The Hope Of Our Destiny

Chapter 7

A/N: This is Emma's new look

(Please note that we do not own this picture)

~Emma~

          My eyes flutter awake as sunlight pours through my thin tent. I slowly get up and stretch. I pull up my sleeve and see that my arm looks much better. Luckily there are no signs of infection, and it has started to scab over. I quickly gather my things from inside the tent and prepare to head out. I decide to eat my breakfast once I got back to my old apartment. Normally, it would take about a 10 minute drive, but since I'm walking it'll take longer.

          I deconstruct my tent, and stuff it into my backpack. I throw my backpack around my back, tie my shoelaces, and set off. I walk along the beach, and slowly head into the city. Los Angeles, a place of pleasant memories and cruel ones as well. The place is bustling with activity. There are shoppers roaming the stores, athletes working out, and this city still has that LA feel to it.

          I walk through the city for a little bit, then whistle for a cab. I smile to myself. It's been so long since I have done that. I open the yellow door and step in.

          "Where to ma'am?" the cab driver asks me.

          "12395 NW Century BLVD," I reply.

          "Ok, please relax yourself and enjoy the ride," he kindly states as he punches the address into his GPS.

          The car slowly rumbles to life as light elevated music plays in the back seat. Pretty soon we're driving down the roads of LA. Soon enough we stop in front our old apartment. I pull out a credit card from my pocket and hand it to him. He swipes the card and gives it back to me. He looks at me funny but says nothing and drives off. Puzzled, I look down at the card and see it's from CITAL. It has the unmistakable logo on it. No wonder he was looking at me like that.

          I was snapped out of my thoughts by my stomach grumbling. I look around and I spot a decent looking restaurant. It must have been recently built, since I've never seen this before. Getting closer, I see that the restaurant is called Atomic Bite. Hopefully there will be some good food. As I enter, I am surrounded by people. I head over to a table and sit down. I pull out the menu from behind the ketchup and mustard bottles and start to read it.

          I quickly browse through menu and order a hamburger and french fries. I also order a mini chocolate milkshake and a fruit salad to take to-go. The service here is excellent. In a matter of minutes hot steaming food lays before me. I quickly chow down my meal, and pay for my food. I pickup my to-go snacks from the front counter and I head out for the door.

          As I open the door, I hear something suspicious and intriguing. Two people are talking at a bar. And they are talking about me. I stop dead in my tracks and slowly turn around. I walk over to the bar and sit down. I ask for an Arnold Palmer. I know it's one of the only non-alcoholic drinks that the serve at bars. It a kind of lemonade and iced tea fusion.

          While I sip my drink I listen in to the conversation happening next to me. It's not really considered eavesdropping if it's about you.

          "I can't believe that CITAL is in chaos," the bartender states.

          "I mean if you keep kids in a classified prison, it's bound to happen," another man retorts.

          "True. All because of that Emma Anderson girl. I wonder who she is. If I were her I would run."

          "What do you mean?"

          "You haven't heard? Apparently CITAL has sent an agent to track her down and turn her in. "

          "Seriously? That's intense. Poor girl."

          I quickly finish my drink and storm out the door. As I walk towards my old apartment, I ponder how they're tracking me. Then it strikes me. CITAL is tracking me through my credit card. I fume and realize how stupid I've been. Of course they're tracking my through my credit card. Or their credit card. Whatever. Out of fury I run three blocks and chuck the credit card into obscurity. I run back towards our old apartment and walk up the stairs.

          I jam the key into the doorknob, and I throw open the door. I quickly close the door. Everything is still the same. The lamps, couch, everything. My emotions start to get the better of me. No Emma, stay focused. I quickly change into normal clothes, quickly relinquishing the feeling of it. I stuff some more needed things into my bag and I run to the bathroom. 

          I throw open the closet door and find exactly what I need. Temporary hair color. My hair isn't something that you would commonly see in LA. I prepare the paint and pour it into a tube. I gently squirt it out, and apply it to my hair. After it's entirely covered, I head back into my room.

          I check the contents of my bag, and made sure that I have everything I need. I quickly turn on the desktop in the hallway, and I print out a map of the subway paths, and a detailed map of Los Angeles. After placing that in my bag, I head into the shower to wash my hair. Once I step out, I find some comfortable clothes to wear, and I dry off my hair with a hairdryer. I set my hair up in a high ponytail and I stare at my reflection. I'm not Emma Anderson anymore. I am no one.