The man escorts me from the apartment, gripping my arm, and I flash a painful smile at my mother. She smiles weakly back, and she disappears behind our front door, slamming it shut. A tear creeps slowly across my face as we start walking down the stairs. I can't remember the last time I left the building using the stairs. Mom was agoraphobic, she wouldn't leave the house after Nick died, so she never had reason to leave, and I never left with her, I always used that pipe. Just a small feeling of freedom from the coil of indifferent obedience suffocating our lives.
"Here. My colleague Saffron Lewis and her charge will be arriving soon. You may speak quietly on the journey to her charge, but remain below a level of noise and answer when you're spoken to. The more honest you are, the better unit and team we can assign you to. Understand?"
I nod slowly, seeing another girl, perhaps a bit older than us, talking to Jack. I'm going to presume that's Saffron. She can't be older than nineteen or twenty, maybe twenty-one.
"Here's Fields. Is this Anderson, Brooklyn?" she says, and her voice is a little softer, more comforting than the man's, she's definitely Southern, and I automatically like her a little more. She seems fairly local.
"Yes. Let's go. We have to collect Montgomery in DC, and then straight to Albany. Have they given a center assignment?"
"Albany. Sixty-seven. Category Four, these are, aren't they?"
"Anderson, Fields, what's your powers?"
"Pyrokinesis. Cecelia Montgomery is pathokinetic."
"Cryokinesis."
"Simple. See, he might be Cat Three, she could be a Five, but they seem fairly stable, so probably a Four."
"Understood."
We climb into the car, into the backseat. Saffron climbs into the driver's side and Brooklyn stays on the road, radioing. Saffron waves and slams the door shut, snapping her seatbeat on and gunning the engine, trying to drive as fast as she can. Jack and I look at each other perplexedly, as we tear off through the estates and down the 440. She turns back to us after a few miles, once we reach the 449, looking in the rear-view mirror.
"I'm presumin' he explained the rules to you, Anderson?"
"Call me Scarlet. And what rules?"
"The ones regardin' the use of your abilities," she says, sighing.
"Which ones? The powers, or the technological ones?"
"He did tell me you were good with hackin' and codes. Is that a secondary ability of yours?"
"I've been accessing this stuff since I was nine. I'm just excessively intelligent. It's part of being high-functionin'."
"You suffer from a disorder?"
"I don't suffer from Asberger's, I have Asberger's. I suffer from idiots."
Jack snorts at this, and Saffron looks slightly put out. I smirk with contempt, which, as a consequence, makes Jack cry with laughter, uncontrollably. Saffron starts laughing after a while, and for a fee seconds, we're like a group of friends laughing together, until we're pulled straight back down to the ground with Saffron looking at her sheet and asking the next questions.
"Okay, so no. That's good. That means you can be cured easier."
"Who says I want to be cured?" I ask, a strange streak of courage coursing through my veins. "I'm pretty happy having superpowers, thanks."
"I don't care whether you want powers or not, we're curing you because it's not safe. Anyway, the rules are as follows. During the program, silence is to be upheld at all times, other than when instructed, i.e. spoken to, or you're with your team or unit within the private areas, i.e. bedrooms. Is that understood, first of all?"
