This Is Not The End.

Chapter 1

The disease that ruined the world had been called more things than I could remember. First, it was the Rock Cold, something the news people could say easily without causing worry, but it progressed through to Wooden Sores, Memory Irritation, Sterile Insomnia, and for a while it seemed to set on Violet Insanity... but that one caused too much panic. The Solitary World Onslaught Relief Department - a government organisation which was supposed to help us survive the damn thing - came out with its final name: Progressive Cerebral Decline, but that was too much for us. Like everything, we learned to shorten it to The Push, because that was what it felt like. It pushed people over the edge, it pushed SWORD employees to take kids from all over the world to facilities where we were 'safe', and it pushed me to hate my existence.

But that was five years ago. I was over it. I'd been given life where so many others hadn't - my mother, my sister, my father - so I had to cherish it.

I didn't know how, but I'd make my living worthwhile. I had to.

"03, c'mon they're attacking again," Lana pushed me out of sleep, and I let out a groan. She'd never call me 'Skye', and I'd only managed to find out her name was Lana when I found some off-limits documents – when I brought it up with her she just turned white and muttered about the orderlies finding out.

"Let them come, I'm tired," I pulled my single pillow over my head, "I was dreaming,"

Dreams were very uncommon. I'd learnt to cherish the ones I had.

"03!" she yelled. I threw my scratchy covers from my body and found a jacket to pull over my pitch-black tunic. That was another thing that was uncommon – us not wearing our colour. I was a Snuff, Colourless, a blank sheet full of nothing, and I hated it. They gave us black, another way to ignore us, but it could've been worse; I could've been a Regen, then I'd have to walk around in bright orange.

There were nine colours overall – or eight colours and me – and each of us had a specific ability which had mutated when the disease that ruined my life, Progressive Cerebral Decline – or The Push, as we all called it – started picking off the human race like flies. That was almost six years ago, but times had changed since then. It was definitely not for the better.

"Jesus, okay, I'm coming," I rubbed my eyes to get the sleep away. "I'd really appreciate it if those dickheads could decide to try kill us in the middle of the day,"

"You know they can't come out in the day,"

"Yeah, zombie-vampire fuckers,"

"C003!" one of the orderlies shouted. They enforced the no-names policy. We were just numbers to them, and it didn't matter how low it was either, no one got special treatment. We'd learnt that being a low numbered Snuff just meant you got picked on even more.

I sighed in preparation for a beating of sorts from my language.

"Shall we do this later, Janet? I don't think now's a great time to get the shock out,"

"03 I will be dealing with you as necessary after all this!" the orderly – I didn't know if her name was Janet but I always called her that – shot me a glare as she blew a stand of silver hair from her eyes. Why the hell they didn't have younger people to watch over us always bugged me. I guess, if the zompires – my own, personal word for them – eventually broke through at least we'd have some sort of sacrifice so we could scarper.

I'd told that to Lana once, but she called me a heartless bitch and moved on with her chores.

I'd also told her that I thought it was unfair that we were immune to that virus which had suddenly wiped out half the world's population, and she'd called me an ungrateful bitch for that one. I thought I had a point, but apparently I should've been happy that The Push had killed my family and mutated all my friends with various different abilities, after all I was still alive and very normal. I'd have been able to deal with it if I were like them, powerful l. Hell, it would've been straight out of my favourite movies, but nope. I was a nothing – a Colourless Snuff.