Phantom

Chapter One

     My eyes flew open. "Mom!" I screeched and flailed. White twisted around me and tangled with my arms. There was a thumping sound and within moments Mom threw open the door and rushed to the bed.

     "Kanoa? What's the matter?"

     Between my labored sobs, I gasped out, "I had the worst dream, Mom. We were looking... We were looking for somebody..." the dream slipped my mind and I fought to regain control over my emotions. "I'm sorry," I sniffed. "I forget."

     "It's OK, I'm sure it was a rubbish dream anyways," Mom smiled.

I waited for one of Mom's regular hugs, but she stood and walked to the door. "Don't forget to put on your gear," Mom reminded as she left.

     I frowned. What gear? I was about to call out the question, but then I remembered. What was up with me today? I stood slowly, my feet gently pressing against the icy floor. My protective gear hung in the corner. It consisted of an armor-plated, long sleeved black top, pants that were made from the same armor material, black combat boots, and thick gloves. After I had donned all of my clothing, I looked down at my dresser. The drawer was open a smidgen. I pulled it open the rest of the way and say the rest of my gear; a pair of XD9 pistols and a shoulder holster filled with magazines. I took out the holster and draped it over my shoulder then slipped the two guns into the bottom and top slots. On my way out of my room, I slipped on the brown duster coat.

     "What's for breakfast?" I called down the stairs as I pounded down.

     "What is this, your bloody birthday?" my father gruffly replied. "Make your own breakfast!" at the kitchen, which sat at the bottom of the stairs, Father was preparing for his job. He worked cheap on the waste cleanup crew, probably the least desired job.

     I smirked and crossed to the pantry, which reeked of rat urine and molded bread. "Like you would make me breakfast even if it was my bloody birthday."

     Father chuckled and finished pulling on his clothing. "Well, I'm off to the beautiful world of disposing of crap. How majestic." As Father left, Mom came down the stairs wearing her gear.

     "Don't forget your helmet, dear," she called. I nodded and finished off the piece of stale bread I had gotten from the pantry.

      "I thought you had today off?" I asked.

     "No, the kids are having a surprise party with all of their other little snot-nosed friends and all of us were called in." Mom worked at the ambassador's house as a nanny. She hated the job, but it got us a lot of income. "Anyways, don't forget your helmet! God knows what would happen to you if you forgot it one day."

     "My brains would be blown out." I smiled. Mom squealed in distress and left for the front door, worn heels clicking on the cement floor. I smiled and grabbed my helmet from the coat rack. It looked like one of the old helmets that motorcyclists used to wear, with the shaded visor and shiny black skin. It fit snugly over my narrow head and reflected my breath onto my face. With a deep breath, I opened the door and took a readied step out into the stormy, gang-ridden streets. I found my hands tense and ready to adopt a gun into their grips. There was a lithe black motorbike leaning against my building with a bomb lock. I approached it and entered the code, throwing my leg over the bike's body and starting the engine. It was quiet and secretive, as it would need to be. It was like my destination; quiet, under the radar. The bike rushed from the building at my command, the ground racing underneath it's powerful wheels. The directions screen appeared before my eyes, a yellow path laid out on the road before me. I followed it, the gyroscope system easily keeping me from rolling when I tightly turned the corner. At the end of the route was a warehouse building with no markings on it.