Project MUTANT (Currently undergoing MAJOR Reconstruction!)

Ok, let's try this again. Hello people of Wattpad. So I decided to come back and reread this since I grew disenchanted with this whole thing because the plot just wouldn't freaking cooperate, and when I reread it (I hate rereading my old writing it makes me cringe!) I decided what this needed was a major overhaul, so...I'm starting over. From the very beginning. Yep. This is my life now, rewriting and refining my old stories to make them the unpublished masterpieces I know they can be! Yay! If you were one of the few people who read the original version of this, and really supported me and my shitty choices and bad pacing, etc. and still wanted to read it and asked me to update it, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I hope to do this idea justice and write a good story, now that I've improved my writing skills some. Several of my other works are still on indefinite hiatus while I slowly work through what needs rewriting/editing/refining. And some (When Life Gives You Lemons; oh my god I want to print that out and burn it like the pyromaniac that I am) are completely discontinued and will be removed and hopefully deleted from all memory promptly. Thanks for the support guys.   -fading

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​A High Security Holding Compound near Washington D.C.

​The guards escorting me-no, not escorting me, that makes me sound like some honored guest; they were flat out pushing me along-were ridiculously over-armed. They had ridiculously large assault rifles in their hands, which they would occasionally prod me in the back with, full body armor that looked like it was made of Kevlar, and multiple pistols and even knives otherwise held on their persons. They looked straight ahead, with their guns casually pointed in so the barrels were pointed towards my chest and head, so at the slightest provocation, they could shoot me, and I'd basically be instantly dead. The bastards probably would too, not that I plan on testing that here. As if I was gonna make a wild dash for it here! Really, they're all paranoid bastards. I'm not that stupid. I know when to admit that I've been beaten. I've got magnetized cuffs on my hands while walking through one of the most secure top secret prison/holding compounds in North America for God's sake! They march me down the hallway and form a pathway that pushes me into a room where a middle-aged man in a suit (because what else would they wear?) is waiting in one chair, with another empty one, most likely for me. The door slid shut and locked behind me. Well then. Nowhere to go but forward. I plopped down in the chair, without waiting for him to say anything. ​

​"So," I drawled out. "You the poor bastard they sent to interrogate me?" ​Good job Abbi. Speak first. Don't let them think they've got an advantage. You're in control here. ​He looked at me, an eyebrow raised. Clearly he hadn't expected me to seem so at ease.

​"I'd hardly say that I'm unlucky-"

​"Oh please!" I scoffed, interrupting him, which made his other eyebrow raise. "I know why they're keeping me here. They think a 15 year old is the mastermind behind a large-scale terrorist attack. And you have to extract information from me. It's a joke, really."

​"We have surveillance evidence of you and your friends engaging in suspicious activity before, and during the event, before they all disappeared. We were unable to locate or catch any of them. Except for you."

​"Surveillance of me doing what? Messing around, hanging out with my friends? Trying to avoid getting trampled and caught in a crowd and end up dead? What do you honestly think I can do? Has our country devolved so far into arresting teenagers without their guardians' knowledge, locking them up in a high security compound with electronic handcuffs, and guns pointed at their heads, so they can be interrogated for terrorism? Really?" He let out a breath through his nose.

​"I think we both know you are not any old 15 year old." He pulls up a file with his tablet. "Your face and given name don't match anyone within our server. Anywhere. You have no records, no file, no drivers license or I.D., no passport, birth certificate, or social security. You have no profile anywhere in our system. No parents, friends, teachers, classmates, you don't have a school I.D., Facebook profile, MySpace, YouTube, nothing. You don't exist, according to all the servers and monitors for citizens that we have. So that raises the question, who are you really, and what do you plan on doing?" He leans forward, frowning, but I can see the triumph in his eyes. I can feel it coming off him. The smug bastard thinks he's won. I keep my eyes on his tablet.