Outlier

False Equilibrium

Our world was once great!, it was filled with people proud to be who they are, to fight for what they beleave in.
And now the world is dead, filled with people desperate to give up, to lose what they had because they don't want to fight.
But we will, we will fight until our last breath, until we reach the top or end up at the bottom, we are done being treated like the scum of the earth, like the leftovers that fought valiantly but are gone, because we're still here, we are far from gone and we are outliers.

It has been 3 years since the harmonic treaty was signed, the declaration stated that people born with superpowers must disclose there powers, this was nothing but a ploy, a way of descreatly targeting those with powers, because not long after registering you were hunted.

Hunted by the advanced soldiers manufactured by the government to neutralise the powers we were born with.
In the first year the superhumans of the world were culled, our numbers were tragicaly decreased, many lost there family members, many lost there lives.
Now we hide, sneak around and rely on the help of others for our survival, we are constantly moving always staying half a step ahead of the hunters who trake us at every moment.
Many people around the world think there safe, they site in their homes and take no notice of us, because they don't care what happens to us because they are under the belief that the world is in a state of peice, a false equilibrium manufactured by those who wrote the harmonic treaty.
Because those who brought a sense of peice to the world now control it, and after all the politics and petty squabbles of the safety assured people of the world power is the driving factor.

I'm Andrew Quinten, I am the man those hidden outliers rely on, because I am still willing to fight, to fight for the freedom we all deserve, for all that we have done for the world and all we were willing to do.
We have been hunted for the better half of two years, being forced to flee each location through fear of being masicurred like those before us.
But now we finnaly have found a place for a modicum of safety, it is called the barrow, an old shipping yard that collapsed a few years before the harmonic treaty, it sank under the ground and was covered over not to long after.

The manner in which it is covered means that access is still granted to the huge open space that the yard fell into, the darkness wasn't easy to get used to but with some assistance from the powers we have handy it is inhabitable.

For the months we have been here I as the leader of the outliers i have been constructing a plan, a plan that will give us the upper hand for the first time in three years.
This plan requires connections in the world we were abandoned by, meaning those of use brave enough have to venture above the safety of our barrow and once again assist the people who would without a doubt trade us in for a small fee.
But that is a microscopic risk in comparison to what this plan aims to achieve, to what we can do for the world once we are permitted back into it.

Today a small group of us are going to meet Estabon Cilly, a fruit vendor and coyote on the weekends, his connections and transportation techniques will prove useful to my plan, and it helps that he is sympathetic to our cause.

"Andrew are you ready"

"I'll be there in a second Liz, get the others ready, and wake Davey up"

"Will do"

Anyway, I'll report back when we return, recording number 892 over.

I get up from my position on the cold dirt floor, and brush the dust from my knees.
Looking into the mirror ahead of me i see a face that is not yet too familiar, its my own, destorted by dirt and a thick growth of hair.

"I need to shave" I say aloud, insentivising myself to shave my beard, to take the hint and reveal a clean face to the people I hope to inspire.
Standing by the mirror I look at the dirt stained mattress on the floor and amongst the torn sheets spot the razor, worn by continual use, standing still I extend my hand with an open palm in the direction of the razor and in an istante the object shoots from its stationary position and into my grasp.