens up a little bit and adjusts his rolled up sleeves, staring at me questioningly. "Why?" He wonders.

I shrug. "I’m not sure. I just want to go there." I say. Do I need another reason? My eyes lock on the small city. As I stare at the eleven letters, a new word pops out in my head. One about half the size. Jordan, I say in my head. Jordan? Who’s Jordan? Is it a street? A place? A company? I stare the town’s name, hoping I get another hint.

Nothing. Jordan’s a noun, and I don’t know its significance. I’ve never met anyone named Jordan. And of course, it’s one of those gender-neutral names. Jordan could be the name of the male stripper I’ve been secretly sneaking out to pay each night. Jordan might be my secret sister who didn’t turn out like they hoped, locked up in the basement to never be released. Maybe I should have chosen Jordan for my last name. Is this the feelings Cody had for the name Zachary? Perhaps his "spiritual connection" isn’t as lame and stupid as I thought.

"One of your emergency routes goes near Redwood City." Mr. C. says, moving his cursor over the orange line he’s referring to. This one involves me going across the Golden Gate Bridge, through the westernmost side of the country and along the coastline. It’s stupid for me to want to take the longer route reserved solely for emergencies, and we don’t use that term lightly. I banish the desire to encounter with an emergency from my mind.

"Do you know why Cody picked the name ‘Zachary’ besides his fetish for the name?" I ask.

"No." Mr. C. answers, plain and simple. He doesn’t show any emotion, any vocal range. He writes something down on a sticky note and slaps it on his computer screen.

"Last question: does the name Jordan have any significance?" I ask.

"No, we don’t think the country of Jordan will be significant in the war." He says, reorganizing some papers on his table. He puts the papers down and looks at me. "Let’s get back on topic: you will leave for this mission early tomorrow morning at dawn. We will supply you with clothes to help blend in better."

I scoff. "It's going to take more than clothes to blend in. Every boy," Or girl, for that matter, "Will be staring at me."

He continues like I never interrupted. "You are to try and remain unknown to the public, only to reveal yourself if you must. We’ve already placed a map in the pocket of your clothes for tomorrow, in case you forget the routes." Cody’s the best at memorizing, not only is his memory photographic, he literally never forgets it. None of us do. Our mental vaults only accept. Cody's still got an edge around us. Worst guy to be around when you’re tired. He knows things about Ty and Andrew no one should know.

"How long is this mission expected to take?" I ask.

"Between three days to a week.. Depending on how well you perform, it could be a day or a perhaps a month." He says. I don’t understand the use of the word "perform". I’m not going on a stage to sing. I’m in charge of protecting millions. "Now, here are your guidelines: no stopping." No hotels, no movies, no dance clubs, nothing. My route is free from rest breaks. "Any interactions with humans must be simple and about this mission. You are to remain covert. Inside the collar of the clothes, there’s a panic button. If at any time you fear for your life or cannot complete the mission, press the button and we’ll come to your location immediately. Understood?" I nod. "Excellent. Would you like to explain to the others, or shall I?"

"I will." I declare. I don't want him to tell them. I don't want to have to say goodbye. I just want to run away and disappear without a word. I don't know why. I just do.

"Very well, Miss Ashler. You may leave now." He says, folding his hands, propping his elbows on his desk and pressing his mouth to his hands. It's as if I never even entered.

I rise from the chair and walk out of the room with shadowy lighting, putting on my best poker face. If anyone asks, Mr. C was asking me about my speed. No, he was telling me about how I need to be careful around humans. That’s good.

I return to the mess hall as my team dismisses. “How much trouble you in?” Ty asks.

“None. But I owe him another speedometer.” I lie.

“Another? Aren’t you up to twenty?” Andrew questions.

“Twenty-three.” I correct. Mr. C never lets me forget it. I owe him several copies of all his equipment-- not my fault it wasn’t strong enough-- and I owe Ty nineteen hundred fifty-seven dollars in lost bets. He owes me nineteen hundred eighty-four, so at least I’m beating him.

After lunch, we usually dive straight into training. Ever since our graduation last Friday, we just spend this time keeping in shape with a light workout, going over military plans and relaxing. The only rule we have to abide above all else is to remain within the facility. Under no circumstance are we to leave. If the world were to find out about us before it’s time, five years of planning would go to hell.

“Shadow boxing?” Andrew asks me.

“Sure.” We head to the western end of the facility, where two French doors lead to a small, windowless corridor. A few dangling lights help those without night vision. Concrete walls and ceilings pinch us in. It was made for a single human to pass through, not two mutants.

We reach the end of the corridor and push the allegedly heavy door open. The training center, like the corridor, has no natural light. Cold, thick cement lines the huge building. Years of gratuitous training and bullets and fireballs and tidal waves and tornadoes and earthquakes and explosions have nearly destroyed it. Miraculously, it lives. It lives despite my repeated abuse. I spend my every night here. As my team sleeps, I train. I have nothing else to do. It’s paid off. I’m the youngest, thus the newest and most advanced and perfect, with a body that’s only existed for eighteen years, yet I’m the captain. I’m the best our country has to offer. The best the human race has to show for centuries of dominating the earth.

We enter the small white circle drawn by Cody in stupid blue chalk in the center of the training room. Surrounded by turrets, forts, dummies, ropes dangling from the ceiling, weights, barbed wires, various gauntlets and balance beams, no one would believe that the blonde girl with small portions of everything would be the deadliest thing in the room. Nothing in this room can touch me without being hurt. The only thing that can is Ty. Maybe that’s why I wanted to be friends with him.

Andrew and I ease into our fighting stances. I hold my right fist up to block my head, my left fist slightly lower. Andrew has a flipped version of my stance. His right hand dominates. I know all his moves and all his secrets and all his weaknesses. He’s taller, slower and less nimble than me. He has a short, wide nose that would be my target if I had the heart to hit such a sweetheart with the force of a missile launcher.

“Ready?” He asks. The tilted lights cast shadows on his sharp bone structure. I nod. “Pick the languages.”

“German, Korean and,” I think of an obscure language to stump Andrew. “Azerbaijani.” I know the language he has trouble speaking most and avoid it. Sure, I want to win, and picking that language would guarantee a win. However, I don’t want to leave Andrew a cheat. Besides, I’ll win without making him speak Japanese.

“You start.”

“Eins,” I announce.

“Du,” He states.

“üç.” I finish.

I throw the first punch.

“That’s why you weren’t with us.” Andrew muses, crossing his arms against his chest. Ty sits in front of Andrew’s supposedly impenetrable cabinet, the bolder moved to the side and branches pried open. Andrew’s home on the third floor is dominated by plants. According to everyone, his fruits and vegetables are worth anything. He’s often robbed of his treasures, especially by the avocado bandit.

Ty looks at us, eyes wide and cheeks filled completely with avocado. Green lumps fall from his lips, and it’s unsettling how much slobbery avocado resembles snot. He licks the avocado back into his mouth and gulps it down. “Don’t judge me.” He snaps.

“We’re beyond that.” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “We’re pitying you and wondering how much change we should give you.”

“I’m not homeless, Ashler.” He shoots my last name out like it’s a blade.

“Then stop acting like it.” I snap. Ty’s mouth drops open and Andrew chuckles. He grabs the rest of the avocadoes, flips me off, and disappears. In an instant, he’s invisible, and he could be anywhere, flying right over our heads. Knowing Ty, he’s probably mooning us or sneaking up on Kelli and Cody. “We’re watching I’d Tell You I Love You tonight.” I say to Andrew. “With the subtitles.”

“Of all the pet peeves…” Andrew smiles. “Why do you think he hates the romantic comedies so much?”

I shrug. “There’s never any reason with Ty. Or Cody.”

“Cody? The smartest out of all of us?” He questions.

How does no one else notice? I get my anger out in a quick, violent tremor. “We all have our color schemes. You wear blue, green and brown. Ty wears white and gray, Kelli wears dark purple and black, I wear white, orange, yellow and red. Cody wears all blue, and out of nowhere, has these stupid green shoes!”

Andrew chuckles. “So?”

“So? So looking at it drives me insane! It should match! You don’t just ruin your color palette! He wears them every single day, and it’s not right!” I explain.

Andrew starts laughing, putting his hands on his knees and leaning forward. “You have a short temper.” He points out through waves of laughter.

“I know!” I fire back.

“Calm down.” He tries to stop laughing. “They’re just shoes. You don’t even wear any.”

“That doesn’t matter.” I refute immediately. Realizing my comeback was horrible, I elaborate. “If I did, they would go with the colors I always wear. I wouldn’t just wear bright purple shoes for no reason.”

“Cody’s a man of logic. He has a reason.”

“Like the reason he had for his last name?”

“Cody Zachary isn’t a bad name. Ty the Guy Who Can Fly and Doesn’t Have to Try, however, is.”

They gave us the terrible freedom to choose our own last names. At least Kelli’s, Andrew’s and mine make sense. Kelli’s is Oscuro, the Spanish word for dark. Andrew’s is Jason, mine is Ashler-- our initials are part of our selection. K.O. A.J. A.A. It wasn’t a coincidence.

Andrew and I stare at his demolished drawer. I raise an eyebrow and break the silence. “My name’s the best.”

Andrew chuckles and spins counterclockwise on his heels. “Good lord, Amber.” He faces me, still smiling. “You’re too competitive.”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t exist.”

Andrew’s smile drops, and he looks to his drawer. “Not during war.”

“Oh, when the saints, go marching in,” Ty loudly and crudely sings, his voice cracking from going as high as he can muster. “Oh, when the saints go marching in--”

“Shut up.” I tell him, putting my left hand on his right cheek and pushing him onto his side. Kelli launches her pillow at him, beaming him right in the face.

“Hey, Andrew,” She calls, “Pass it back.” Andrew reaches to his right, grabs the dark black pillow and throws it to Cody and Kelli, sitting in front of us. They practically sit on each other’s lap, so we’re not watching a romantic comedy. We’re watching our raunchiest, craziest and most out of control movie. It’s about these teens who break into a mansion and throw this huge party that gets them arrested and nearly destroys the entire property. Movies about mistakes, regrets, destruction, fires and underage drinking really set the mood.

“Start the movie!” Ty yells to the people on the second floor. Every Friday night, we set up a screen in against the north wall and put up with the physical collection human stupidity for around two hours. That’s why this is my favorite movie. It actually acknowledges the inherent flaws of human beings and doesn’t try to hide them.

Those flaws are the reason they need me. They need someone to save them. I will be their hero.

“Not tonight.” Our director of tech, Ms. Gabrielle, says. “You have a mission tomorrow. Mr. C wants you to go to bed early.”

Everyone around me groans, and I smile. “Well,” I stretch my arms out and slump on my back. “You kiddies go get your sleep. I’ll just have a movie marathon.”

Ty takes in a deep breath, and I prepare for the tidal wave of obscenities.

“Actually,” Ms. Gabrielle chimes in, “You may distract the others. You’re to report to your floor, as well.”

“What?” I demand, bolting onto my feet. “Why? I don’t even sleep! What am I going to do for twelve hours?” I’m careful to make sure I don’t admit to only eight hours of alone time on my floor.

“I’m just following orders, Miss Ahsler.” Ms. Gabrielle responds. I roll my eyes and sit down. Ty leans close to my ear.

“You better get your rest, kiddie.” He mocks.

He’s grinning like a maniac. I don’t return his expression. I knit my eyebrow and sneer. I clench my hands into fists and face him. “Ty, I swear, my foot will be so far up your ass--”

“Guys,” Andrew interrupts in a tone too low and yet too fast for humans to hear. “Movie night in Ty’s room.”

“I’ll get them to leave.” Kelli responds, keeping her voice undetectable to humans. “Louis Armstrong can get the goods.”

They all stand, and set their plan in motion before I get a word in. They’re just going to break the rules like that? But Mr. C. says that can result in a demotion. I spent every night of the past five years training to become a captain. I’m not losing it all tonight.

They all walk away from me, and I remain frozen. I’m not… I can’t. I’ve always been Mr. C’s favorite. I can’t betray him. I can’t give up everything I’ve worked so hard for. I’m going to be the head of the army. I’m going to have to take orders from Generals like Kayd and Lerrit, like it or not. Heroes have to make sacrifices.

Kelli notices. As always. She walks towards me, kneels down and says, “It’s too late for them to change anything. Besides. You’re record’s too good to wipe their asses with.”

I let out a breath that had been locked tight in my chest. “They would. And then they’d flush it all down the toilet.”

“Trust me on this, Ashler. We have to save the country now. I can’t lie to you anymore.”

“Yes, you can. You lie about your virginity and relationship status.” I tell her, my smile returning.

“I really hate you.” She says. She flashes her signature smile and rolls her eyes. Making her smile and loosen up is better than the nobel prize, and I’m proud to be awarded the honor. “Are you coming or not?”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

She knits her eyebrows. “You could ruin everyone here and run this place. You choose not to. Why?”

“Why would I?” I ask.

“Because you can. You could do whatever you want.” She says.

“Sure, I could.” I admit. “I could destroy the world if I wanted to.” She knows it. Everyone knows it. There’s no denying it, no debating it. “Good thing I don’t.”

A tamer fraction of her smile returns and she nods. “Damn good thing. Even better that I’m on your side.”

“Remember that next time we have an argument.”

She folds her arms across her chest. “Can you even imagine losing anything?”

“You’ve known me for five years. You know the answer to that.”

“Just humor me, Ashler.”

“I imagine I’ll drop on my knees, slam my fists against the ground and scream my lungs out.”

She winces. “Kind of glad you won the captain’s position.”

“You weren’t at the time.”

“Like you wouldn’t be.”

“You’re supposed to be the collected, nonchalant, stolid one. It wasn’t like you to throw a fit. I’m used to you seeming pissy, but damn.”

“Well,” She says, flashing the smile with one of her eyebrows raised. “I am only five.” She locks her eyes on me, anticipating my agitated response.

I look straight up and drop my eyelids, hiding my iris and pupil. I roll my head back and chuckle before closing my eyes. “Okay, Kelli, that got old four years ago. We’re supposed to be mature adults now.”

“Eighteen can still count as a teenager. Cody says he misses it.”

Cody wasn’t only created first. When he became a mutant, he was fifteen. Andrew came next, then Ty. The two were fourteen. Kelli followed, topping it off with me. The two thirteen-year-old girls. “If you stopped dating such older men, that wouldn’t be a problem.”

Kelli’s typical expression returns. Furrowed eyebrows, sneer, narrow eyes, pursed lips, pinched cheeks, scrunched up nose. “How many times, Ashler?” She asks. “We’re not dating.”

“Well, of course not. You can’t date here. What, you gonna have dinner at the aquarium?” I counter. “You’re not dating. You’re just casually fu--”

“Ashler! Oscuro! Get your asses up here!” Ty bellows from the fifth floor.

“I’m coming.” Kelli snaps back. Turning to me, she says, “See you tomorrow.”

She jogs to the stairs and begins her climb to the top floor. I remain where I am, unable to lie and repeat what she said, and unable to be honest.

So I stand. In silence.

And I see Kelli for the last time.

They never really leave us alone. They monitor everything we do. I’m not exactly sure why. I think they just don’t want us to be seen by the outside world until it’s time. Whatever the reason, I have one place of solitude.

Several years ago, Cody started growing an interest in astrology. He complained that he couldn’t see the stars through the glare of the glass panels and asked to go outside. Of course, we all found out and if the little mermaid who couldn’t beat the thirty-two-year-old human trainer could go, we could to.

Mr. C didn’t see it that way. He vetoed our requests immediately. Didn’t do anything. We kept asking and asking and asking. We begged the less stubborn staff, who gave in pretty easily. They built an addition to the roof. A greenhouse of sort, made with bulletproof glass with glare reduced to none. Only we have access to it. We mutants. It’s positioned in the center of the ceiling, nothing surrounding it for humans. Unless they can jump fifty feet with only five feet of space for a running start and grab onto a single chain that supports only ninety pounds, they won’t be able to enter.

Cody, at the time, wasn’t able to reach it. He’s since stopped caring, and if his memory wasn’t better than even my photographic memory, I would think he forgot. The roof has become an extension to my floor-- which is the fourth, below Ty’s and above Andrew’s. They like to come and be rid of the staff, we joke around and talk for hours. Kelli comes up for privacy and a chance to converse with the only other girl under the age of thirty. Cody never comes.

I think I like the stars more than he ever could. When I’m not glowing too dramatically to block out the stars, I’m making up my own constellations and stories for how they came to be. I can better relate to them than anyone else. They’re bright entities of fire that, despite seeming perfect and beautiful and apart of something greater, they’re distant. They’re impossibly alone, and no one knows.

Someone’s close. I can hear a heartbeat. They’re on the chain, climbing up. I whip around, expecting a sneak attack from Ty. The glass pushes open, and I pull my fists back. I feel like a cat waiting outside a mousehole.

A head emerges, and all my energy drops. His eyes hit mine, and even the color makes me deflate and grimace.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I asked Andrew where I could find you and he directed me here." He tells me.

"Why?"

"I want to talk to you."

"There’s a first."

"You know we’re incompatible as anything except enemies."

"Try to keep up with me on this, Cody: I already figured that out. The whole polar opposite thing is a pretty simple concept."

"Can you be serious? For just a minute?"

I begin a countdown in my head and think of the smartest way to say challenge accepted. "The task shall be attempted."

"We aren't amiable. Ty and I aren't amiable. You and Kelli get astonishingly competitive. Andrew can’t waste time ending our arguments, and we can’t waste energy starting them."

"We’re not going to pick fights. We have our orders, we’ll select the best way to do them based on its efficiency and safety. That plan is then going to be put into action, and it becomes our top priority. We’re professionals."

I catch him off guard with my answer and decide to further him out of his game. "Are you sure you didn’t come up here for another reason? Let me guess: you’re going to ask Kelli out and you need my advice."

"I asked if you could be serious for a minute."

It’s been thirty-six seconds. So close.

"The task was attempted, and I’ve concluded that I cannot." At least not here, not with you.

He sighs and looks away. "Admittedly, there are several things I could use advisement on with Kelli." He says.

I chuckle. "No way. No way, the genius, who’s always rubbing his smarts in my face, is asking me for advice?"

"Professionals, remember?"

"Right, right." I wave his words away with my right hand. "What do you want to know?" I ask. "Before you ask it, I can’t get you Kelli’s underwear. Don’t even try."

"I would never ask for such a thing!" He snaps, making me laugh hysterically. I throw my hands over my stomach and collapse on my back. I struggle to breathe through the sound that’s a mix of crying, snorting, choking and hyperventilating. "What’s so comical?"

"Your face is bright red!" I gasp out, pointing at scarlet cheeks. He got so flustered over a single thought!

"Yes, it’s a biological reflex we still have." We? He really knows nothing about me. I can tolerate that. Especially with how he looks right now. He’s practically pouting. He got hilariously pissed off.

My laughter fades away and I can breathe again. "You’re too serious for your own good." I point out.

"Do you know how Kelli sees me?"

"Yes, actually." He perks up. "With her eyes."

"No, I mean as a friend, a brother or a…" His voice trails off.

"Do you realize Kelli doesn’t talk about that stuff? Ever?"

"Can you please do me a favor and ask Kelli? It’s foolish and childish, I’m aware, I’m just curious."

"I’ll try. Anything else you need?" I mean to be sarcastic, but he thinks I’m being serious.

"Not unless you have a question."

Cody’s opening up to someone other than Kelli? "You’re a man of science and fact. What’s up with you and the name Zachary?" I ask.

"I’m not sure. Somewhere in my mind, I’m connected to that name."

"Can you be more specific? Connected how?"

"I have very positive connotations with the name Zachary. It’s possible I once met a person named Zachary and admired his character."

Do I even have any connotations with the name Jordan? I search into my find and find no feelings. I don’t jump at the sound of the name and don’t cringe. "I thought you had the best memory."

"I’m trying to make a hypothesis with indecent predicaments." He says.

Show off. "Basically," I say, "It doesn’t make sense and you’re guessing."

"Basically, yes."

We sit in silence for a moment, before a question pops in my mind. "Do you know anyone named Jordan? Or any relation to Jordan that might be important?"

"Jordan?" He ponders it for a moment, then responds, "There was once a congressman with the last name of Jordan, but I don’t think you would care for him. Might I ask why?"

"Would you say that you feel belonging towards the name Zachary? Or is it more hopeful?" I ask. When I say the name Jordan in my mind, I want to flick my eyes up off the ground. I'm not sure why, and it annoys me beyond explanation.

"Belonging." He answers.

I would say I feel more hopeful. Still, the two aren't far apart. "I think both of us have a similar attachment to the names." I say.

"I’d like to make a proposal: aside from our mission, we should aim to discover what our connection to these names derives from." He says.

"If we have time to spare, then I accept." I confirm. "While we’re speaking like overly formal, rich, stuck-up snobs who’ve never spoken with another human being, shall I put on my silk gloves and fancy dress?"

He shakes his head. "You could have simply said sophisticated people." He says.

"What?" I ask, astonished. "You knew I was joking?"

"If you owned a dress and silk gloves, Ty would have worn them by now."

Ah, Ty and his cross-dressing ways. When he doesn't want to bet money, he gambles wearing Kelli’s skirts. He’s done it more than five times. Each time, he grows to enjoy it more than the last. I have a bet with Andrew that eventually, he’ll wear skirts more than pants.

I chuckle a little. "You’re nicer than you let on." I admit.

"I seem to be cruel?" He asks.

"You seem like the kind of person that feels better than everyone else, and I’ve always thought that you wanted to be isolated from the world."

"Why?"

"It feels like you need everyone to know how smart you are, which is really annoying. You always lock yourself in the library, you never tried to get to know me or talk to me, you only open up around Kelli. I assumed you liked your space and hated me, so I decided not to bother you. It looked to me like you were enjoying that, and I didn’t mind it, either. I always guessed you were a very introverted person."

He purses his lips, then turns to face me. "Well, it appears to me that you have some misconceptions about me. I use the vocabulary I find appropriate and admittedly, adore books. You have to understand that when they announced your creation, you seemed very intimidating, and came into the world loudly." I shrug, admitting to my fault. "Kelli, on the other hand, tends to be quieter and observant, therefore easier for me to speak with. In time, you’ve become louder and more intimidating. I’d also like to mention that every time I go near you, Ty begins an argument. I’m not very argumentative, as you probably observed, and Ty has a dangerous temper. I thought it best we interact as little as possible. And yes, to best excuse my behavior for the past five years, I am rather introverted."

I can’t help but laugh.

"What?" He asks. "What’s so funny?" Not even a smile on him.

"You’re trying to intimidate me." I accuse through the knee-slapper laughter. “You really think you can by sounding like a forty-year-old English professor who lost his virginity to a cardboard cutout.” Cody mumbles something among the lines of how "it’s better to be a professor than a homeless person" or something.

My laughter dies down. "You know, I’ve never heard you laugh out loud. I only see you smile to Kelli when you think we’re not spying on you."

His eyes widen. “You spy on us?”

“Kidding.” I state the obvious, starting to get frustrated. “Why, is there something you need to hide?”

He shakes his head, eyes still wide. "Most people laugh about fifteen times a day." He says, his muscles stiff.

"I only see you for about fifteen minutes a day." I point out. "I always assumed you snorted or farted made some sort of socially unacceptable sound when you laughed."

"Perhaps if I was human, Amber."

"You might seriously be the only person who calls me by my name."

"What else would I call you?"

I decide not to answer his questions with adjectives like, "beautiful", "wonderful" and "superior" to instead answer his question honestly. I'm not ashamed of my nicknames. Believe me, they could have been infinitely worse. "Blondie, Hothead, Miss Ashler," I list the names I’ve been called over the years. Surely, there more than those three. I dig deeper into my mind and pull out a few others. "Orange Eyes, Runner, Rocket," I say, even saying the names I’ve only been called once. "FF13," Comes out without a single thought or warning.

FF13? I don’t remember being called that. What does it even mean?

"Who called you FF13?" Cody asks, voicing the same thoughts I have.

I shake my head. "No one. It’s probably just some stupid inside joke from when we were thirteen."

FF13. I don’t know where that came from, what it means or why I said it, but I’m going to find out. I’m going to ask Mr. C. He knows everything about everything that’s ever happened here.

"I’m going to talk to Mr. C. Have a good night." I say, standing up and rushing to the exit panel. I don’t wait for Cody to respond. I kick the back of the panel, pulling the front up and opening a hope into the compound. Without another word, I jump down into the five story building.

For a moment, my arms are raised like wings, my feet are worthless. The wind is pushing hair in my face, eyes and mouth, and I’m falling.

That moment ends when I sense I’m nearing the floor. I send fire from the bottom of my feet, jolting my drop to a halt. I hover in the air for the force of the fall to dissipate, then drop the three feet to the ground. Did I have to catch myself? Of course not. A jump thousands of times bigger wouldn’t even warrant my concern.

I turn to the den and make my way in.

"Where on earth did you hear that?" He shouts, standing up and slamming his palms into the desk. I can see a vein in his forehead bulging, his heartbeat is surpassing normal. He was very calm and tired until I mentioned those four characters, and then he snapped to life like a rhinoceros on steroids. I take a step back, alarmed and honestly, completely confused.

"Nowhere." I say, trying to remain as collected as I can.

"Then why are you saying such a thing?" He yells. His eyes are huge, he’s barely breathing. He looks ready to kill. What’s going on with him?

"Cody asked me about nicknames, and it just came out." I admit. I take the chance to repeat my initial question. "Do you know what it means?" I mentally face-palm. Of course he knows what it means, or he wouldn’t be acting like this.

"You are never to speak of that!" He’s almost screaming now. These walls aren’t the thickest, I’m sure the others can hear him.

"I won’t, I just want to know what it means." I insist.

"Miss Ashler, that relates to a topic that is never to be spoken about!" His volume is lower, but he’s still shouting, and he’s still furious. I’m starting to lose my patience as well. Although I don’t think two mad people will end the anger.

"Well, it has to do with me. Can’t you just tell me why it’s one of my nicknames?" I demand. His rage is mixing with my curiosity. That’s never a good combination.

"I refuse to bring up this topic again." He growls, sitting down back in his chair. "This talk is over. You are not to say that again, now please, leave my office."

He isn’t at his end. I can keep pushing. I’m going to continue to do so. "What does it mean? And don’t bother telling me you don’t know." I deserve to know. He is on no grounds to deny me.

"I’ll try to explain it again. We are dropping this subject immediately. Exit my office. That’s an order."

An order. He’s at his end. Push him anymore and he’ll fall. He’ll fall and take my status with him. He’s silent for a little while. He puts his elbows on the desk and folds his hands, pressing his lips against his pointer fingers. "From this point on, I shall no longer continue this conversation." He says.

My loss quickly translates to a complete loss of understanding. "Why? Why can’t you tell me this? Why can’t you be honest with me?" I ask. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look at me. "Fine. Whatever. I give up.” I throw my hands in the air. "I thought you guys didn’t keep secrets from us."

I storm out the room, pushing the door open and not bothering to close it. I consider turning around and welding the door shut, burning all the food and storming into his office, no restraints, to burn everything.

I’m only this tolerable to humans because I choose to be. If I wanted to, I could drop the fazere of a human girl. I would turn into the fiery humanoid I really am, temperature of thousands and thousands of degrees. I would go through everything I came into contact with. The restraints are mental. I densen my flames and I can touch. I look normal. I’m weaker, though. My strongest state is my free, unweighted fire demon who destroys property and burns people. I was born that way, I can live that way. It’s up to me. Not him. Not anyone in the world.

Some logical side of me I hardly ever see tells me to walk away and get my anger out by training.

It’s nearly midnight. I grab the fireproof dummies made for target practice, walk towards the closest wall not four feet away and spin. As I turn, I release the dummy, hurling across the length of the building. I watch it soar, flying across, and burst into a sprint. I curl my hands into fists, fire enveloping my knuckles. I skid to a stop, punching the incoming dummy as hard as I can. I hear the boom first, then see the dummy burst through the cement walls, completely ablaze. I peer through the hole in the wall, watching the light disappear onto the far end of the property. I swear under my breath. That’s the third one, there’re only two fireproof dummies yet, and I need those for when I get lonely at night.

Still frustrated with my complete lack of answers, I sit down on the ground, legs crossed and arms crossed. I’m probably red right now― a term we use for when my eyes change from orange to red in times of heavy rage. I could explode right now. I could engulf the compound in flames, burn a hole in the chain-link fence and the whole forest for all I care and just keep stomping.

I have to find out what FF13 means. If Mr. C’s hiding something, I owe it to my curiosity to discover this secret. I head to the training compound, wondering what on earth FF13 means and why Mr. C cares at all. He doesn’t really care about anything. He’s showed me nothing except apathy in the five years I’ve known him-- and I’m his favorite.

There may be something dealing with FF13 on the outside. It might be an idiom or maybe the name of a boy band. I could see Mr. C hating that. Sure as hell sounds like him. I just wonder what it has to do with me, and why I seem to know of it.

I spend the rest of the night staring through the holes in the wall, imagining what dwells beyond the fence.

-- Thank you so much for reading! I once published something like this on an older account I've lost the password to and have been too lazy to recover, so if it looks familiar, that's why. I've changed quite a lot, though, and would really appreciate any criticism.