Breathe Radio. For the love of God, just breathe. Breathe and face Feather, I thought only in my own mind.

Despite, the strong urge to turn and look upon Feather’s handsome and serene face, burying myself against his chest, my feet remained planted right where they were currently on the floor. If I only could just straighten this whirling of emotions in my mind and ground myself without Feather. Though I could still feel his comforting hand on my shoulder, I closed my eyes and tried to remind myself that the twins took every precaution to make sure G-M operatives couldn’t follow us after Surge collected and destroyed all of the bugs installed throughout my childhood home this morning. And like Surge had said earlier in the van, this area was surrounded by granite which would cause the operatives’ tracking equipment to malfunction… although, I reckoned it would only do so to a certain extent anyways but what did I know about electronic devices in comparison to him and his ability to detect and manipulate electrical devices and currents.

I also attempted to grasp for a hope that this place would keep us safe longer than the other houses we had moved to. Allowing me to finally put this constant obsessive and nonsensical paranoia of G-M operatives always being three steps a head of us away for good, though I knew perfectly well they wouldn’t stop coming for all of us. Not as long as I, the abomination of all abominations, with my two abilities instead of just the one was still alive. Nonetheless, my efforts to self-sooth myself without Feather’s assistance became futile, when the sudden wish that my mother was still here overtook my whole being. If she was here, she would have been able to tell me just what I needed to hear because she knew how G-M operatives tended to think and strategized more than my entire unit ever could because of the fact she had been under their control longer. Well, putting the new regulations aside, of course. And if she was still alive, I could be free of my feelings of stupidity and confusion with a single gentle caress along my cheek. While Feather also had the ability to calm my nerves too, it was different— much, much different. And in spite of my longing for her presence and how much I swore I heard her voice in my mind back at my childhood home, she would never be here again. Now if I actually believed I heard her voice in my mind, it would be some major Star Wars, Obi Won Kenobi. Look, I can only imagine you may be think that there is no way a sixteen year old abomination, enslaved for seven years with military training alongside honing my abilities, wouldn’t know a whole lot or anything about popular culture, but you’d be wrong. My parents were still together, more specifically my dad, they made sure I watched the original trilogy. They claimed the films were a classic and a must see. And in my mind are still the only ones to exist, prequels or the others to follow just a figment of someone else’s imagination. Yes, I’m a bit of Star Wars geek. It’s one of more charming and attractive qualities. But I digress.

Nonetheless and in all seriousness communicating telepathically from beyond the grave wasn’t real or possible, as much as I wished it had been. It was also as fictional as clinging to the idea that my mother’s death didn’t happen and that at any moment I would wake up from this nightmare. But unfortunately her death was the one thing I knew wasn’t fictional and it knocked the wind out of me. Had Feather’s hand hadn’t been there to steady me, I would have certainly crumbled to the basement floor into a ball of self pity. Yet, the burning agony and guilt of being the cause of her death residing heavily in my chest. The guilt of not believing her sightings of Grey-M operatives was so suffocating, like tornado storm brewing and rising to form large not in the pit of my throat that I feared I might gasp for any available fresh air causing me to release a sonic boom before I had a chance to clamp both of my hands to prevent it. But falling to the folly of loss, as much of it being a normal reaction, wasn’t going to bring her back. So I wiped away the tears starting to form, hating this feeling of vulnerability in front of another, regardless of it only being Feather— the only one I could be my true self with.

However, my mind drifted unexpectedly on another unrealistic wish that had I been born a normie, the paranoia relating to Grey-M operatives, the guilt in my part leading to my mothers death and for that matter, my father’s strange and mysterious disappearance would being s piece of fiction too. If I had been born a normie and not an abomination, all these things I was working myself up about wouldn’t exist. I also wouldn’t have to worry about such things like causing harm to those I cared about from a single sneeze or whisper. If I was a normie, then maybe my parents would still be together and alive. I would be able to speak aloud and not be forced to communicate telepathically. The only things I would have to worry about were whether a boy liked me, going shopping with my friends or whether I would get into a good college…. You know normal girly stuff. Not whether if I could assemble a weapon in under 15 seconds, be forced to see and perform the atrocities I couldn’t erase from my memories or if operatives had been able to find my unit and me. I know what you might be thinking, if I had been, I would never have met any of the members of my unit— the only family I had left. And I would never have met Feather, my best friend in the whole world.

Unable to turn and face him, I just didn’t know how else to answer Feather’s question about why I had been so focused on throughly checking the whole house to the point of raging frustration without my telepathic sentences sounding more fragmented. Truth is I was starting to question why I had felt the need to do the search in the first place. I hadn’t found a single device like the ones G-M scientists had been developing. My suspicions or rather my assumptions driving my instincts to go on high alert just didn’t seem like a good enough reason because it had failed me for the first time, despite the fact my instincts had saved my unit and I on many occasions in the past. This left me to the brink of tears and breathing to go into shallow, short breaths from complete stupidity and confusion. Feather’s hand continued to rest on my shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze to urge me to turn around to face him. I couldn’t yet. Not until I could straighten the whirling confusion in my mind, though that seemed like a distant possibility.

But gosh! My instincts aside, what was the real reason I searched the house so fervently? I mean, the twins took every precaution to make sure G-M operatives couldn’t follow us after Surge collected and destroyed all of the bugs installed throughout my childhood home this morning. And like Surge had said earlier in the van, this area was surrounded by granite which would cause the operatives’ tracking equipment to malfunction… although, I reckoned it would only do so to a certain extent anyways but what did I know about electronic devices in comparison to him and his ability to detect and manipulate electrical devices and currents.

But, I hoped with all my heart that this place would keep us safe longer than the other houses we had moved to. Giving me time to properly grieve, grow some roots like a normie and not this obsessive and nonsensical paranoia I was feeling. Oh how I wish my mom was still here, she would know the reasons and would give me the knowledge and comfort to calm my frazzled nerves. But much to my dismay, she would never be here again, despite how much I swore I had heard her voice back at our house. It still didn’t feel real, like any moment I would wake up from this nightmare and find myself in my childhood bed, hearing her and Dialect downstairs preparing food. But it was real and it knocked the wind out of me that I nearly crumbled to the basement floor, cradling my knees beneath my arms, and crying so hard that it would flood the basement. Not literally because I don’t have that ability, but that’s neither here nor there. And falling to the folly to the emotions of losing the last blood relative in my life wasn’t going to bring her back, as I wiped away the tears starting to form. God, I hated feeling so vulnerable though at least it was only Feather who was seeing this.

Yet the burning agony of her death residing in my chest still made me aware of the intensity of his gaze upon me. It was as though the unexplainable connection he and I shared wouldn’t allow me to not be aware of him, not matter what my emotional state I was experiencing. Regardless, the array of emotions currently rolling in together within my mind and chest seemed to be wrapping themselves so tightly, I was afraid I might gasp and release a sonic boom. I don’t if I could handle or forgive myself if Feather or the rest of my unit became deaf, permanent or not, or worse their deaths— not to mention damaging the new house

Random as this next thought may sound, how again I wished I had been born a normie, then I wouldn’t have to worry about such things like causing harm to those I cared about from a single sneeze or whisper. If I was a normie, then maybe my parents would still be together and alive. I would be able to speak aloud and not be forced to communicate telepathically. The only things I would have to worry about were whether a boy liked me, going shopping with my friends or whether I would get into a good college…. You know normal girly stuff. Not whether if I could assemble a weapon in under 15 seconds, be forced to see and perform the atrocities I couldn’t erase from my memories or if operatives had been able to find my unit and me. I know what you might be thinking, if I had been, I would never have met any of the members of my unit— the only family I had left. And I would never have met Feather, my best friend in the whole world.

That last thought alongside Feather’s continual gaze on me, my cheeks filling with heat, that perhaps the reasons I was searching for had something to with the suspicious feeling I always had with every move that this new home— new start was possibly too good to be true. Or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, I still couldn’t find the strength to look into Feather’s beautiful dark brown eyes to see his reaction to my erratic answer, so instead I decided to revert to my usual habit by averting my gaze up at the ceiling to listen to Vapor opening the front door with muffled speaking to a strange man before shutting and locking the door. The heavy waft of pizza took the place of the three aromas that had nagged me for I don’t know how long. I looked towards the small windows and noticed the darkness of the night had arrived without me realizing it.

Had I been frantically searching for that long? I thought only to myself.

But this habit of avoidance was one Feather knew all too well, more than anyone in my unit. It was way to avoid any possible judgment of my foolish behavior or assumptions. Though I knew perfectly that he, of all the members of our unit, wouldn’t judge or tease me about because he knew I usually had a good reason behind my actions, regardless if they turned out to be wrong or correct. And without saying anything and knowing I would tell him when I was ready, he wrapped his arms around me. Except… this time instead of turning me around in a platonic manner, his embrace came from behind. An electric tingling immediately rushed through my whole body, sending goosebumps and my heart beating so loudly along with it. I strangely welcomed the intimacy of the gesture, not caring about our unspoken agreement of being just friends as I leaned further into him until we seemed to meld into one another. I tilted my head until it rested on his chest as my hand began trailing up his shirt until my fingers were intertwined with the back part of his hair by his neck, his long black hair starting to drape over my face. I could hear his heart was racing like mine. It was almost calmed me to know I wasn’t alone in feeling how strangely right this felt and a bit nervous about what it would mean if we fully gave into whatever this was. We had never share this level of closeness before until twenty-four hours ago, but I didn’t want it to end. To my surprise, he didn’t show any sign of pulling away. Despite the indication given by both of our racing hearts, I had a strange need to know if our unspoken agreement of a platonic relationship had been thrown out the window by delving into his mind.

Unfortunately and quite peculiarly, I wasn’t able to get a reading. It was as though he had found a way to shield his thoughts from my telepathy. I would have asked why, but I was too exhausted from all the searching throughout the entire house to ask. I allowed his natural earthy musk and his embrace wash over me until I no longer felt paranoid, frustrated, or crazy. Time seemed to stand still until it felt as though we were the only two left in this world and any outside sound, apart from our ragged breathing, was blocked out. I felt like I was home, filling the void of my mother’s death and the abandonment of my childhood home even if it was only temporary. Yet the magical spell, Feather and I appeared to be under was unfortunately broken when we heard the sudden whining of the top step and heard Dialect speak, that Feather and I pulled away and acting like the moment we had shared never happened.

“Pizzas here!” Dialect nearly shouted with glee as she crotched on the top step so she could stare down at both of us.

“We’ll be up in a minute,” Feather said, looking towards Dialect before she stood up and exiting, leaving the basement door wide open, as I turned my whole body to face him.

I didn’t know how else to answer Feather’s question about why I had been so focused on throughly checking the whole house to the point of raging frustration. Truth is I was starting to doubt my reasons for it in the first place. I mean, the twins took every precaution to make sure G-M operatives couldn’t follow us after Surge collected and destroyed all of the bugs installed throughout my childhood home this morning. And like Surge had said earlier in the van, this area was surrounded by granite which would cause the operatives’ tracking equipment to malfunction… well, I expected to a certain extent anyways. I hoped with all my heart that this place would keep us safe longer than the other houses we had moved to. But there was still a sense of doubt lingering within me, whether again it was related to my mother’s death or something else entirely that I couldn’t even put words to explain why.

I just didn’t know the real reasons of my suspicions in relation to the pungent aromas anymore, as I felt the intensity of his gaze upon me. The emotions rolling in together like a small thunder storm, more specifically utter confusion and stupidity, seemed to be wrapping themselves tighter around me, creating a medium fog over the rage and frustration that had been racing through me only moments ago before Feather placed his hand on my shoulder. These emotions were so tight, I was afraid I might gasp and release a sonic boom. If Feather or the rest of my unit became deaf, permanent or not, or worse their deaths— not to mention damage the new house, I wouldn’t be able to ever forgive myself. Oh how again I wished I had been born a normie. My parents would still be together and alive. I would be able to speak aloud and not be forced to communicate telepathically. The only things I would have to worry about were whether a boy liked me, going shopping with my friends or whether I would get into a good college…. You know normal girly stuff. Not whether if I could assemble a weapon in under 15 seconds, be forced to see and perform the atrocities I couldn’t erase from my memories or if operatives had been able to find my unit and me. I know what you might be thinking, if I had been, I would never have met any of the members of my unit— the only family I had left. And I would never have met Feather, my best friend in the whole world,

Yet and further more regardless, the more I felt Feather’s gaze on me, my cheeks filling with heat, that perhaps the “something” had to do with, similar to most of our moves, this new home— new start being too good to be true. Or maybe it wasn’t.

Either way, I couldn’t find the strength to look into Feather’s beautiful dark brown eyes to see his reaction to my erratic answer, so instead I decided to revert to my usual habit by averting my gaze up at the ceiling to listen to Vapor opening the front door with muffled speaking to a strange man before shutting and locking the door. The heavy waft of pizza took the place of the three aromas that had nagged me for I don’t know how long. I looked towards the small windows and noticed the darkness of the night had arrived with me realizing it.

But this habit of avoidance Feather knew too well as way to avoid any possible judgment of my foolish behavior or assumptions. Though I knew perfectly that he, of all the members of our unit, wouldn’t judge or tease me about because he knew I usually had a good reason behind my actions. And without saying anything and knowing I would tell him when I was ready, he wrapped his arms around me. Except… this time instead of turning me around, from behind. An electric tingling rushed through my veins, sending goosebumps down my arms. There was no other way to describe because of how stunned I was. Feather usually spun me around to hug me in a very platonic way, I strangely welcomed the intimacy of the gesture and leaned further into him until our bodies seemed to meld into one. And yet I found myself trailing up his shirt until my fingers were intertwined with the back part of his hair by his neck, his long black hair draping over my tilted head. I could hear his heart racing like mine. It was so similar to the moment we had shared after I had discovered my mother’s butchered body, I wondered why this closeness felt so right. This was crazier than my actions moments before he surprised me with his presence. He didn’t show any sign of pulling away, but I had the need to delve into his mind to see if he was feeling the same way I did.

Unfortunately and quite peculiarly, I wasn’t able to get a reading. It was as though he had found a way to shield his thoughts from my telepathy. I would have asked why, but I was too exhausted from all the searching throughout the entire house to ask. I allowed his natural earthy musk and his embrace wash over me until I no longer felt paranoid, frustrated, or crazy. Time seemed to stand still until it felt as though we were the only two left in this world. Not a single sound could be heard. Perplexed as I was as to why this felt right— felt like home, filling the void of my mother’s death and the abandonment of my childhood home even if it was only temporary. Yet the magical spell, Feather and I appeared to be under, was broken when we heard the whining of the top step and heard Dialect speak, that Feather and I pulled away from one another and returning back to our brother and sister status.

“Pizzas here!” Dialect almost shout with glee.

“We’ll be up in a minute,” Feather said, as I turned my whole body to face him.

His eyes continued to stare at me, placing his hands on either side of my hips and pulled me close to him until our foreheads touched, his warmth sending shivers down my bones.

“It’s never a bad thing to trust your instincts,” Feather begun to at a low whisper,” as long as you are prepared for the consequences, good or bad.” He stopped for a moment before I low guttural laugh escaped his lips. “And in this case, a lot of weird looks from the four up stares and unfortunately a lot of questions.”

I tightly shut my mouth, resisting the urge to laugh and managing to laughter through the doors of our minds.

Feather moved his head to give me a soft kiss on my forehead, then push away to offer his hand. I took it and allowed him to guide me up the stairs. However, the moment we reached the open doorway of the basement, he immediately dropped his hand into his pocket, like we hadn’t shared an almost intimate moment. Told you I was foolish to think I wasn’t still insane, just in completely different way. Like I said, Feather and I made it very clear that we are only just friends and are more like brother and sister. And yet, nope…nope, nope. Nope. I’m not going there again. And with this reminding determination back in my mind. Because I. Do. Not. Like. Feather. In. That. Way. PERIOD!!!

I took another deep breath to compose myself to ensure to myself and the rest of the unit that the unspoken agreement made between Feather and I still held firm. Yet… oh God— there was still a naïve part of me that want to hold on the small single shred of hope my finality, when it came to Feather wasn’t entire true. I quickly dismissed it nonetheless, and went further into the bare kitchen of any normal appliances or amenities. Well aside from the six boxes of pizza, liters of soda paper plates and paper towels.

When I had grabbed my first two slices and walked to sit on the floor of the midway area between the kitchen and living room, I took my place on the floor between Surge and Dialect. Usually I sat next to Feather and Vapor. I tended to do this whenever Feather and I share a moment similar to the one in the basement or when either one of us, him more than me, were hooking up or dating a normie. It was the only way I could firmly keep up my usual façade of collective-ness and calmness in front of everyone.

Unfortunately, with each room and corner, I found not one shred of evidence of what I was looking for. I even checked the basement: in and around the washer and dryer, the air ducts, and the abandoned, cobwebbed metal shelves with a few rusty nails resting on top. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I was beyond frustrated. Where are these scents coming from? And why did they appear to be stalking me causing a twisting knot in my chest? I could feel the rage building up inside of me because I felt more insane than I had before I had started my search for a particular sign of Grey-M operatives having been here that I was nearly tempted to scream out loud. But I didn’t want to cause any damage to the “new” house or my unit, so I tried to take some calming breaths, trying to find a more rational explanations. Like maybe, the wet dog and baby powder aromas were just really hard to get rid of. I mean I’ve never had a dog or lived with a baby, so how would I know if this theoretical conclusion was the case. Yet, based on my past experiences with the foul odors in some of the vans my unit and I had to endure, perhaps if all the windows were to be open, it would alleviate these three annoying and combining scents. Then there was the potential reason for the third odor. The landlord could have baked something, so that when my unit and I arrived, we would feel like we were at home and feel all gooey inside… no pun intended.

Yet all of this seemed far fetched. You and the rest of my unit would have every right to say that this was just my wild imagination running amuck and heightened due to the recent death of my mother.

But you see, as my breathing became slightly more even and the rage of frustration slowly diminished, though the beating of my heart still raced, I remembered, prior to my unit’s escape from the compound, overhearing Grey-M had been developing ways to give targets a false sense of ease by means of sound or smell long before they sent in a team to attack. They used, if memory serves correctly, a minuscule cylindrical device placed in high corners of a room or space. I overheard this, quite by accident— well not exactly, when the scientists were doing tests on me to ensure the formally dominant ability of my father hadn’t gone into remission. I hadn’t thought much about it at the time because my unit and I were sure any of our plans to escape would work. Nonetheless, any information, no matter how small or big, from the scientists had been stored deep in my memory incase it would be useful for our potential escape.

It didn’t, when my unit finally agreed on a course of action on how to escape, but the knowledge— as you’ve already noticed—stuck with me. And as I looked around the basement, my back to the staircase, I failed to hear, though not unexpectedly, Feather coming down until his hand rested on my shoulder. I jumped a little before turning my head to look at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked with concern.

I’m not sure, I telepathically replied before projecting the memory of the day in the lab, before unsteadily continuing, The smells of baby powder, wet dog, and the freshly baked goods… I-I don’t know.

I didn’t know what else to say, as I became aware of Vapor opening the front door with muffled speaking to a strange man and the heavy waft of pizza took the place of the three aromas that had bagged me for who knows how long. But in true Feather fashion, he wrapped his arms around me from behind. Though, he usually spun me around to hug me in a very platonic way, I strangely welcomed the intimacy of the gesture and leaned further into him until our bodies seemed to meld into one. I reached my hand up to intertwine my fingers to the back part of his hair by his neck. Similar to the moment we had shared after I had discovered my mother’s butchered body, I wondered why this closeness felt so right. He didn’t show any sign of pulling away, but I had the need to delve into his mind to see if he was feeling the same way I did.

Unfortunately and quite peculiarly, I wasn’t able to get a reading. It was as though he had found a way to shield his thoughts from my telepathy. I would have asked why, but I was too exhausted from all the searching throughout the entire house to ask. I allowed his natural earthy musk and his embrace wash over me until I no longer felt paranoid, frustrated, or crazy. It wasn’t until I heard the whining of the top step and heard Dialect speak, that Feather and I pulled away from one another and returning back to our brother and sister status.

“Pizzas here!” Dialect almost shout with glee.

“We’ll be up in a minute,” Feather said, as I turned my whole body to face him.

It’s nothing. No moment was shared with anyone, I thought to everyone and glared at Vapor, hoping for whatever reason that Feather’s feelings weren’t hurt in anyway by Dialect’s truthful guesses.

“But you totally—” Vapor said.

Drop it!! I telepathically yelled.

“Okay, okay. Geez— sorry,” Vapor replied.

The unit remained silent as Blank turned onto Northside road, as the noise of leaf blowers revving and lawnmowers putting could be heard in the near distance, we saw our new home. At first glance, the house looked like some boring cookie-cutter white suburbanite structure that had started out small and then had been added onto in a failed attempt to make it a grander home, more like a Californian contemporary. The tall trees cradled the back of the house and the neighbors across the street seemed  luckily not to be at home or at least uninterested in us moving in.

After Blank pulled the van to a stop and turned off the engine in front of the house, we all exited and began to unload what was in the back of the van and the attached trailer. I immediately went to find my poor duffel bag in the trailer, the bottom completely covered with duct tape and swung it over my shoulder before snatching some of the large pillows that would act as our living room furniture. Blank and Vapor had always tried to find a house with not only a place to train, but also fully furnished. However given the choice between a secluded place to train or a fully furnished house, the first choice would always win. From what I could see through the left side windows, this place appeared to be not single piece of furniture. I hoped there would at least be beds left from the previous tenants, but as the saying goes  “Beggers can’t be choosers.”

And when I had entered the front door, a strange feeling washed over me that I nearly dropped the large pillows squeezed on either side of my armpits. It had nothing to do with the lack of furniture or how spotless the living room’s hardwood floors and the segway middle area leading to the kitchen. It was the overwhelming and pungent aromas of baby powder, freshly baked goods, and wet dogs. Now, one could easily write this off as nothing more than there must have been a young family with dogs living in the house and that they had just moved out before we moved in. Though this still didn’t explain the smell of freshly baked goods. And if my unit and I were normies, these aromas would have been very welcoming. However, most decent people or even the landlord would have throughly cleaned the entire house as an act of kindness for the next tenants, making the smells to be faint to being nonexistent. But this wasn’t the case here. This mixture of aromas appeared permeating from every corner as I move slowly through the living room to the kitchen that it almost made me want to vomit.

Luckily I didn’t, but I couldn’t shake that something was very out of place in this small house. I could feel my heart thumping against my chest and my body tense as I mentally prepared myself for what I must do for the precautionary safety of my unit. I dropped the very large pillows and my duffel bag to the floor, my bag making a heavy thump on the kitchen’s tiled floors. The less distractions the better, though the bombardment of the three scents weren’t helping, I needed to stand very still and closed my eyes so I could focus and stretch out my telepathy better in searching for the minds that weren’t my unit members’ or our new neighbors. Silently standing in a room wasn’t an unusual thing for my unit to see me do because it had been my duty to do a mental sweep during our past missions for Grey-M Industries. What can I say but that old habits die hard. Yippee-ki-yay mother— yeeee-aahh…never mind...bad joke.

Now I can only imagine your confusion as to why these three scents were still immensely bothering me, but if you can just give me a moment or so, I’ll explain to the best of my ability. When I continued to use my ability until it made my head hurt, I couldn’t sense a single Grey-M operative’s mind. I felt completely crazy and paranoid because I was so certain that the operatives had been here before we had. This should have calmed my nerves, but instead it made me more determined to get to the bottom of these now extremely annoying aromas. With the lack of furniture near by, I looked around me find the next best thing and that was the stepladder in Surge’s hand not a few feet away from me. Wasting no time, I darted towards him and snatched the ladder from his grasp, while ignoring Surge starting to say “what the—.” Because the next logical thing for me to do was to search the whole house. Again, please put your utter confusion on hold for a bit longer.

Unfortunately, with each room and corner, I found not one shred of evidence of what I was looking for. I even checked the basement: in and around the washer and dryer, the air ducts, and the abandoned, cobwebbed metal shelves with a few rusty nails resting on top. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I was very much frustrated especially because the three scents were very much present in every inch I had searched. They were like twisting knot in my chest and I could feel rage building up inside of me that it nearly drove me to scream out loud. You and the rest of my unit have every right to call me paranoid, buy if you had seen the atrocities my unit had seen, you may understand that one can never ignore their training or instincts, especially when my life and the lives of my unit’s were at stake.

I continued to remind myself of our unit’s motto, while I simultaneously prayed that Vapor wouldn’t embarrass me by telling them about the silent moment with the barista as we approached the van with six lattes split evenly between us in cup holders. The rest of the unit stood in the parking lot, Dialect clearly overjoyed with a huge smile spreading across her face by the maps in her hands, Vapor and I passed them their hot lattes, with the exception of Surge. Vapor had decided to hold his latte as hostage, claiming she had gotten an extra one for herself to help her deal with being in the van with him and his “non-stop” talking for the past five plus hours. That was a complete exaggeration of course and after some coaxing, Vapor finally handed the latte to him.

There was also something comforting about this area, regardless of my dream of one day living in a big city like Philadelphia and us being in the middle of a rest stop. I breathed in the air, slightly heavy and humid from the recent rain, as much as my lungs would allow me. And on either side of the rest stop, there were some trees whose leaves varied from yellow, red, and brown, while the other trees seemed to be desperately clinging to the green in their leaves. It was simply magical, but also a little saddening because it reminded me of the property where my childhood home stood. It almost knocked the wind out of me and brought me to tears, which I tried to wipe away without smudging my eye makeup.

However I was pleased to see, through my peripherals that Feather was standing next to me. His presence, as per usual, begun to wash away the darkness suffocating me, making it easier for me to breathe again. For he too seemed to be absorbing the nature alongside me as I looked in the direction of a patch of trees that barely had any leaves, unlike the ones I had seen moments before. Through the branches, the sky peeped between them and allowed a flock of Canadian geese in a v-shape formation to come into view. Feather and I could just hear them honking over the racing vehicles on the highway as they flew over us, heading south.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Feather asked.

I nodded.

We watched the geese until they became so small as the distance between us and them grew.

“We should probably get in the van before the twins throw a hissy fit,” Feather said with a chuckle.

I smiled and nodded as I followed him into the van, still hoping Vapor wouldn’t say anything about the barista or hadn’t already, which I was now realizing I had failed to look at his name tag said his name was…. Oops! Not that it matter because like I had said many times before, I would never see him again.

Blank turned the key and with all of us now situated in our seats, he pulled the van out of the rest stop’s parking lot and back onto route 401. Unfortunately, he accidentally went past the street the house was on, which none of us would have known if he didn’t mutter a series of profanity. All of us in the back started to laugh so hard that we nearly toppled over each other, if it wasn’t for our securely fastened seatbelts. I, myself, nearly forgot to clamp both hands over my mouth, especially with the profanity continuing in Blank’s thoughts that followed what he had said aloud.

“Taking the scenic route, are we?” Surge asked breathlessly.

I thought you knew exactly where we were going or do you need one of Dialect’s maps to help you out, I couldn’t help chiming in.

“Quit it,” Vapor said sternly.

I imitated a police siren through everyone’s mind because when you only communicate through telepathy, it’s super easy to create dead-on imitations of sounds and people’s voices. Call me “Master Sound-machine,” if you will.

“I SAID QUIT IT!” Vapor yelled, which immediately stopped all of our laughter because none of us wanted her to come to the back of the van and use her ability by sliding her hands through our chests and tightly gripping all of our hearts, specifically Surge’s and mine.

When we finally turned onto the correct street where the house stood, I saw the street sign, reached back to get Dialect’s attention and pointed to it.

Harmonyville Road! Told you this place has a good vibe, I telepathically said, trying the lighten the mood killed by Vapor’s anger.

“Cause it’s full of peace and harmony, man,” Surge said in his best hippie voice.

Bite me! I thought rolling my eyes.

“Love to—“ Surge started to say with a sudden gasp.

We, apart from Blank, quickly turned our attention on Surge, curious as to why he hadn’t finished his sarcastic sentence and why he was now desperately trying not to scream in pure agony. It was then that we realized Vapor was not only materializing but was also leaning over him, the majority of her arm disappearing through Surge’s chest. How she had unfastened her seatbelt so quickly that we didn’t hear the click was beyond all four of us. It shouldn’t have with all the missions we had gone on for those bastards at Grey-M Industries and the ten years of us being together, but it did. If I hadn’t been distracted by Surge’s stupid hippie impression, unconsciously dismissed Vapor’s angered thoughts, perhaps I would have been able to stop her. Bewildered and frozen in shock, we watched him clamping his hands around Vapor’s arm. His face seemed to fold in on itself, the blood draining from his face as he continued to suppress his need to scream. Amidst his grunts and gasps, Vapor turned her head slowly around to all of us, her eyebrow crooked upward.

“Did I or did I not tell you all that if you decided to continue ‘Deadpool’-ing or whatever the freakin’ you guys call it that I would squeeze your hearts for the remainder of the trip?” She asked.

“We aren’t on a job, so enough with the banter.”

With bated breath in discomfort, we remained silent until Vapor finally pulled her arm out of Surge’s chest, way too worried about Surge’s well-being than answering Vapor’s question. We had seen her get this mad before, but we had never seen her follow through with her threats. I don’t want to give you the impression that Vapor was a bad person because she’s not. But if you pushed enough of her buttons or if she was in a bad mood, things similar to this would happen. One time she broke twenty plates in one of our previous houses in an effort not to release her temper on us.

“We get it Vape,” Blank said. “It has been a long trip for all of us and a tragedy-stricken move. They’re just laughing, like all of us would if one of us made a mistake. Now come back up front and let it go.”

After a few more seconds, Vapor did as her brother asked, Surge gasping in relief.

“Was that really necessary? I mean why didn’t you squeeze Radio’s heart too?” Surge strained to ask, his hands still holding firmly over his heart.

“No, it wasn’t. I would say I’m sorry, but you kinda deserved it,” Vapor answered in a tone that was the most apologetic I’ve ever heard from her.

“Deserved it? How?” Surge asked, like a child about to throw a tantrum.

“And the reason I didn’t do it to Radio,” Vapor continued, pretending to ignore what Surge had just asked before cheerfully continuing, “because she shared her first moment with—”

Please don’t finish that sentence, I pleaded defiantly.

“A moment with what? With who? A boy? This is huge! No boy has ever tickled your fancy—beyond the physical stuff, I mean,” Dialect said, almost as excited as she was with her new maps.

It’s nothing. No moment was shared with anyone, I thought to everyone and glared at Vapor, hoping for whatever reason that Feather’s feelings weren’t hurt in anyway by Dialect’s truthful guesses.

“But you totally—” Vapor said.

Drop it!! I telepathically yelled.

“Okay, okay. Geez— sorry,” Vapor replied.

The unit remained silent as Blank turned onto Northside road, as the noise of leaf blowers revving and lawnmowers putting could be heard in the near distance, we saw our new home. At first glance, the house looked like some boring cookie-cutter white suburbanite structure that had started out small and then had been added onto in a failed attempt to make it a grander home, more like a Californian contemporary. The tall trees cradled the back of the house and the neighbors across the street seemed luckily not to be at home or at least uninterested in us moving in.

Exiting the van and watching Blank pull away to the nearest gas tank, Vapor waited for me to catch up with her to give me a little shoulder bump. I gave a weak smile.

“Hey!” She said, almost singing as she said her next words. “I’m sensing a possibility of some eye candy!! That will surely lighten your mood!”

Are boys the only thing you can think about right now? I asked, trying not to roll my eyes sarcastically.

“And girls!” Vapor said giggling, her eyes widening with anticipation and giving me another shoulder bump as we made our way into the large, yellow, and extremely modern suburban-y rest stop.

While I appreciated nearly everyone’s effort to cheer me up or distract me, it seemed as if they were trying too hard in doing so. I just wasn’t in the mood. If only they could do what Feather was doing, being there for me and wait until I was ready to talk, laugh or to do anything that resembled me returning to my normal self. Yet, no one could be like Feather and it’s wrong of me to hope that they would be. They are who they are, it was simple as that, and I loved them for this reason. Maybe what I was really hoping was for them to ease up on the “let’s-cheer up-Radio-because-her mom-just died” thing. For some reason, I decided to suddenly stop walking not six feet inside the door.

As I looked around with a blur of conversations to early 2000s pop music booming from every corner into my ears, this rest stop was proving to be just like any of the other rest stops we had ever visited— stagnant and sterile from the heavy disinfectants in the air. Then there was the fatty, unbelievably delicious smell of fried chicken from the Roy Rogers which oddly mixed well with the soothing fragrance of roasting espresso beans from the Starbucks. I gazed enviously at three children playing tag while their parents scolded them for not paying attention to the other patrons eating as they scampered around. I was envious because unlike us abominations, these children would experience a normal childhood and life in general. And while the training and the missions had become normal to my unit specifically as more and more time had passed since we were captured, this current display of just being kids made my wish to be a normie that much more strong. Because at the same time these children were playing and rebelling against their parents’ wishes, abominations around the same age as them were learning how to assemble and disassemble a weapon in under 30 seconds. Yet I was so busy watching the normie kids that I totally failed to notice Vapor trying to get my attention.

“Caffeine! Eye candy! Ándale, mamacita!!” Vapor said a little impatiently, when she noticed I was no longer by her side.

You’ve flunked Spanish five times, despite both Surge’s and Dialect’s help, and now you’re proficient in the language? I said sarcastically.

I had to cover my laughter as she flipped me off as I followed her to the Starbucks stand. I could see from my peripherals that Dialect and Feather had found a news stand. I knew she had definitely found maps of the area because, even from 30 yards away, I could still hear her squeal with joy.

As Vapor and I approached the counter at Starbucks, I once again found myself being distracted by the normie children, whose parents were now grabbing ahold of their shoulders and whispering at them. I could tell that whatever the parents were saying wasn’t good, not just from the disgruntled look on the adults’ faces, but from the cowering looks on each of the children’s.

“Ray!— Ray! What do you want?” Vapor asked.

A venti latte, I absently signed and telepathically said, which Vapor verbally repeated to the barista.

“Would you like any flavor in the latte?” The barista asked, which I unconsciously didn’t hear. This was mostly because I was so use to my unit members speaking for me that I usually zoned out.

“Uh—miss?” the barista asked.

After giving a few little waves near my face, I finally registered he was talking to me and not Vapor. It was both startling and perplexing to me as I turned to fully face him. It wasn’t an unusual question, but still an unexpected one. It was as though this barista saw me as a normal customer because he seemed to clearly understand that I wasn’t deaf based on how I responded to Vapor’s verbal question. This again was something that most people somehow failed to comprehend by speaking only to my “interpreter” in order for me to comprehend what they were saying. It was totally degrading, even though I was use to it by now and again the reason why I usually stopped listening during these particular situations. But this— this was truly weird. Who is this guy? By any other standards, he was someone I would never see ever again.

Somehow, I just continued to stare at him for what felt like an eternity. And it would have been incredibly awkward and weird had he said something to break the silence, but he didn’t. He seemed to be as lost in my eyes as I was in his. If 1970s Paul McCartney and James McAvoy had had a love child, this barista would be it. He was just thatgorgeous. Shaggy brown hair flattened by the black Starbucks hat, large droopy brown eyes, a long down-curving nose, a sensuously small thin mouth, and a scruffy beard. He looked to be about my age or perhaps a bit older.

I had to remind myself that I would never see him again. Even if I did, it could never come to anything. “Start to trust, then you’re dust.” It was our unit’s motto because we were trained and believed the survival of the unit always came first. Look, we were hormonal teenagers like any other, normie or abomination, but we made it a rule not to let it get serious, which also included with any friends we would make at every school. Like I had mentioned before, our unit mostly kept to ourselves. And with Blank’s ability before we were about to move, with some exception to this one, lifelong friends outside the unit was not in the cards for us. Yet despite all this, as I continued to stare into those eyes that complimented my own, I never wanted this moment to end.

“No, she does not want any flavor in her latte and if we could get five more plain Venti lattes that would be great,” Vapor said with an air of annoyance, slamming a twenty-five dollars on the counter before leaning over in front of me and interrupting whatever moment this smoking hot barista and I were having.

“Um— yes— okay— cool,” the barista said, trying to collect himself. “I’ll— uh— it will be ready for you at the end of the bar.”

What was that about? Vapor signed and thought.

Following her over to the other side of the bar as I failed at giving a nonchalant glance back at the barista, I signed with a shrug,

Nothing.

Yeah, okay. If you say so, Vapor said telepathically, obviously not believing me as her annoyance turned into amusement.

I do, I telepathically said, while looking anywhere but at Vapor and the barista to hide how much I was blushing.

He is cute. I will admit, she retorted. He’s not my type, but he is cute. Told you there would be a chance at seeing some eye candy!

So? I answered, trying to sound like I didn’t care about how the barista looked.

Nothing, Vapor signed, mocking my earlier comment before gently bumping shoulders with me, yet again.

I couldn’t help but grin at her. She just knew me too well not to know that I wasn’t telling the truth. And as we waited for our unit’s beverages, I couldn’t help looking once more at the barista. He was helping another customer, but I could of sworn his eyes looked in my direction.

Start to trust, then you’re dust, I recited the motto over and over again up until we collected the drinks and the two of us made our way towards the exit and toward the van.

I don’t know if by repeating the motto would actually work this time around. I’ve met plenty of super cute normies in the past, as I’ve mentioned to you before, but this guy was different. I know, how original is that statement? Not much and it’s been used thousands of times in romantic movies and all that. But, oh please, please Vapor don’t say anything to the unit.

A hush fell over the van, the four of us being filled with anticipation. We had been driving for who knows how long, mostly because I was too focused on distracting myself, and the original plan of going to Leonardo, New Jersey was out the window. I was looking forward to it because luckily there wasn’t any neighboring towns called Di Caprio because then Dialect would insist we live on the border of the two towns. I’m telling you the girl is honestly obsessed with the actor almost to the point of being unhealthy.

I know, I know. On the “clever joke” scale, that one was way below the zero mark. But give me a break! I’m mourning, what do you expect? Incase you don’t know what that means, it’s the same thing as saying grieving. And “grieving” and “mourning” are what we call being a “synonym.” And incase you don’t know the last word well I can’t help you. Well except to say to look up the word in those rectangular shaped things they call “books,” more specifically either a “thesaurus” or a “dictionary.” There! That should hopefully regain some of the levels I’d lost with my “Leonardo DiCaprio” joke. Yes? No? No, you’re right it probably didn’t, but I should at least get an “A” for effort.

But back to the situation at hand. The question had already left Dialect’s mind and unless Blank wanted to pull the van and wipe all of our minds, wasting time in reaching our destination, the question couldn’t be taking back. Regardless we continued to “bite our nails” or whatever other cliché you want to use for waiting for the twin’s whispered murmurs to end and answer Dialect’s question. And it took a majorly extreme effort for me to not be able to read their thoughts. So we all waited for what felt like a half hour or so.

Chapter Five

When the soft murmuring ceased between the twins, Vapor exhaled a few heavy breaths before turning to look at us, her face displaying her annoyance. She didn’t like being talked about indirectly. If you had a problem with her or, in this case, a question for her, Vapor would prefer and appreciated when someone spoke to her directly. Since the latter didn’t happen, the four of us looked from her to Blank and then back at her again. Questions flooded my mind, as I’m sure it was with the other three, as to what was taking them so long to answer Dialect’s question. I mean really— where were we going? Was the new house in a bad neighborhood and the reason the twins were choosing not to tell us? And did it not have a secluded area for us to train close by? The last question was a stupid one to ask, even solely in my mind, because the twins always made sure there was an area to train before choosing a house.

“Does it really matter?” Vapor finally said. “We won’t be there for another five hours.”

“Please!!!” Dialect pleaded in her most innocent and child-like voice.

Just humor us, I said in a non-mocking tone.

“Elverson, Pennsylvania,” Vapor said with a deep exasperation.

“There’s a small two-bedroom house there and is partially surrounded by woods. Is that enough information as to where we’re all going?”

Yes, thank you, I answered for the rest of the unit as we watched her turn back around.

“Aren’t you going to say that you have a good feeling about this place?” Dialect asked me.

Normally I would have said this and I appreciated her effort to help distract me, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say it— not right now at least.

“Come on, Radio,” Surge interjecting himself enthusiastically into the conversation. “From what I just looked up on the internet, we’re going to be among stretches of farmlands, woods, and quarries, which will make it harder for those bonehead operatives to track us.”

And why would any of those things make it difficult for the Grey-M operatives? I asked, a bit annoyed by both his confidence and him butting into the conversation between Dialect and me. I didn’t bother asking how he had found out about the geography of the city we were traveling to so quickly because of his ability. Surge’s mind acted similar to a super-fast search engine, especially when there was a lot of internet connection around or when his laptop was near by. It would be like asking how Dialect knew a target’s true native tongue in a matter of seconds.

“Granite,” Surge said, as if the answer was common knowledge.

What about granite? I asked with a shrug because I was still failing to understand how this was a sufficient answer.

“It messes with certain electronic devices, such as cellphone reception and most of the equipment the Grey-M operatives usually use to track us,” Surge said again with a “duh” tone to his voice.

So that would most likely mess with your ability too, wouldn’t it? Now I really have a good feeling about this place, I managed to telepathically say, almost sounding like my old sarcastic self instead of the currently and nearly empty shell of my former self.

“I’ll give you a good feeling anytime, Radio. Just name when and where,” he replied like he was Don Juan.

You’re such a pig. No wonder you smell like rotten food, I managed to retort back, rolling my eyes in the process.

“Enough, the two of you!” Vapor shouted from the passenger seat and obviously wanting to stop the usual humorous banter between Surge and me. “I’m not going to spend the next five hours listening to you needle each other over nothing! Unless you’re both in the mood for me to slide my hands tightly around your hearts for the rest of the trip?”

“I know where I’d like you to slide your hands tightly around,” Surge said with a chuckle.

“SHE SAID ENOUGH!” Blank bellowed from behind the wheel.

“Sorry,” Surge said with a sigh.

Sorry, Blank, I thought, but was somewhat saddened the twins had stopped us because it was proving to give me a better distraction than Dialect’s.

“I’m all for your guys’ ‘Deadpool’ humor, as you call it, but geez louise, it’s only ten in the frickin’ morning,” Blank said exasperated, but his demeanor quickly changed with what he said next. “Look, I realize you are grieving Radio and looking for a way to not think about what happened to your mother last night. And I’m not trying to minimize what you are going through, but it’s not like we don’t all miss your mother. She was a generous and kindhearted person. Regardless, if the two of you could please wait until we can stop for coffee, or better yet, until after Vapor and Surge finish going into the local bank vault later tonight that would be awesome.”

Something triggered in me, whether it be from Blank’s authoritative tone or the mentioning of my mother and what she meant to everyone in the unit, that I had to cover my mouth with my hands in an effort to keep myself from crying out loud, though it didn’t stop the flood gates holding my tears back from opening and pouring down my face. I felt both Dialect’s and Surge’s hands on my shoulder and Feather holding me closer. Not that Blank’s words weren’t genuine, but it still managed to cause the images of how I found my mother, when I had worked up the courage to pull back the coverings, flashed vividly through my mind. So vividly, I had without realizing it, projected them into the minds of everyone in the van. Blank nearly lost control of the wheel and the two hands resting on my shoulder recoiled. Thank goodness everyone was wearing their seatbelts because we all leaned in the direction of the swerve.

“Way to go bonehead!” Surge yelled from behind me. “You can be a real insensitive jerk sometimes.”

“I’m so sorry, Radio,” Dialect said, her voice sounding as small as a mouse as I manage to regain control of myself enough for the horrific images to diminish from all of their minds.

I’ve never felt so vulnerable as I did now. My need to exude a front of always being calm and strong, with the exception of Feather of course, in front of my unit vanished. It was as though, from the moment I finally grabbed the doorknob to when I opened my mother’s bedroom door, found her mutilated body and lastly, how untampered her room had been— had become the catalyst of my inability to stop myself from suddenly crying at what seemed to be every little thing. I hated it! I hated it so much that I was tempted to scream. I wouldn’t because I would never want to hurt my unit, both physically and mentally, or put them through the pain throbbing within me these past 15 hours since it happened. But what could I say in this moment? I couldn’t telepathically say, well now you know how she died, because the boys already had when they had carried my mother’s body out of the house last night, but I did feel guilty that Dialect had to see it. I have always considered her like a little sister, even before the decision to go to my childhood home and before Dialect’s growing attachment with my mom. I had hoped, before Blank triggered the images, to keep what the Grey-M operatives had done from Dialect as long as I could. So much for that, right? I wanted to console her as much, if not more, than she had me moments earlier, but just couldn’t will myself to do so. Not just because of how the seats were arranged in this “new” van, but also because I needed the comfort and strength that only Feather could provide to get myself back to relative neutrality. Pretty selfish of me, I know.

In the summer of 1995, when my mother and I were living in a three-bedroom house deep in the wooden area of Elverson, Pennsylvania and months before my mother and my stepdad had started dating, I spent most of my days playing outside and doing things a nine-year-old girl with an active imagination and the woods to keep me company. The curved driveway, which is important to note, was shared by three other home: on the east side of the driveway. While our mailbox was up on the far west side, it was the east entrance that my mother and I used the most.

The first house, a very small one at that, barely housed the family of four residing in it nor was their lawn big enough to do anything with it: no garden, no room to comfortably throw a football or a baseball nor the room to play with imaginary friends. At the start of the driveway, which was the only entrance towards our house that we used, they had a random rectangular stone pillar with cement frog statues and for the longest time I thought they looked like naked ladies. I don’t recall who lived in the next house, but deeper in the woods laid the third house. The house, which, at the time, always seemed to me as though they had a menagerie of animals. In truth, the middle-aged couple had two white cats, an old golden retriever and a few horses. The dog, to my nine-year-old brain, found his usual activity incredibly hilarious every time I would see him scoot his butt along the graveled driveway. Then there were the horses, which to this day bewildered me as to why the couple would have them fenced in a part of their neighborhood where there were more trees than room for the cloven to run freely.

However, it was one of the white cats, who always ventured onto my property on a regular basis, where the heart of the story begins. My mother not allowing us to have a cat the time because I had a bit of an allergy to them, so I took pleasure in being able to pet and play with the feline. On one particular day, when this cat came over in the backyard and my mother and one of her female friends were chatting away in my mother’s bedroom at the front of the house, I noticed the cat had something in its mouth. Out of curiosity, I cautiously crept closer to get a better look. The cat took no notice of me; partially because its back was to me, and partly because of its full attention being on whatever was in its mouth. Upon closer inspection, I came to realize that what the cat had caught was a chipmunk! My heart dropped at the thought of a poor chipmunk dying under the sharp fangs of this white cat. Although, not too much longer after I had had this heartbreaking thought, the cat dropped the presumed dead chipmunk, and things took an unexpected turn.

It turns out the chipmunk was far from being dead. Once the chipmunk was out of the clutches of the cat’s razor-sharp teeth, the small creature wasted no time in running around the cat and towards me. It climbed up my leg into my turquoise-colored shorts. At this time of my life, the show America’s Funniest Home Videos was very popular. So, having an active imagination and despite the fear coursing through my whole body with the chipmunk resting under my left butt cheek, I wondered where the camera was—though we didn’t own one. Realizing how silly that thought it was and my body momentarily unable to move because I was very worried that the chipmunk would bite me and I would get rabies, I tried to think of a way… any way for to get the chipmunk to leave my shorts. Looking around me, I noticed that there were acorns by my feet.

Chipmunks love acorns! my nine-year-old self thought, hopeful it would be the solution to my current situation.

I quickly unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts. Cautiously and carefully positioning myself in a semi-crouch position, I extended my arm and reached for the acorns. Though when I finally had a few acorns in my hand, a new fear of moving out of this position was very present in my mind. By sheer luck I had been able to grab the acorns and I wasn’t confident enough to think the luck would continue. Regardless, I quickly took my chances and dropped the acorns down my shorts. Well, the acorns moved away from my shorts and back on the ground. The chipmunk, however, moved from under my butt and under my crotch.

Shoot! I thought. Now what?

I thought and thought about a new plan. And after what seemed like hours when in reality, it was more likely a minute or so, another idea hit me. Yes, it was summer, but it was cool enough for my mother to have her bedroom windows fully open most likely. So, I shouted the names of both my mother and her friend in hopes they would hear me. But after calling their names at least five times and not hearing a single response, I dreaded the knowledge that I would have to somehow make my way from the back of the house to the front without the chipmunk suddenly deciding that now would be a good time to give me rabies with a single bite. Taking a few deep breaths and still finding myself in a semi-crouching position, I slowly walked toward my mother’s bedroom. The several concrete steps and part of the graveled driveway where the cars would usually park were my next biggest obstacles.

When I finally reached my mother’s bedroom, I felt immediate relief when I spotted the windows were open— and that the chipmunk had not taken a small chunk of my flesh just yet. I worked up the courage to say, “Mom, there’s a chipmunk in my shorts!”

“You’re pulling my leg,” I heard my mother say in a bit of a chuckle.

“No, Mom, there really is a chipmunk in my shorts,” I said in the most serious and calm tone I could manage.

Suddenly, I heard two sets of feet racing out of my mother’s bedroom and out the front door. The two of them, on either side of me, seemed as frozen about what to do as I had been when the chipmunk initially ran up my shorts. I don’t recall exactly what they had said or the multiple plans they relayed to one another on how to get the small creature out of my shorts. What I do remember was the plan they finally decided on, which incorporated pulling down my shorts and somehow grabbing or shooing away the animal. As an adult, the whole thing leading up to executing their plan reminded me of the pre-prom scene in There’s Something About Mary. My mother’s friend, her hands on either side of my shorts, counted up to three.

“One… two… THREE!” my mom’s friend shouted, There were beads of sweat visible on both hers and my mother’s faces. I, on the other hand, wasn’t really sure how to feel or if it would work. All I knew was the temptation to shut my eyes and that I wanted the chipmunk out of my shorts by any means possible without the fear that the small creature would suddenly decide to bite me.

The moment my shorts were pulled down below my knees, the chipmunk leaped out of the back of my shorts like a metal ball from a cannon and jumped into a hole underneath the house. The three of us sighed in relief. The chipmunk was never seen again, but the telling of the story has lived on as proof that it was far from being a fabricated story and something that had actually happened to me. And as embarrassing as the incident was, the more I told it over the past 26 years and noticed the joy it brought to others, the less embarrassed I became in telling it. Because if you think about it how many people do you know anyway who could honestly say they experienced having a chipmunk inside their shorts and lived to tell the tale?

If we didn’t continue to train, we might lose what little advantage we have over the normies that were once our overlords. However, “loitering” around each new town or city and going to the local public school also proved to be a great way to gain information about our surroundings and the outside world, when the internet became not the best resource. We’ve discovered, with each small town we moved to, the normie townies preferred, for the most part, to gossip through word of mouth instead of directly posting it on all or any of the social media sites. Shocking, I know. In this day and age, most people post every little thing going on, whether it was a piece of gossip or not. This was just another reason as to why it was so important to integrate with the locals and more specifically those in our own age group. And we obviously didn’t want to come across as socially awkward, sheltered, or just plain idiotic freaks, regardless of the fact that we were abominations and considered second rate citizens.

Geez Louise, if I had to put a number on it, we must have changed schools at least four times within this past year alone, so you can guess how well those two efforts of blending in and integrating with the locals had worked out for us.

However, since we used ASL, also known as American Sign Language, when we were all out in public together, we still stood out regardless. During the first month, after our escape, we noticed how much we attracted weird looks and murmurs when my friends would hold full on conversations with me without signing, so we decided to buckle down and learned and practiced ASL as quickly as we could with the help of Dialect— of course. We could have easily faked because most of the locals had either never or rarely seen anybody using sign language, let alone an unknown group of six teenagers. However, we didn’t want to risk being called out on the off chance we came across somebody who was actually deaf or knew how to sign fluently. If learning and using ASL wasn’t difficult enough, while we were out in public, it was just as difficult to convince strangers that I was not deaf, using the excuse of just being mute.

But those rumors! They never changed. Never! Rumors that I was faking it would spread, and ploys to prove I wasn’t mute would always eventually follow. While I obviously was, it wasn’t as if I could exactly explain why I didn’t talk without risking the exposure of myself and my unit in the process. Though we had learned to ignore the weird looks and rumors, I still couldn’t help feeling less than human with each blow from hearing directly or indirectly. These hurtful names and rumors didn’t just come from my “peers,” but from teachers as well. If you don’t mind, I rather not go into detail of both the rumors and actions.

Yet, there were times either or both would make me so frustrated that I almost wanted to send a sonic blast at them from just a whisper causing them to become temporarily or permanently deaf without care of the consequences. I never did, but there were a few times I came close. Luckily, I always had Feather, in most of my classes, to prevent me from ever doing so.

Then there was the importance of changing our names with each move, which was almost as equally frustrating because it could be difficult to remember, at first. One time I had heard the name I had used in a previous school and turned to the person saying the name and it would take me a few seconds to remember I no longer was going by that name. It was an honest mistake, but had the name been used by an undercover Grey-M operative, it would also prove to be fatal to myself and my unit.

You may be asking yourself, regardless of the importance of integration with the local normies and the false names as a way to protect ourself from being detected by anyone linked to Grey- M Industries, how did we manage to pay for everything? Especially with none of us having a job or an adult with us to pay for things. Well— we paid for everything in cash. From the new phones with ghost chips (to prevent anyone being able to track our whereabouts, in case Surge wasn’t around to put up an electric shield around all of us) and new phone numbers to the new identities we were given by drug dealers, who dealt in many other shady dealings. Not always the most safest people to trust, but it gotten us this far without being recaptured. And cash for a new contact that would help us when we would have to inevitably move again. Initially we had used the cash that Vapor had managed to steal from Grey-M Industries’ vault during our escape, but now we used cash we had stolen from various small-town banks along the way. Always going in the middle of the night to use our abilities to turn off the cameras and the alarms, silently slip in and out of the locked vault, and, on the rare occasion, erasing the memories of anyone in or around the bank. No guns. No hostages. No trace. What we did wasn’t morally right, but the consistent need to move every four to six months didn’t leave us much of a choice.

Then my mind unexpectedly drifted to the drilled in history, during my first five years at Grey-M industries. It was the last thing I wanted to pass through my thoughts and yet there it was, like a fly that you can neither swat away or kill. It was a history I had briefly mentioned to you earlier and oh how I wished again it would have stayed in the past instead of rehashing it. Grey-M Industries had convinced to the public in the early 1950s that anyone suspected or seen with any form of “unnatural” abilities were a danger to society, giving us the name “abominations,” a mistake in the natural order. A mistake not created by God, but by Satan himself. And if we were allowed to “populate,” regardless of the law passed in 1958, it was thought that it might lead to the end of the world as the normies knew it. During the first couple of decades, until the Grey-M scientists discovered each abomination received their abilities genetically, it was well believed by normies that any close contact of us would result in “normies” to be infected with whatever made us inhuman and cause carnage and destruction.

Us? Infect others with abilities we had no control over? What were we? Zombies, werewolves, or vampires? Hardly. And were we really a threat? If only the general public or “normies” knew that we simply wanted to be treated with respect and human decency. The true threat occurred behind closed doors in Grey-M Industries’s remote base of operations would prove the threat did not come from us but from the employees of the tyrannical company. They were the true monsters as they treated and trained us as if we were wild and savage dogs, each of us implanted with a tracking device in our necks. And when they felt we were sufficiently trained, we were forced to carry out missions that most governments didn’t want their soldiers to be associated with. Associations such as capturing or execute terrorists, politicians, or whoever else the government thought to be a threat, which occasionally included celebrities. If the general normie population were aware of these things, then maybe they wouldn’t see us as something less than human. While there were a few abominations, throughout the near seventy years since Marcus Grey had made his televised speech announcing our existence, who were incredibly angry with how we were treated by normies and vengeful because of it, that was hardly the point. There were plenty of normies in history who were more of a threat than any of us abominations. One in particular shared my birthday of April 20th and was the main reason for the start of World War II.

Regardless, most of us “abominations” developed our ability around the age of five or six and on the rare occasion at three years of age. And when we reached the age of thirty, if any of us survived to live to that age, were released and declared “retired” with the understanding that we would be carefully monitored through the tracking device implanted in our necks to insure we wouldn’t release any information of what Grey-M Industries really did and that any off-spring produced would become property of the company, when and if the child showed signs of developing “unnatural” abilities.

This unwarranted history reminder, only made my desire to be a normie or the hope that all of us “abominations,” not just my unit alone, would one day be free from Grey-M Industries and free to settle into a semi-normal life. That would only become a probability, if we had a concrete game plan in bringing down Grey-M Industries. A plan we didn’t have and therefore, again, was the reason we kept on moving. Though part of the plan, were we to have or a hint of one, would most likely require us to stop running and fight back. I know this may sound like very conflicting thought processes, but I guess one could call me a “wandering dreamer of contradictions.” Yet, if I really thought about it and as much as I did want to take down Grey-M Industries, how did we expect to do so when we didn’t have their resources? We were merely six teenagers with extraordinary superhuman abilities and despite our training and the atrocious things we had done with great success according to Grey-M Industries, they still had thousands of abominations, who knows how many operatives, and military grade weaponry on their side. If only we could convince those thousands of abominations to fight back with us without fear of the tracking devices in their neck or whatever else Grey-M Industries would do to them. If only… what an impossible task that would be. Almost as impossible as having my mom come back to life.

It’s not impossible, my sweet girl, I thought I heard my mom’s voice say in my mind.

I tightly closed my eyes as I tried to tell the voice to just go away and that I was totally losing it to think it was really her.

Radio, are you okay? Dialect thought to me from the seat behind me.

Damn it! I had thought I had fully closed the doors to my unit members, while I was trying to distract myself, but I guess I hadn’t. Normally I always kept everyone’s doors open, during my waking hours. It gave me a small sense of normalcy in an odd sort of way, if only with the people I cared about the most. I suppose I figured that if normies aren’t alone when they’re speaking aloud within earshot, then I could do the same with my telepathy.

I’m fine, Dialect, I thought to her without turning my head to look at her. I wasn’t fine, but she didn’t need to worry about it.

No, you’re not. But if you need a distraction, I suppose we could ask Blank and Vapor? Maybe they’ll finally tell us, Dialect thought, the last sentence being directed at the twins in a teasing and prying tone.

“Does it really matter?” Vapor said, not liking to be talked about instead of asking directly.

“We won’t be there for another five hours.”

“Please!!!” Dialect pleaded in her most innocent and child-like voice.

Just humor us, I said in a non-mocking tone.

“Eleverson, Pennsylvania,” Vapor said with a deep exhale of annoyance. “There’s a small two bedroom house there and partially surrounded by woods. Is that enough.”

Yes, thank you, I answered for both Dialect and myself.