Project: Hero

Chapter one

Dedicated to Kami for my cover

Despite the sun being high in the sky it's cold and dark in the alleyway. I'm standing in between two rundown warehouses, grabbing my stolen supplies before they roll out of the alley and give my position away.

The skin on my wrist starts to itch. The things I try to keep hidden start to worm their way to the surface. The sudden influx of light into my eyes allows me to the see the rubbish thrown against the walls. I can't see colours, my eyesight isn't that good in low light, but I do see shapes.

The heavy footsteps behind me spur into action. I hide behind a large box and rubbish bag. I crouch down just as black boots arrive at the entrance to the long street.

"The freak didn't go down there. She's untested and her powers are erratic," a nasally voice claims, I can hear the speech marks around the word 'powers'.

They leave and I breath out in relief, I had almost gotten caught and sent there. People like me are hunted and there are stories of the captured being tortured.

Putting the all to apparent dangers out of my mind I turn my attention to the bag hanging off my shoulder. It's falling apart and I'll need to steal another one soon, but it still holds what we need.

Moving a lot more carefully I make sure my wrist is covered and try to blend in, try to make it look like I belong.

I don't know how well it works before this I was never allowed on the streets. I used to think it was because it was dangerous but now I'm starting to think it's something else.

I push the thoughts of my father and family out of my head before I remember what happened to the last person in a similar situation to me, my brother.

I can't afford to be distracted on these streets. There are drunks and druggies around every corner but being here is still safer for me then going home. Despite being here for a while I still can't get used to all the rubbish and boarded up building.

I suppose I should be glad that this is a run down wreck of a town. If it wasn't, there'd be no way I would be able to survive the way I am.

The old me would've turned her nose up at all the filth but now I'm getting used to it. The dirt actually helps to hide what I am. I brush my fingers against my wrist and sigh.

I've always been taught that people like me were evil and not allowed to live, now seeing the truth with my own eyes I'm only half sure.

Back at home all I ever heard about was how they destroyed things. I reach the warehouse I've unofficially claimed as my own and sigh. If one of the locals want this my friends and I have to move on.

I feel a little childish when I knock on the metal sheet masquerading as a door, but it doesn't stop me from doing the 'secret knock'.

There are so many people that would turn on us we have to stick together, even if that means returning to our childhoods to keep us safe.

I finish the tapping and get a glimpse of my wrist. It's too thin, the mark glowing against the skin, almost as if it's burning away the dirt I'd smeared on to hide it.

The metal is moved out of the way, the rattling shattering the silence. Instantly I look around to see if anyone noticed. No-one has so I step inside.

My wrist itches as I put the metal back in place, but I ignoore it. The itching reminds me to be careful and scratching as it doesn't help.

"What did you get?" a boy's voice asks.

"Enough," I answer, hoisting the bag onto my shoulder.

"Robbo! Get your sparky butt back up here!" a girl shouts.