I didn't ask for this to happen.
I didn't want my life to change.
But when your faced with a government agency trying to hunt you down; or an ability that makes you an outcast to anyone but those who are like you, there isn't much you can do.
Things change on the day I turned five. I already knew what type of a gift I had, and that I should keep it secret, when the agency showed up.
My dad answered the door, and was greeted with a bullet to the brain.
His head jerked back, and he collapsed to the ground.
My mom screamed, and shoved me to the stairwell, even as two men walked through the open door, their guns drawn.
I ran up the steps, my mother right behind me. The men fired at us, and plaster and wood stung our skin as the bullets whizzed by us.
We made it to my room, and I helped my mother heave my dresser in from of the door.
Then suddenly, her hands gripped my shoulders, and she spun me around to look at her.
"Your special Damien," she said, her face strained. "You know that."
I nodded, scared of if my mind.
"Get out of here," she said, kissing my forehead, "And run."
"Don't stop until you you know your safe,"
She pushed my to the window. "Use your powers," she said, as the men pushed against the door, then " and Damien, I love-"
He body jerked as bullets slammed into her back.
I watched the expression of shock spread over her face. Then she collapsed.
Dead.
"Mom?!" I screamed frantically shaking her, trying to get her to move. But she was gone. By my young mind couldn't quite handle what had happened.
A rage filled me, something that my mom had told me never to submit to, but she was beyond saving.
And those men had to pay.
The dresser toppled as the men kicked the door in, and clambered over it.
I remember their faces, right before I charged, switching from a mask of confidence, to plain fear. I will always remember their faces, because they were the first people I killed.
Ten years later-
I was sitting in a train, staring out the window, watching the world speed by. I've kept moving for years, hiding and starving for the most part of my fifteen years of life. The door to my compartment opens, and the train conductor asks for my ticket.
I reach into my tattered sweatshirt pocket, and hand it to him. This is one of the few times that I actually had a ticket. Normally I switch compartments when ever the man comes, finding an empty one, and hiding in there until he passed. The conductor gave me a look over, his gaze disapproving of my tattered and dirty clothes, my unwashed, long dirty blonde hair.
Have a good day." the Conductor said, handing me back my ticket, a false smile plastered on his face. Then he left, and I slipped back into a world of memories.
I lived in homeless shelters, and the occasional foster home when the police caught me. I changed my name for each interaction with humans. When I was ten, I got into a fight with another kid over my stash of food. The kid had tried to take it, and I'd punched him in the face. He had stumbled back, his nose bleeding freely, and cursed. He pulled out a pocket knife, and told me to give him the food, or else. I told him to fuck off.
Then he charged.
He stabbed me six times. Well, at least tried to. The knife touched me, but it never punctured my skin, even the blade was pretty sharp. The kid had stared at me in shock when I had doubled over in pain, but soon straightened up, not even a scratch on me. He flipped out, and ran off screaming. That's when I knew I had to get out of there.
You see, once people see something unnatural about me, they freak. They suddenly turn from a nice person, to an animal. Names are one of the first things to hit the fan, followed by the looks, then the accusations and the blaming. And pretty soon, They notice.
As far as I know, the people who I'm running from are a government agency. They round up kids like me, and kill them.
No remorse.
I had had close encounters with these people since the age of five, nearly dying twice. And the whole time, they just came at me, hardly noticing my age. They just saw me as a target.
That they had to eliminate.
The train lurched, bringing me back to reality. The sun was going down, and it was starting to snow. I instinctively pulled my sweatshirt closer to my body. I would have been out there in the snow.
I poked my head out of the compartment, and checked to make sure the coast was clear.
I slipped down the hallway, and let the power flow.
Unbeknownst to the passengers of the train, their wallets were getting lighter and lighter, even as I walked down the hall.
The money eased through the cracks of the compartment, and flew into my pockets.
I released the flow of energy, and stuffed the fifty or so bills into my pockets. I made my way back to my compartment, and counted the cash. One hundred and sixty five dollars.
It wasn't bad. Maybe this trip would be a success. I sank back into my seat, and allowed myself to think I was untouchable.
Until the woman started screaming.
~Chapter two
I dropped from my seat to the floor, my battered sweatshirt brushing up against my equally battered backpack. I grabbed the pack, and stuck my hand in it, finding the hidden seam, and pulling out my gun.
The guard who had searched my pack had been about to find it, so I gave him a little "push".
I have an ability that allows me to somewhat control anything around me. I can 'push' humans, giving them a false memory of them already doing the thing they were about to do. I can also control some of them, but when I do that, they are aware of what is happening, so I try not to use that gift as much.
I pulled out the gun, and checked the clip.
Fully loaded.
I cocked it, and braced against the back of the compartment, as far away from the door as possible. The screams if the woman stopped abruptly, with a slight gurgle, as if she had just got stabbed in the throat. I winced, knowing that they were here, and that that woman is dead.
Like all the other people I knew.
I door to my compartment moved slightly, and I extended myself, and my vision changed, moving from first person, to third. I looked at myself, against the wall, with my gun aimed at the door. Then I moved through the door, and looked outside. The gruesome scene met me, a woman, laying in a pool of blood, a wicked looking knife sticking out of her chest. And outside my compartment, A man in a black suit, a gun in hand.
In a flash, I went back into my body, and fired.
I heard the man grunt in pain, and heard him crumple to the ground. Another man shouted, words incomprehensible against the roar of the train. But his man wasn't as stupid as his friend, and didn't even come near the door.
I willed the train to slow, feeling the brakes grind against the wheels beneath me. I flicked my finger at the window above my head, and it blew out, the snow and the icy cold wind invading my little compartment with an icy blast. I staggered to my feet, fighting against the wind, swung my pack on my back and put a foot on the windowsill.
The compartment door opened, and the second man barged in, gun drawn.
I jumped out the window, even as the man fired. Bullets whizzed by my head, as I fell through the air, the ground rushed up to meet me.
