Black Equation - The Gifted Ones

Number Twenty

“There is nothing more fascinating than the start of a new journey.”

 

Number Twenty

 

17 years ago…

He was short for a boy of six years of age, but he was fast, no doubt the fastest among the Factors, possibly even among the Bases. With his quick wit and even quicker feet, he managed to slip out of the training grounds without anyone noticing him.

The Master said that he would come see his progress today. He promised. He didn’t come.

To say he was disappointed was an understatement. He even wore his crisp gray uniform today, the one that itched, just to hear the Master’s approval. He wanted to tell him how he aced the Level 6 Poison Identification test, how he won the Factor Wrestling Competition, and most of all, to tell him that Agent George finally issued him an official gun – one specially tailored for him.

That only meant one thing, and he wanted the Master to be the first to know.

Quietly, he approached the Command building, using his tiny frame to his full advantage. Now, this was tricky. The two guards manning the inner entrance were Rare Kinds… and he was not. Obviously, the two of them were of the Sensing type. He hadn’t even taken a single step towards them, but they were already breathing down his neck.

“Kid, this is not a place for a Factor like you.”

He sneered. “I’m here to meet the Master!”

“Only those summoned by the Master has the permission to enter,” the taller man said brusquely. “That’s in the Handbook, squirt. Read it.”

He frowned. Of course, the guard was right. How could he have forgotten? Slumped in defeat, he headed out of the compound and slumped onto the bare ground in the forest proper. At least here, he was alone, and no one would see the shame in his eyes.

Mindlessly, he pulled out the small copy of the Handbook from his pocket. He fiddled around it, and sighed.

Creed’s Bible

He opened it and scanned the first couple of pages until he found what he needed. It had only been a few months since Agent Brendon taught him how to read English, and he was still a little slow at it. Nevertheless, he began to read aloud.

“Rules of survival on the field. One, never turn your back on an enemy… Two, emotions are the bane of the trade… Three, information is vital–“

The sound of crying cut him off. He frowned and sensing a presence a couple of yards away, he immediately acted out of instinct. He hid behind a bush, his newly-acquired gun in hand.

A little girl around his age came tumbling into the little space between the trees. She was coated with mud and twigs and her short pig-tailed hair was a mess. He quickly lowered his weapon and stood up.

“Who are you?”

The girl jumped in surprise, but said nothing. Tears were streaming down her face. Sniffing the air, he realized that she smelled of blood. Her knees were scraped raw.

He repeated his question, but the girl merely stared at him with wide green eyes. “Are you mute?”

She shook her head.

“Then why aren’t you talking?”

The girl glanced around them, like she’s hiding from someone, and gracefully skipped to his side. He stiffened. He didn’t like to be touched. By a girl. The other boys said they had cooties.