Chapter Two: I Got Hit by a Plane

"We are a vibrant first-world country, but we have a humbling third-world memory." -Mary McAleese

The clothes picked out for me are a baggy orange t-shirt, white soccer shorts, stupid sneakers I hate the second I put them on and a loose blue hoody. I despise the color choice more than the sneakers. "I’m going to have a heat stroke before I leave the compound." I complain. I make sure to keep my hair over my ear to hide the headset. When the mission begins, I’ll be pulling my hair into a high ponytail, which shall happen after I’m free from Mr. C.’s sight.

"The nights are cold; you’ll draw attention without a jacket." Mr. C. says. He and I are the only ones awake, and I feel like a liar. I wonder if Mr. C. does, too. "See the clicker in your collar?" I feel around the neckline of my shirt. I feel a small little device with a protruding cylinder. I nod. "Are you ready?" I nod again. I have a map of California memorized. I know my routes, I know my mission, I know what has to be done. I know I can do it. "Alright. I’ll walk you out."

Out. Outside the compound. Outside the fence. I’m leaving. I’m finally leaving. He leads me to the grand doors next to his office and types in a fifteen digit code I’ve already memorized. He pushes open the doors, and I linger.

The first thing I notice is the freshness. The air is so much cleaner and easier to breathe. I eagerly inhale to get it into my system. The air isn't thick and stuffy like in the compound; this air is amazing. The wind is even better. I feel my first natural gust not caused by movement. The breeze floods into the building and the smell of the trees all around us. I can hear animals climbing up trees and digging. I see the early morning rays of sunlight shining on the dirt below me, hitting the tips of my shoes. I wonder what it’s like to dig your toes into the dirt, climb the green trees all around us and crush the leaves in your palm. Watch the pieces carry away in the wind.

"Miss Ashler, the gate exit is this way." Mr. C. says, snapping me back into reality. He walks down a trail, headed towards a spot in the forest surrounded by leafy branches, and I might cause the worst conflagration in history. I wonder if he’s purposely taking me through the densest part of the forest as some sort of test. As the number of branches and leaves increases, that becomes more and more probable. We start heading uphill, and if I turn around and peer through a breach in the heavy wall of leaves, I can see the compound resting in the valley. I can see my home, my birthplace. My team is there.

Still. I feel no real attachment to it.

The branches lessen and part, revealing a gate. I can hear the hum of electricity, and my eyes catch the barbed wire at the top.

Mr. C. enters in a new code, this time twice the length and pulls open one of the doors to the pristine chain link fence. "Good luck, Miss Ashler. I trust you shall complete your mission professionally and well. Anything you would like me to tell the others?" He asks, holding the gate open like a gentleman.

I contemplate his question for about a second. I shake my head and say to him, "No." Saying anything would only complicate it all. There’s a lot to be said about choosing to be silent. At least Cody will understand its metaphorical value. Maybe he’ll pass it on to Andrew, who, in turn, will pass it onto a probably chaotic Ty. Kelli will still not care.

"All right then, Miss Ashler. I shall now allow you to leave the premises. I would like to wish your success." He states.

"Thank you." I say, more out of habit than kindness. I take a deep breath and a single step forward.

I walk confidently out of the compound, now beginning to tie my hair in a high ponytail. I don’t look back, not at Ty or Andrew or Kelli or Cody, and not at the only place I’ve ever known.

Until I am clear of the trees and the national forest, I walk like a normal person. I walk a fifteen minute mile like humans-- it's painful to go this slow. It's really killing me-- carrying my jacket in my hands. The second I’m free of dirt trails and leaves covering the ground, I’m taking off my shoes and running.

I read the trail signs, and I can’t believe what’s happening. I left the compound. For the first time in what could be a forever, I’m on my own. And once I get out of the forest, that splendid, wonderful moment when I leave, there’s nothing holding me back. I’m going to run as fast as I can, let my temperature soar and fly into the cosmos. No roof to stop me, no scientists to restrict me.

I pick up my pace, unable to wait that long. I cut my mile time in less than half, going about twelve miles per hour. That quickly increases to fifteen by the time the sun has risen over the trees.

I race over the hills, following the directions on signs that point me towards different trails or ranger stations. I know I’m heading for the Emigrant Gap, which feeds into highway eighty. Said highway gives me direct access to the state’s capital.

One of my backup routes involves me going along highway twenty, passing through Nevada City. Ty, Andrew and I think they should have made Nevada City the capital of California just to confuse fifth graders trying to learn the state capitals. Kelli says that if that was so, nobody would like California.

Until then, I never knew Kelli cared about what other people thought, especially not humans. That was three years ago, now I know with absolute certainty that it’s true.

Once I exit the park and clear the thousand feet of more forests between highway twenty and Lincoln highway― which later translates to highway eighty― I reach the emigrant gap. Maybe the others are waking up now. It’s probably about eight o’clock in the morning, Andrew’s probably awake.

He probably assumes I’m training, the same way I always am. The same way I’ve been doing it for five years. I approach the side of the highway and take off my shoes the second I touch the asphalt. You know what? Off goes the jacket. I don't need it. Now’s my chance to see what I can really do. How fast can I really go? How far can I really fly? How strong am I really?

The highway is fairly empty, as is expected for a Saturday morning. I wonder if anyone thinks anything of an eighteen-year-old girl, who was actually born five years ago, standing barefoot on the shoulders of a highway. Not that they’ll see me for much longer.

I start my run, first beginning as a few bounds forward, going very slowly. I pick up my pace, the bounds getting quicker and my arms pumping. If I’m going to run in public, I have to go faster than the public can comprehend.

I go faster, which should require some strain. It does the exact opposite. My body is thrilled to be going faster. I drop my restraints, and I’m elated to sprint three times as fast as the cars around me.

No more gradually picking up my pace. I’m sprinting as fast as I can right now. I take a deep breath and pump my arms and legs with all my power.

The world around me begins to blur, as I pick up speed the blur begins to envelope all the objects around me. I start grinning at my speed, at the feeling of how right it is, and begin a victory laugh of some sort.

My heart beats proudly, my body happy to be going this fast, but not satisfied. I want to go faster. I look up at the sky, where a jet manages to beat the blurs. It’s ahead of me, and I can’t be going too much faster than it.

The race is on. I look forward, then back at the jet as I make myself go faster, each time filling me with more joy. I push myself to be faster, to always increase my pace. Surges of energy pulse through me, and every voice in my head is overwhelmingly, unbelievably exhilarated. I glance back up at the jet, now falling behind me. A cheer erupts from my mouth as I continue to race down the highway.

Faster, faster, faster. I’m never going fast enough. With each second, my rate increases and each time that happens, I feel more and more alive. I never want to stop running or slow down. I want to keep getting faster and eventually pass the speed of light. In this moment, I feel that I can.

I look down at myself for a moment, greeted by a glowing orange-yellow blur. I can barely point out my feet when they hit the ground. If I look over my shoulder, I can see remnants of the glow I’m leaving. I’m a blur to the cars all around me. I want to be more than a blur; I want to be invisible to a human’s eye. I want to go so fast that their eyes can’t even detect my motion.

Everything inside me agrees. Every flame that makes up my body is ready to go faster. I have to put in effort to increase my pace this time, and it’s worth it. Despite losing some of the comfort of ease, I gain a delighted sense of success as the glow and blur that I’ve become begin to fade.

I’m exultant, I’m beyond words. I’m happy to the point of tears, grinning so wide that my face actually hurts. I’m not tired, I’m not out of breath, I’m who I’ve always meant to be. I’ve never run this fast before, I’m going to enjoy getting used to this pace and setting the bar even higher.

I once believed freedom was just an idea people used to justify their rebellious and sometimes insane actions, that it was an idea never to be reached in life. I now know that freedom is the only concept I find appropriate to call this feeling, and I understand why people are willing to start wars and die for it. If I could live in this feeling for eternity, I’d never stop smiling, and I’d never wish for anything more.

I can hear the asphalt sizzling for the brief fraction of a second my feet hit the ground. I don’t think it’s safe for anything to be within fifteen feet of me right now. I have no desire to slow down, nor the will to. I don’t want to slow down, not for the life in me.

I have no idea what my speed actually is, and I couldn’t care less. All I know is that I’m still not going fast enough to satisfy the strongest fire inside me, the flames that reside in my heart. Those flames are insisting I take my speed airborne, where I can blast fire from the palms of my hands to involve all my limbs in my speed.

I take a long bound with my right foot forward and send flames from the bottom of my left foot. The second I’m in the air, flames shoot from my right foot. I hold my arms to my sides, palms facing the ground, and blast fire from both hands. I hear a sort of boom as the winds around me are suddenly at hurricane speed. Did I just break the sound barrier? Am I really going at Mach One speed?

If I am, I’m never slowing down! This is incredible! My speed and height increase, and I look down as the ground sinks. I lean forward until I’m almost with my stomach to the ground and shoot forward, all my energy put into the speed of going straight ahead.

I’m laughing, unable to contain the jubilant feelings taking over me. I start cheering, now with a desire to test what I can do. I start to rotate to the right, spinning clockwise and corkscrewing through the air, and I pity anyone who gets motion sick and can’t experience this, not even on roller coasters. Actually, I pity everyone who won’t feel the way I feel right now. I pity evolution for not naturally giving humans traits like this. I want to grab everyone and make them experience this.

I stop my spins and arch myself backwards. I go straight up for a moment before doing a backflip with a small diameter. This time, I shoot up, then start to slowly turn. I take my time to curve backwards, slowing down enough to watch the world spin. I stop spinning once my stomach is facing the ground and blast forward.

I need to go higher. I’m maybe a hundred feet above the ground now. I can go faster than the jets, I just need to go as high as them. I pick my head up and put my energy towards ascending, glad today’s weather consists of sunny, clear skies.

Will the thin atmosphere have any effect on me? Oxygen is the one thing I rely on constantly. I should be fine, planes can catch fire, even at the height of their trip. I look down, seeing the highway and the cars getting smaller beneath me.

I pull my head up at the sky around me, still not content with the height. I want to go higher and faster. Maybe I’ll never be content or satisfied, and I’ll have to fly at the speed of sound for the rest of my life.

That might be some people’s damnation in hell, yet here I am, living the American dream. Free, flying, fast and on my own. Nothing like sweet independence and solo missions to completely clear your head of the existence of others.

Because if you asked me what the population is right now, I would say that it’s just me.

Let’s fall.

That thought comes out of nowhere, and I agree with it. I look down at the ground, as I now soar at least five thousand feet over the ground, and decide I have to go higher. When I’ve tripled my speed, I’ll drop.

It does become more difficult. The air thins, and for the first time in my life, I’m uncomfortable. My first instinct is to return to where I feel better, which is quickly rejected by my inner desires of going higher.

At around fifteen hundred feet, I let myself hover in the air over the highway. I look down at the cars, hardly visible, and without thinking another word, retract the flames keeping me in the air.

I drop immediately, falling with my arms and legs outstretched. The wind whips at me, sounding like thunder, threatening to rip my skin and hair away while also making my body feel hollow. A loud cheer escapes my lips and follows me down.

The earth comes rushing at me, and all I can do is try to process the overflow of positive emotions. I can't help the manic laughter as I plummet. I linger onto my giggles, holding them until I’ve lost all sense of myself.

   I've never been so elated. I've never felt so free in mind and soul and body and heart. I could live and die in this moment without a single regret. This is everything.

I should be fearing for my life. But I’m not. In this moment, I’m silent, and the world is silent, and my mind is blank except for the thrill telling me that I’m not grinning enough. All I can process is that this is living, and I’m alive.

When the earth is less than my height away from me, I shoot fire from my feet, propelling me forward, just four feet from the ground. I blast flames out of the palms of my hands and guide myself into the air.

I cheer again, corkscrewing, back flipping and celebrating for no apparent reason.

No, I know what I’m celebrating. I’m celebrating the day I take the restraints off. I don’t even bother making myself look human. My most basic restraints keep the flames in the colors of a human. Basically, the fair skin tone, the blonde hair, the whites in my eyes. I let go of that, and flames reveal themselves. Now, people can see what I really am. Flames in the form of a human girl.

And I’m happy to be just that.

Up ahead, I can see buildings approaching. Sacramento? Am I there already? I feel like I just started running. I don’t think anyone at the compound even had time to go to the bathroom in the time it took me to travel. If Andrew poured himself a bowl of cereal when I first started running, he’s probably still eating it. Then again, Andrew’s one of those people who like to go very slowly and savor it just to torture you when you finish and look at their plate, practically still full. It’s the only real thing I hate about him.

I move up higher into the sky. If it’s Sacramento, I’ll see several rivers fusing. Then again, if it’s Sacramento, I’ll also be at the risk of being struck by an airplane. The Sacramento Airport used to be international and proudly so, but with complete war on our heels, all flights are domestic, no exceptions. At least then, if I crash into an airplane, the entire world won’t know of our secret weapon. Although ideally, no one knows.

I can see the rivers, four of them to be exact, meeting to form a small line. This has got to be Sacramento. Which, unfortunately, means I have to stop.

The shortest distance to an area is a straight line. I let go, and fall straight towards the ground, trying to remember every part of it. The instant thrill it gives me, the way it wipes my mind clear of everything.

Everything… except the asinine idea to just let me hit the ground. If I put my force into my landing, then I can shake the earth. If I let gravity do its thing, then hopefully, I hit the ground and just make a small divot like a normal person.

I come racing into the ground, and saying I cause a divot is sugar coating it. I dig deep underneath the ground, creating a rather large pothole. Perhaps, if any part of me was still human, I’d be dead, or at least horrible agony. Instead, I don’t feel any pain.

The only purpose of pain is the body’s way of letting you know that what you’re doing is harmful. The pain discourages you from wanting to continue the activity. Without pain and without being hurt, I could press a gun to my chest and pull the trigger and wouldn’t bleed a drop or feel anything close to pain.

I pull myself out of the rubble, my basic restraints back on, making me look human and keep my temperature around two hundred degrees. I’m laughing as I climb out of the hole I made, so unbelievably content and satisfied with being me. Nothing can touch me!

I’m not like anyone else in the world. And I never will be. There will never be anyone like me. All humans are different, but they’re all very similar. The only real differences are how they think and look.

I start walking towards the capital of California. I’m looking for a storage unit off of Capital City Freeway and old train tracks. It’s a little ways southwest of where I’ll be crossing the American River.

People stare, which I’m not too used to. I thought they considered staring rude. I can't say I blame them. Of course they'd stare at someone as gorgeous as me. That's their problem.

   I let my hair fall in my face, keeping my eyes towards the ground to hide the glowing orange. I'm still ravishing, even in hiding. I feel bad for hiding my beauty from the public.

I cross through the city, passing a huge hotel with plenty of guests. Luckily, many of them are wearing summer clothing. If it’s not summer, then it at least feels like it. I’ve learned to rely on others for the temperature.

There’s another park up ahead. Called Riverfront Park, I have no intention of walking through it. Cody and Andrew would love Sacramento. I can see a waterpark to my left, and the thought of all that water makes my stomach curl. I think Ty would love the huge state fair happening practically next to me, and I make a mental note to kill whoever planned my route. I have to go run through the park using the highway, sprinting as fast as I can to minimize the amount of eyes on me and the time.

    The time. Surely, everyone is awake by now. And surely, at least one of them is starting to wonder where I am. It’s almost time they embark on their mission.  I wonder if Mr. C. noticed that one of his headsets is missing, and I hope Cody noticed the one I left for him.

When I pass through the park, I keep sprinting. I sprint across the bridge over the river, beyond eager to get away from the water. The highway meets an old railroad, and I stick to the railroad going relatively straight. The highway draws attention. The road I’m taking is old and abandoned.

Want to hear a fun fact? Old railroads have wood. And unbelievably: wood is extremely flammable. Surrounding the train tracks, you might ask? Trees and grass. I would kick a trash can to the moon if one was nearby.

On my incredible journey of self-discovery, I learn a new way to describe myself: short tempered and easily aggravated.

    Considering that the wood is barely a foot apart from each other, I’m not going to risk running. I can’t fly, because the enemies I’m supposed to take down would see me coming. I could try to run between the two tracks, which is risky, but the only real choice I have.

      I step onto the gravel, carefully, and begin my sprint. The railroad is long and curves around an oval of dying grass to my right and a residential neighborhood to my left. Not exactly the place to battle people who desire to start a war.

      As I near the storage facility, I start thinking about what to do. The building is mostly three stories tall with a few areas that rest in two stories. It’s a large building, the length easily twice the size of the width. There are few windows, and small ones at that. It’s built to endure earthquakes, not fire. With all the lockers full of items, it’s guaranteed to go up in flames quickly without much intention.

      I slow down before I’m thirty feet of the building to properly come up with a main plan and a backup plan. I’ll try to slip in and catch them by surprise. I’ll ask questions first and offer mercy. If they refuse, I’ll resort to force. If, for some reason, they were expecting me and open fire immediately, no questions. If they have hostages, I do what it takes to protect them, and wait for my opportunity to strike. In case of some sort of coincidence, like an earthquake or a helicopter crashing into the building, I protect the lives of the innocent and use it against the group.

      I’ve got my plans. I’m ready to go fight. I jump over the wooden beams at the bottom of the tracks and skid down the hill leading to the facility. I jog to the metal fence in the back, two gates locked. I don’t bother melting the lock and simply jump over the seven foot fence.

      I head to my left, for the nearest entrance. I put enough force into the door to rip apart the lock I assumed would be there. The second I take a step in, I can hear several heartbeats. Coming from above me, they’re completely average.

      I step into the long hallway. From the information I was given, this facility was left abandoned about a year ago. Seems right for the taking to anyone looking for a hide out. On my right, there’s a staircase leading up. Up to where armed gunmen will try to murder me.

      I chuckle at the optimism in my thoughts.

      I look up and curse under my breath. There’s a sprinkler system in place. I’m going to have to be extremely careful. If I burn the building, I’m going to die. Everything I do must be done with caution.

      No, I have no do more than just "be careful". I have to turn off the water. Maybe I can cut the power at the same time. I can see in the dark. Can they? Plus, it might lure one of them out to check and see what’s up with the power.

      I would guess that the power room is somewhere in the main office. I don’t see any room specifically marked as a maintenance room. At the other end of the hallway, there’s the front desk with a large closet behind it with a sign reading, "Employees Only".

      I step towards the door and pull it open, busting a lock in the process. Inside, I face another, smaller hallway with three doors. There’s a bathroom, a janitorial unit room and a power room. Perfect.

      I step into the room once I rip the door open, entering a room of circuit breakers, valves, switches, knobs, lights furnaces, A.C. units, what should be a water heater and electrical wires. No, it can’t be a water heater. Why bother with heated water when there only need for water is in the latrine and sprinklers?

      My first instinct is to mess with everything and see what it does. I’m hoping one of the valves shuts off the water. The first thought that pops in my head directly after that thought is, "I hope no one’s in the bathroom."

      Here I am, tasked with avoiding nuclear war, and I hope that terrorist feces are able to be flushed and hands are able to be washed.

      I obviously have my priorities in the right order.

      I pull my head back into focus. Alright, so in front of me, there’s this huge water heater. Should I just rip it out of the pipes it’s connected to? If I knew this is the kind of thing I’d be facing, I’d spend last night learning about sprinkler systems.

      Above what I initially thought was a water heater, there are several brass pipes. One has a blue valve about the size of my palm. That seems like a good place to start. If I’m wrong, I won’t make a huge impact. I think. The water won’t leave the tank, right? I don’t know, they never taught us anything even related to this.

     I’m going to mess with the valve. That should have some sort of effect on the building. After I do that, I’m disconnecting the pipes. My guess is that this tank of water will supply the sprinkler system with water, and if there’s no way for said water to leave the tank, there’s no way it can rain down on me.

    I turn the valve. I have to turn it quickly, watching the material melt underneath my hands. No turning back now. I turn it until the valve has started dripping on the ground. I yank my feet back to avoid contact with the substance.

      

      I back out of the room and decide to exit the building. I’m not taking risks with hydrogen peroxide. I stand outside of the storage building and sigh. I thought I'd be fighting and burning stuff. Apparently not. Apparently I get to take very mundane job.

    I back away, trying to think of a new plan. Maybe I could go on the roof and break it? Or shoot it up from here? I continue to back up, and I--

My foot hits something unusual. Is is plastic? I look down, at three small panels in the ground. I knit my eyebrows. Can I disable the water from here? I glance at the building, then back down. I have nothing to lose. After pulling two of the three up, I find a small red valve. I eagerly turn it, feeling the valve melt in my hands.

     I hear the sound of water building up. I think I did it! Now I can burn the world without getting wet. I walk back into the building, pent up frustration serving as energy.

      I storm down the hallway and practically go through the doors to reach the electrical units. I don’t bother being mature or resilient. I grab a fistful of wires from the wall and rip them out. I do this until the lights drop off. Once the rooms drop into darkness, I hurry out the room. I’ve lost precious time on the stupid water issue. I have to make it up.

      I drop my jacket and trek up the stairs. Stepping out and looking down the hallway, there are several broken light fixtures and bullet holes in the walls. There’s actually a large blood stain where the wall meets the floor near the door on my left. These aren’t the kind of people you want to have a picnic lunch with.

      To be fair, I can’t be high on that list, either.

      The heartbeats are coming from a room on my right, fifteen doors down. There are eight people. If I try to silence my walking and thoughts, I can catch their words. In another language, we trained for this. I can identify sentences about dates. The seventeenth of August, three days later, and a week after that are spoken frequently. They mention something about "The Boss" in "the city".

      Anyone from the Bay Area would identify "the city" as San Francisco. But these people aren’t from the Bay Area, and if they are, they’ve been undercover for years. They could mean any number of cities. Los Angeles, San Diego, San Jose, not  Fresno, perhaps Bakersfield or Long Beach?

      I’m two doors from the terrorists when I hear an eighth heartbeat approaching quickly up the stairs from across the hallway. I whip my head around to see a man close to twice my age. He has a handkerchief hanging around his neck and a beanie covering his head. Both extremely flammable. He yells at me in his language to leave. I kind of just chuckle and roll my eyes. I fold my arms across my chest, smile and shake my head.

      He’s confused for a moment, caught off guard, then snaps back to action. He picks his gun up and aims at my face. He threatens me again, swearing to blow my head off if I don’t exit the building immediately.

      I sigh and try to explain the situation. "Unless you enjoy getting your butt kicked by a blonde teenager, I suggest you surrender." I tell him.

      He’s definitely lost. He even takes a step back. His gun is still pointed at me, and he’s still a dangerous criminal. He starts counting down.

      "Ten whole seconds?" I ask. "How generous. Such a gentleman!" I believe the word for me is "smart a*s". Or annoying.

      He’s out to kill. He’s armed, a threat to the public and a possible war instigator. He clearly has no intention of peace or mercy. That deems him deserving of a beating and possibly embarrassment.

      I run straight at him and, feet in front of him, I jump forward. I tilt my body sideways so that I face the wall on my left and my right foot is outstretched, left leg bent. My foot hits him right in the gut, launching him into the wall just above the staircase. I know that sounds harsh, and it isn’t as gruesome as you think it’d be. The wall he hit was closer than the other one, only about ten feet away. Once he fell from the wall, he didn’t tumble down the stairs. He landed on the break stairs have to change direction. The impact is deep, he’s certainly broken a few bones. But I didn’t use enough force to kill him. He’ll be all right.

      Six men flee from the room― one must be in the room― and I can hear them shouting and cocking their guns. I take my time to turn around, facing six similar looking men. All of them have guns aimed at me. They take steps towards me, barking orders at each other. They plan to shoot me. I can’t say I’m surprised they aren’t approaching me with guns to take selfies for their social media sites. I can only imagine the title: "Our facility was broken into by some random hot chick! LOL!"

      Here’s the thing about being shot: when I’m in my condensed form, it’s like when a human gets shot, nix the pain and the blood and the dying. In my natural form, the bullets go right through me. Now, if I were to be in my natural form, the heat and power would kill them almost instantly. I’m going to try avoiding the bullets, because having lead melting in your heart isn’t the most pleasant of feelings.

      From the second I stopped running until this moment, I’ve felt numb and dull. I know what I can do, and I’m eager― no, I’m more than eager, I’m dying― to see what else the compound has forced me to restrain and hide.      

      This moment being the second the man on the left pulls the trigger.

      The bullet flies from the chamber, coming right at my chest. I take a step to my left as the other five open fire― pun intended.

      They generally aim for my chest and head, as they’re the most vulnerable and important part of the body. When your head is nearly six and a half feet from the ground, ducking isn’t as effective as you hoped it’d be. I let the life drain from my legs, dropping quickly. It isn’t quick enough. A bullet nicks the top of my forehead, barely making my head recoil.

      I don’t know if the bullet got through the masquerade of skin. I don’t think so, because they show no change in expression. I push the strength back in my legs, catching myself in a squatting position. They lower their aim to my new height, allowing me to spring up, leaning backwards. The force I use to stand is enough to give me more. My feet leave the ground as I turn, my head going towards the ground. I stretch my hands straight out, pressing my palms into the ground. With my back to the gunmen, I throw my legs forward, spinning my body around. The second my feet hit the ground, I’m on the attack.

      I twist my upper body to my right, holding my wrists over my shoulders, fire building between my hands. I straighten my arms in front of my right hip and swing my left hand across my body in one fluid motion. As I move my hand and untwist my body, fire flies from my left like a blade or a phoenix’s wing. The movement sends fire to strike the chest of each of the men, similar to the way you fling something off your hand.

      There’s the panic I anticipated. Their heart rates increase, and as they fan the flames, I rush up to them in an instant-long sprint. Careful to keep my restraints on, I rush at the man in the middle, who first opened fire. I pull back my left fist and hook him across the face, sending him backwards and to my right. I peer over my left shoulder and throw my left foot at the man second from the left. He flies into the man next to him, leaving just the man on the far right.

      The barrel of his gun is pressed against my right temples and fires, making me stagger back a bit. The bullet goes through my skull, and leaves a hole in my head. It doesn’t feel good, I’ll give you that much. In fact, it’s the closest I can get to pain without blaming water. I’ve been shot at a distance like this hundreds of times before in training. They’d sit me down in a chair and put a gun on the middle of my forehead and fire round after round of bullets into my head for hours on end. It doesn’t kill me, it never has. It always makes me cringe and for a moment, paralyzes me. It’s uncomfortable and aches.

      Before the man can shoot me again, I duck until my hands are pressed on the ground. I bring my leg around, roundhouse kicking him to sweep his legs. He hits the ground, the air leaving his body. I snatch the gun out of his hands, and as it melts, I snap it in half. I toss the parts over my shoulder and proceed to the room to find the final man.

      I walk through the metal door that opens vertically on all the storage facilities. The metal melts around me, giving way the second I get within a foot of it. Inside the room, I see impressive computers and boxes full of weapons. The man stands in front of the largest computer, leaning over the keyboard. I don’t think he’s heard me. If he has, he’s too busy focusing on the monitor. How is it running? I cut the power. My answer lies to the left, where a generator sits.

      There’s a large map of the country, several major cities marked with large blue dots. In California, there are seven blue dots, one on Sacramento, another on San Francisco and― Sacramento just started flashing yellow. There’s a flashing red dot coming from central California, coming for Sacramento.

      The man starts laughing. I don’t need to think. I grab the man’s collar and let him feel the heat. "What did you do?" I demand.

      "In ninety seconds, this is all going to blow up." He says.                     

      He’s firing missiles from here! He just launched one at Sacramento, and I have a minute and a half to stop it! Clenching my hands into fists, I turn and throw the man out the window. I spin to face the monitor and kick it as hard as I can, shattering it and flinging it into the wall behind. I storm to my left and stomp on the generator and break it, before kneeling down. I hold still and let power grow in my legs, ducking closer to the ground. I wait for the fire to be intensely packed in my legs before straightening up and blasting through the roof. I meant to go with my arms out, so I’d break the roof with my fists. I went faster than I realized I would and before I know it, I’m hundreds of feet in the air.

      They would aim for the government buildings, not the outskirts of town where we are. I don’t care if I’m seen. I can’t let this city get nuked. I rocket over the river and towards the downtown area.

      Okay, time to come up with a plan.

      To cause any damage, the missile has to actually explode. To do so, it must make contact with something. Fortunately, because of the San Andreas fault, the buildings are short and sturdy. The nuke will probably have to hit the ground, I don’t have to worry about it crashing into a huge building. That also means it has to be lower to the ground, and that could be a danger to the public. I at least don’t have to worry about skyscrapers falling and people jumping to the ground from lethal heights.

      There are more than half a million people in Sacramento. All of them have families, and all of them could be obliterated if I’m not successful.

      From where I hover, about a hundred feet over the capitol building, people are bound to start noticing me. Oh, well. I face southeast, where the missile should be coming from. I can’t wait for the missile to come to me. It’ll be too close to the ground and the momentum and force will continue, even after contact. I need to be far away from all buildings and people.

      I rocket in that direction, where I can see the missile coming. This missile probably has a flight system and can avoid me if I come straight at it. I need to come at it from the side and catch it immediately, absorbing the power. Here’s the problem: I’m strongest and fastest in my natural form, which doesn’t allow me to make contact with anything. I have to stay condensed in order to actually catch this thing.

      I’ve got a challenge. The missile is going fast. I have to be faster, so faster, that it can’t steer out of the way. Failure is… failure is unthinkable. I can do this. I can.     

      I move to the side of the missile’s path, standing on the edge of a building. In exactly seven point two seconds, I’m launching.

      The missile shoots forward like a rocket, leaving a trail of smoke and flames behind it. The power stores in my legs and arms, where I desperately need it. I watch the nuke come closer, feeling my body charge like a bolt of lightning. This is like tackling someone of Andrew’s strength and my speed. I can do it. I’ve been training my whole life for things like this. Mr. C. assigned me and me alone this mission because he knows I can do it. He wouldn’t send me out here to die.

      I start to back up, less than two seconds until I have to throw myself at one of the most dangerous weapons.

      I start sprinting, reaching the little ledge at the edge of the roof. I throw my right foot forward onto the ledge, propelling the rest of my body forward. In the air, fire explodes from my feet, sending me on a collision course with the missile. I at first keep my arms at my side for speed. I now bring them out in front of me, ready to catch this thing.

      The missile is huge, at least three times my height. It’s wider than I am, as well. I still think I can get my arms around it, I know I can. We both fly forward, approaching each other at rapid speeds. I condense myself as tightly as I can possibly manage, bracing for impact.

      They used to make me absorb something the size, force and weight of an airplane. This is no different. They prepared me for situations like this.

      The head of the missile comes into my path, and I lock my arms around it. I hold as tightly as I can shifting all my power between my arms and legs. I have to get this out of its path and destroy it.

      They use missiles to destroy missiles. Maybe the voice in my head figured that out and was trying to tell me how to get rid of it. Maybe. Probably not.

      I feel my fingers touch and lock myself around the missile, now putting all the strength I have into my legs to pull the missile out of course. The missile continues to soar forward, starting to arch towards the ground. I have to get this away now.

      I start to feel the missile go to the right, the direction I’m steering it in. Flames burst from my feet stronger and more furiously than they ever have before. I clench my teeth together, struggling to be as strong as I can in my condensed form. I feel the metal underneath my arms starting to melt, starting to give way and bend. I am stronger. I am more powerful. If we’re both rockets, I am the better and bigger one with more fuel. I came at the missile at an upward angle, I now start nearing the ground, the missile still at risk of explosion.

      I lean to my right, spinning to get my back facing the ground and missile facing the sky. I’m going to have to try something either brilliant or stupid. My right foot is stronger, I need that to keep the missile from going forward. I need my left foot to land without everything exploding, including myself. The missile is still a projectile, it’s still dangerous.

      All the flames going from my left start shooting out of my right, and balance is impossible. I have to eliminate the missile’s rocket. I could destroy the engine, or simply destroy it. That seems easier. I grip the missile tightly, pulling my arms towards myself, bending and crunching the metal. I pull back my left foot and let energy store for a moment. I pull my body back to scrape every ounce of force that I can. I’m ending this now. I can’t be that far from the ground. Any further delays and there’s going to be a serious problem.

      Fire launches from my heel, firing my foot into the missile. My grip on the missile is tested, but I don’t budge, I don’t loosen up. I hold on , even though the force of my kick tries to spin us upside down.

      Energy cannot simply escape or disappear from a reaction. The kick’s energy forces the missile to break, separating into two pieces. The break is below where my arms cling to the missile, the rest of it flying up and to my left. The second the missile is out of power, the power I’ve been exerting on the missile is exerted on me. With the top in my arms, I crash into the middle of a road with neck-breaking, heart-stopping and world-ending power I was forbidden to use at the compound. My back hits first, demolishing the asphalt. I make a huge hole in the ground that continues in length as I skid back, the shock wave of the initial impact strong and threatening. I tear through the ground like nothing, creating a large crater in the road. I hit a car, flipping it forward and far. I pray no one was in there. The momentum that launched me is still resonating, still strong and fast. I can hardly see where I first hit the ground, much less the lower half of the missile.

      I need to stop and get hold of that other piece. I unhook my dominant left arm and hold it behind me to catch my fall. I skid to a stop, still enough force to carry around into a turn, until my left hand is in front of me, I’m facing my right and head tilted towards the weapon. I put the top half down, ignoring the citizens around me. I don’t need any restraints as I chase after the bottom half. I’ll only need to condense to grab the missile.

      I scatter onto my feet, taking off my restraints immediately. I hear gasps all around me as my skin is overtaken by flames. I put one foot in front of me, pulling the other back to prepare for takeoff.

      I blast into the sky, hearing the sound barrier break. I’m now travelling at Mach one, which is normal for me. I try to immediately throw energy into my feet, and it takes longer than I had hoped. Conjuring up the energy is more difficult than previously anticipated, but I do get hold of the energy I need.

      Already going supersonic, I see the world turn to blurry sights as the sound of the wind distorting around me picks up in pitch and tempo. Is this what Mach two is like? Pure speed, reduced friction, like there’s nothing to stop me. The mop of fire that normally resembles hair somehow clings to my head, even though it feels like the winds should force a decent layer of flames off my body.

      I can see the missile starting to hurdle towards the earth. I keep my arms at my sides, hands facing behind me. Powerful bursts of energy flow through my arms, launching me at a speed I’ve never imagined before. I can barely make out any colors around me as I focus on the missile. I never thought that in a serious and intense moment, I would feel so elated and free. Every neuron in my brain is firing, the pain centers nonexistent. Dopamine runs rapid in my mind,  screaming energy, focus and freedom. Every part of my body is begging me to go faster, to never stop. This is good. This is what I need to feel all the time. I angle towards the ground, planning to catch it twenty-three feet from the ground. I try to go faster, and then my heart starts to beat unnaturally.

      The restraints go back on without me doing it, my speed drops to below the speed of sound. What is this? I try to remove the restraints, and it’s as if they’re locked in place. What the hell? I don’t have time to have my restraints on!

      The hardest thing I’ve done all day is when I reach into my core for energy, cracking open the supposedly unbreakable dam to get energy to pour in streams to my arms and legs. I feel like I’m lifting the world when I lift the restraints, pulling open the gates for a dragon to come out. The speed instantly increases, only there’s no rush of dopamine. In fact, it hurts. My heart hurts, my body is begging me to put the restraints back on.

      The pain in my chest grows with each beat, and for one of the few times in my life, pain receptors are going off in my brain. Why? There’s no water, California isn’t humid. I’m not in high atmosphere, my lungs are fully functional. Am I dying? Did something happen?

      I don’t have time for this! There’s a missile heading for the ground, and I have three seconds to catch it before it hits the ground. Sorry, body. We’re going to have to feel some pain. In a surge of the last energy I can feel in me, I blast to where I’m going to meet the missile. The pain pulsating in my chest is quickly growing, and I press my teeth together as hard as I can to avoid screaming. I think this is what being shot should feel like. Like someone wrapped their hand around my heart and squeezed until it burst.

      I throw my restraints on as I crash towards the earth, my arms out to catch the missile.

      Without the power coming from either of us, I simply spin to let my back hit the ground first. With all the pain in my chest, I hardly notice the aftermath of going Mach three. I crash through the road, through the cars and even through a building. I hold the missile, this the much larger part, in front of my head, blocking my vision. I finally stop flying through asphalt, cement, metal and brick when I land in the middle of a crowded street.

      I would typically say something among the lines of, "So much for staying hidden", but the pain in my chest is overwhelming. I can hardly focus on anything. I could tolerate just lying here in the rubble of a destroyed street for hours, perhaps this is what people feel when they need to go to sleep. I’m not going to, though. I have several other jobs to do. I only just completed one. I push the missile of me, and I try to ignore the shocked sounds people make when they see a young adult lying on the ground, smoke billowing from me like crazy. I force myself to stand, despite the agony that tries to keep me down.

      On shaking, thin legs, I stand, holding my head up. There’s a crowd. Of course.

      Maybe I can use this to my advantage. "Get everyone out of this city." I announce loudly. "It’s not safe." I hear people start talking to the person next to them, and they stay in place. "I’m not kidding. You could all die if you stay. Please, save your lives."

      I need to leave before more people see me or someone whips a camera out. I take a leap strong enough to further dent the ground and cause a shock wave which, fortunately, keeps the humans to see where I’m going.

      I land on a roof a little ways away, nearly breaking a hole in the roof. I allow myself to sit down, although it’s more for the sake of hiding than rest.

      I start panting, a strange sensation I’ve never experienced before. I don’t get it. I’m breathing, so why does it feel like I’m not? Did I break? Is there some sort of limit I wasn’t told about? Did I pass that limit and break?

      Screams from my left draw my attention. I face behind the capitol building, where several choppers are approaching. I can point out armed men leaning out the opening with machine guns, firing at will.

      Of course. These terrorists are organized and powerful. They can do more damage. They, at least for the moment, can’t fire missiles. But they can call on the telephone. They can get into cars and shoot.

      I want to tell Cody that I’ll be right back. I should, and I would, if I had any energy to spare. This shouldn’t be too hard. I just have to punch some choppers, break some guns and throw people. Easy.

      Well, easy anytime except now. If I use less energy and keep my restraints up, I should still be able to fight them. It’ll just be more difficult.

      I jump over the edge of the building, sprinting the second my feet touch the ground. I jump over the cars and weave around the people to reach the capitol building, which is terribly close. The choppers are coming lower to the ground at faster speeds, the men hanging over the edge pulling in. They aren’t going to crash the choppers into the building, are they?

      One of them is.

      I dig deep for my last bit of energy and sprint around the grass lawn to the other side of the building, where a chopper is heading straight for. I take a few steps back and jump, taking me a good fifty yards forward and forty yards up. Going directly at the chopper, I let the skin around my hands get overtaken in flames. I curl my left hand in a fist and pull it back. I need to destroy this thing the second we make contact.

      When the moment comes, I slam my fist in a downward motion to shatter the glass and force the chopper down into the grass. It disappoints me by not getting destroyed in a triumphant explosion, but the crash is sufficient. I make a note to be careful not to touch the grass, or else the whole yard’s going to erupt in fire.

      I land on the concrete, running at the next few choppers, these ones firing on civilians. I need to get them to seize fire. "Hey!" I shout, waving my arms around. "Hey! I’m the one who downed your missile!"

      That sure gets their attention.

      I dive to the right to avoid being peppered with bullets, catching one in my leg. I stand on one knee, fireballs forming in my hands. As they shoot me repeatedly, striking me in the head and chest with fatal accuracy, I let the fireballs grow until they almost beat me in height. I stand, pull my arms back at launch, first the one in my right at the chopper with the best accuracy. I turn to send another at the one closest to me. That served more as a distraction than a death blow. I take a few bounds forward and jump for the one on my right, successfully jumping ninety or so feet in the air. I grab onto the top of the chopper to slide into the opening, kicking the armed gunman out as I do. I reach for the pilot first, ripping him out of his seat and leaning forward to steer the chopper. I elbow the copilot, giving me full control. I aim the chopper straight down, driving us nose down. I back away and jump from the chopper before it hits the ground and this time, explodes.

      The one on my left is practically over my head, a mistake they will regret. I jump straight up, wrap my hand around the landing gear and throw it towards the ground. Fire shoots from my feet, keeping me in the air. There are two left, and they’re firing everything they’ve got at me. I go at the one closest to me, grabbing it by the back, near the second propeller. I swing it around, straining my arms and chest by all the energy it takes and release, hurling it at the fourth and final helicopter.

      Am I done yet? God forbid it. The second I stop hearing the propeller blades of helicopters, I hear the roar of fighter jets. I used to say I liked a challenge. Now, I don’t honestly think I can say that. I’ve been peppered with bullets, I have no energy, and there are three fighter jets approaching.

      I shoot straight up, preparing myself for the thinning air, the last thing I need. I break the comfort zone, and my energy starts waning. If the altitude becomes too great and the atmosphere too thin, I suffocate and die. Within seconds. All my flames go out and there’s nothing left. The less oxygen there is, the less power I have. There is no positive outcome. I struggle to keep going up, all of today’s circumstances weighing me down.

      One of the jets passes underneath me as I ascend, and I immediately stop my flight. I start falling slowly, keeping my gaze firmly locked on the jet. If I―

      The second plane rams right into my left side, ripping a hole in my fiery body. I can’t even comprehend what’s happening as I go bombing towards the ground at speeds only matched by missiles. As the hole in my side heals at the intake of oxygen, I try to stop my fall from tens of thousands of feet.

      The flames refuse to shoot from my arms or legs. I don’t have enough fire in me. The only fire I have to spare must be patching my injury. How am I going to reach the jets? They don’t need to come down lower. They can destroy all of California from that high without blinking.

      If Ty was here, he’d handle the jets. Andrew could have handled the helicopters. Kelli could have pulled the missile into the shadows. Cody could have done… something. The only thing they’d need me for is to stand in front and take the bullets.

      But they’re not here. I have to do the work of five.

      Since the jet hit me, I’ve been spinning, switching between my back, stomach, head and feet being closest to the ground. I pray for my feet to hit the ground. I can easily land this. I’ll be fine on my back, my stomach will be worse than my back and my head will trigger pain. Actual pain. We never did things like this in training. Never.

      The ground beneath me is asphalt. How do I know this? Because I land face-first. I land face-first, and my body curves backward into the air until my feet loom over my head like a scorpion. I demolish the road beneath me, annihilating everything in my path like ballistic dynamite. All I can register is the pain that starts in my heart and quickly jumps to my head, the word filling my ears until it’s all I can think about. I feel like I split open at contact, the force carrying over. I don’t know how deep I am, I only know that it’s agonizing. I’m struggling to move even the slightest. Bits and pieces from the broken road fall down, sliding down the dome to hit my bare feet or drop from overhead to the back of my neck. It hurts. It’s all I think. It hurts.

      I have to get up. Humans would be dead if they fell from heights like that. I’m not human. I have to protect those lesser than me. I have to save them from what I can endure and they can’t. They need me, I need to get up and I need more energy. Or do I want more energy? Hell, I don’t know, I don’t know! I don’t know if I can continue with this little energy.

I have to try, because there’s no way for me to get more energy. I don’t even know how I acquire more energy. Humans eat and sleep. What do I do? Rest?

      However I get back energy, it’s going to have to wait until I’ve protected this little city just outside of Yolo County. I’m serious. That’s its name. And it’s true, humans only live once. Which means I have to save them, because they only die once, and they stay dead. I swear, most inconvenient creatures ever born…

      I rip my head out of the broken piles of road, and I know I’ve skinned my faux skin to reveal flames underneath. It hurts. Man, it hurts. They never exposed me to pain like this before. It’s not like water and it’s not like oxygen deprivation. It stings, and it actually hurts. I never thought I would know what it’s like to "hurt". I’ve heard the word, and I used to be so glad it didn’t apply to me.

      I was wrong. I was arrogant, cocky and wrong.

I lean back, expecting to see my blonde ponytail swing in my vision. I don’t see a thing. I reach my hands behind my head, expecting long strands. Instead, I feel short hair like Ty’s. I move my hand to my forehead and don’t find a high ponytail. I feel short side bangs going from the left of my forehead to my ears. Where did my hair go? Did it just… disappear? Did my body use the flames that make up my mop for energy? I don’t know-- all I know is that it’s gone!

Isn’t the pain supposed to fade when you get up and start walking? Isn’t that why people say, "Walk it off?" I’ve seen Ty and Andrew deal with tons of agony before, and it seems to go away the more they walk and go on with their day.

      I barely manage to pull myself out of the huge crater I’ve made, and I can’t imagine the effort I’m going to need to catch up to the fighter jets. It hurt enough to stand up and climb out, reaching and taking down the jets might seriously kill me. They’ve already started shooting. I can see the explosion from here.

      Come on, Ashler. You’ve got to be a hero. You’ve got to save them. You’ve got to stop those jets. They can’t possibly throw anything else at us. Just get this done and we can lie on the ground for hours.

      I jump onto the tallest building around me, which is only about twenty feet, and wait a minute to store my energy. Okay, I can’t wait any longer. Fire blasts me into the air, not half as fast as I was before. The fighter jets circle around for more destruction, making it easier for me. They come in my direction, and this time I’m ready. My heart, panicking at the lack of oxygen and beating pain, tries to say otherwise. I trickle into the air, facing the sun. It’s nearly noon, and I can’t believe that stole my attention. I try to hurry to meet the fighter jets’ path, succeeding a little. After what I consider forever, I reach the height of the jets. I look down at the ground far below, so much further down that I can’t see humans. I struggle with breathing and look up at the jets. I can’t do this much longer. I can’t mess up like I did before.

      As the first jet comes, I drop down onto the glass case protecting the pilots. I force the nose down a bit and expect the glass to melt. It should, I’ve melted glass before.

      Whatever, I can’t focus on that. I need to find a way to destroy this without killing hundreds of people. There’s a lot of farmland in Sacramento, I need to down these jets there. Plants and crops can be replaced. People can’t, and that’s what my priority is.

      I stomp my foot down, breaking the glass. At least I’m still that strong. I reach in and put my hand on the pilot’s helmet. Can’t stand the heat?

      Nothing happens. The helmet doesn’t melt.

      Something is seriously wrong.

      I punch the man, thankfully enough strength left in me to knock him out. The jet starts going down, and if there weren’t two more, I’d glide it gently to the ground to avoid property damage. I’m sorry, farm owners, but I have a job to do. I hope you understand. I can try to catch it later. I’m going to, if I’m not preoccupied.

      I head for the second one, the one that hit me. Thinking those thoughts gives me a little extra energy and motivation, propelling me a little faster. Do I have any fears about this jet? No. Yes, it hurt when I fell. It didn’t kill me. It can’t kill me. There are only a few things in this world I’m afraid of, and a little jet isn’t on that list.

      I fly straight at it, and with normal strength, I’d be totally confident that I could destroy the thing head-on. Today, however, I need to be smarter. This pilot knows that if my head hits the tip of his plane, I’m going down, and I’m not coming up. That’s why this is going to work. I need him to remain still in order for me to succeed. This is how I’m going to do it.

      At the last second, I pull to the left and break the right wing when it comes at me. I snap it off the body of the plane by grabbing onto it and jerking up, still enough strength to do a simple thing. It doesn’t take long for the jet to start falling to the earth, and the pilot ejects. He’ll have a long flight down. I can deal with him later. I turn around to face the third jet.

      One more. And now I’ve got a weapon.

      I rush at it, this time with the jet wing raised over my head. It’s too close to get out of my way or avoid this. I arch my back to go higher, passing over the nose of the jet. As the glass passes under me, I thrust the plane wing into it. I throw my whole body into it, straightening my back to milk any strength out.

      The pain in my chest returns, spreading to my shoulders and back. What’s my heart doing? Drowning in pain that it pumps to rest of the body? I don’t understand what’s happening. Maybe it has to do with what Dr. M. said to me yesterday, asking about pain. That’s got to be it. This is expected. They have an explanation, I’m sure they do.

      That’s going to have to wait. I’m not done yet.

      The glass is shattered instantly, and I don’t want to check on the pilot. I don’t think I could manage it. I did what I had to do, and I don’t like it. As it crashes downward, I catch the back of it. If the pilot’s still alive, he can stay that way.

      I’m not as strong as I thought.

      The jet drags me down, more weight than I would have guessed. I try to slow it down, fighting gravity and momentum. It’s a long flight, by the time we hit the ground at this pace, it’ll be a devastating thunderclap.

      I actually make these grunting sounds as I try to lift fifteen thousand pounds. Come on, Andrew would laugh at this! I should be laughing at this! This is nothing! What am I, human? I can lift this with three fingers of my less dominant, right hand. I’ve thrown this weight around time after time. I know I have the strength to do it!

      I know there’s some strength left in me. I can feel it. But I also get the feeling that if I use that, there won’t be any turning back. I need to use the flames my body needs for living. Is it worth it? Is stopping this jet, and the two others, worth it?

      Yes. It is.

      It’s like a hand reaches into my chest, rips out my heart and slaps it on the bottom of my feet. The energy flows, allowing me to slow the fall of the jet. I need to the get the other two, closer to the ground and with way more speed. I can’t carry forty-five thousand pounds, not on my last reserve of energy. Maybe I can manage two. The third one is beyond me. I can’t catch it. It’s going to hit the ground in seconds. The second one, the one that hit me, is possible.

      Gravity isn’t strong enough to get me to catch up with the jets. I boost myself towards the ground, arching my flight to grab the edge of the jet before it falls. I snag the metal of the tail, flying close to the ground. I continue forward, and I wish I didn’t.

      The one in front of me explodes, taking land and a man’s life with it. I think that’s when it really hits me. I was only following my orders. Orders to protect my country, and because of it, I’ve passed through a one sided mirror. One I can’t see through anymore. I can’t look through the glass to see those on the other side. I can only see myself, my horns and my pointed tail. And today, I’ve crossed that line more than once. Oh, Lord. I don’t think I want to be a soldier or team leader anymore. It feels like when I was fighting, I was numb. I wasn’t thinking. Everything was kind of blur, and oh, my Lord. What have I done?

      The shock wave passes through me, making me drift backwards. The weight of the two jets in my hands takes me down, and I try to bring the two down as gently as I can. I turn away, hoping that I can forget. But I know I won’t. I’m a mutant, one of the four most advanced weapons ever. I don’t forget.

      The drop onto the ground is strong, quite a jolt for the two jets. It’s not enough to kill. It’s only enough to discomfort and displease.

      Now, I only have to worry about the man who ejected.

      No, I don’t.

      I hear the sound of something heavy dropping quickly behind me. Before I can so much as turn around, my ears are pierced with the most sickening sound. A splat.

      I don’t want to turn around. I glance to my right and see a parachute. Three of the strings were broken. The parachute was faulty, and it took his life. The fall only hurt me and it killed him. I don’t need more pain and more trauma. I’ve had enough for the rest of my life in today. But the pain is alive, and it’s active.

      The pain in my chest is more intense, more immense and stronger than ever. It pulls me onto my knees, a poison fog wrapping around me. It hugs me tightly, crippling and putting my limbs into disorder. It throws ropes over my body and pulls, tugging me to the ground. I collapse on my left side, feeling this unbearable pain I thought would never touch me grab hold of me. It stirs inside me and seeps out my pores until I’m drowning in it. With my whole body underwater and sinking, I can’t breathe. The worst part, the part that’s asinine, sinister and completely morbid, is that I have to swim. There’s pain that threatens to break and piss on everything I am, and I have to stand up and walk through it.

      Pulling myself from the dirt is one of the hardest things I’ve done to date. I stand on legs that seem smaller, using my shorter arms to stand shorter. The ground is closer, and with every step, I find myself looking down and imagining dropping. I can’t. I have to leave. I can’t stay here.

    

I walk until it’s nighttime, somehow staying on my feet. When the sun does set and the moon rises, I’m surprised that I’m not emitting light or glowing. You know, I don’t really care. I just want to get far away enough so I can rest.

I don’t know where I am. I just think that I’m dying. The pain hasn’t subdued or mellowed or anything. It’s as strong as ever, snarling and clawing at me. It may even be more painful than water.

No, that’s ridiculous. Nothing will ever be that painful.

I walk until I’m on a lone dirt road, where if I turn in a three-sixty, I see nothing except dirt and the dark night sky. Excellent. I can’t walk anymore. The second I know I’m safe, my legs give out. My knees bend and I drop down, then fall on my back. I think my head hits first, because for a second, the world is absolutely dark. That second fades, and I see the stars I’ve seen so many times before. I press my panic button, because I think this counts as an emergency. I’m not supposed to die this early on in my life.

I’m supposed to be perfect.

I’m not.

I press the button, and nothing happens. There’s no beeping sound, no light, nothing is triggered. Son of a b***h. I exclaim to myself. I must have broken it. Was it the jet that did it or the fall? Or a bullet? That was probably it. I only got hit by about a thousand of those today.

Oh, my gosh. I’m really dying here. And I’m not even going to say goodbye to the only people I’ve ever cared about. I’m going to die alone, and no one will know. No one will be able to find me. My body will turn to ash, and the wind will blow me away. I will be gone forever. And no one will know, because for the first time in my life, I’m absolutely alone in both the physical and emotional sense at the same time.

A sky full of stars that set themselves on fire for my attention. Travelling light years just for me to see them, either from a glass dome in the middle of a forest or a dirt bed; I’ve made my own constellations. Ty knows all of them and helped me create them, hence the stupid names and shapes, like, "Old shoe that stepped in poo." He said they’d have to rhyme. I think he just wanted to be able to name one after himself. And he did.

I wonder if anyone will think about me when they die, the way I’m thinking about Ty, Andrew, Kelli and Cody. I doubt it. There are better things to think of. Like cake, vacation, T.V., the internet and Andrew’s sandwiches.

I wonder what avocado tastes like.

Although my world fades to black and I cannot move, I am thinking of the green avocados Ty would steal and eat with a spoon. He’d launch the seed at Cody, and Kelli would chase us onto my floor, far away from Cody. We’d sit on the thin ledge, and okay, I’ve pushed him more than once.

That’s one of the reasons Ty and I are friends. I’d push him, and he’d come right back up and sit with me like it never happened. Granted he’d push me right back or drag me with him, he knew I wasn’t being serious. We both loved the concept and idea of fun. Even if I ruined his avocados, his precious stolen avocados, it was all fun and games, no one was getting hurt.

Andrew’s favorite color.

Kelli’s favorite eye color.

Cody’s shoes’ color.

Ty’s favorite food.

The only thing that lingers is the color green.