My legs burn with exhaustion from so much running, but I continue through the school hallway. Agents jump at me with outstretched arms, but I dodge them easily. I look over carefully my right shoulder at the men trying to rip me away from my family. There are three of them, all wearing suits with pistols holstered to their hips. I turn to face forward as I round the hallway into a smaller hallway where the middle school connects to the high school and elementary school. The hallway is covered in security glass and the doors are propped open from where the agents brought machines for the examination.

I pause for a second to decide my path, and I am met with agents coming from the high school entrance. I take off toward the doors to the elementary school, fully aware of what with happen if they catch me.

But before I can open the doors to the elementary school, an agent grabs my wrist with a grip as tight as a vise. I scream, trying to rip myself away from him.

I will get away.

I will get away.

I will get away.

I tell myself hundreds of times to make myself believe it. I grab the agent's arm with my free hand, kick him as hard as I can in the legs, and use my hand on his arm to push myself out of his grip.

I catch a quick glimpse of him before I take off to the doors. He grips his arm where I grabbed him. I run through the first-grade hallway. I see the exit to the parking lot, my key to freedom. But before I reach the door, I hear a sharp whistling sound.

I know that sounds. It sounds like wind escaping from a crack in a window. A silencer. A searing pain tears throughout my body, pushing out a scream from my throat. I collapse to the ground, I hear my head smack against the linoleum floors, and spots dart across my vision.

I see multiple men running towards me, their faces blur into one. My little brother's. He's only eight and shouldn't have to deal with the gossip and criticism that comes with me being a possible Abomination. He'll go through extensive testing and interrogations. His friends would hang out with me too, they won't care about what I am.

My parents. They might lose their jobs, never gain any importance in the Conglomeration, lose all of their friends, and, possibly, lose all of their money. My mom will stay home from the guilt and shame of failing to raise a perfect daughter. My father will have to work tooth and nail to provide for his wife and son, he will never see the thing that should have been his daughter.

I can't think about that. I have to escape.

My hands dart across my vision as I kick, bite, scream. Anything to keep the men away. My vision clears enough for me to see my throbbing leg bleed profusely and my blood smeared across my hands. Teachers who came to see what mayhem was going on, look frightened and use their bodies to hide the pathetic girl who bleeds out on the floor.

They think that I can kill them just by looking at them, that I can make their blood boil by looking deep into their eyes. I know they think this because I thought the same thing.

The men reach me and three hold me down while one prepares a syringe. The one who I kicked, who's still in pain, puts pressure on my thigh where I was shot. I scream out in pain as another force of pain shoots through my nerves to my brain. He smiles evilly, pleased with my pain. The tall agent jams the needle into the veins in my arm.

I feel a calm, serene feeling slowly spread throughout my body. First, my feet, start to feel heavy like weights then they relax. Then my legs, the throbbing, sharp pains numb and drift away as I start to lose feeling in my arms. My eyelids start to fall and I slip into a forced slumber. The agents turn to black dots when

"You will wish you didn't do that." One of the big dots says coldly, a chill rolls down my spine. His voice gets deep and haunts me as I go limb.

I jolt upward in my bed, sweat covering my body head to toe. The memories still haunt me, even when they happened so long ago. The evaluations happen every five years and they start when you turn ten. When I was doing the physical trial, I was faster than a normal child should be. That was seven years ago. I'm two years overdue for the second one that was delayed.

It's November 3, 225 AS (After Salvation). It's two hundred and twenty-five years since the day where a series of disasters tore through the United States, destroying everything in their path. Diseases spread throughout the devastated United States and the government fell. After a few months of rioting and citizens trying to establish an equal and fair government, an independent group of men and women called the Conglomeration popped up and started gaining supporters. The Conglomeration took over and everyone thought it was the best thing that has happened in years.

Humans with special abilities have been around for years, hiding who they really were from their loved ones, friends, peers, the government. Everyone. Even themselves. Nobody knows what caused powers to start forming within a perfect human being, not even the government knew. The theories vary from genetic defects to another one of mother nature's plagues. People only know that the Conglomeration has made special machines to test your blood, your heart rate while doing certain activities, seeing if you are a good or bad liar. Abominations are stronger, faster, smarter (depends on whom we're talking about.), or they're just dangerous overall. Abominations are born differently with already enhanced senses.

I passed all the tests with flying colors except for the speed test. I failed that one miserably. I swing my legs over the side of my bed and slide out of bed, half-asleep. I drag my face over the carpet floor to my closet to pick out my school uniform. Our school uniform for girls consists of a black skirt that is uncomfortably short with two white stripes that circle the hem. With a tight, black long sleeve shirt that ends at the top of the skirt. I have long black socks that go to my knees with black hiker boots that go to my ankles. The only color in our uniforms is the white stripes on our skirts. The boy's uniform is a white shirt with a black tie and long black pants. I would much rather wear the boy uniform than a skirt that is way too short.

I walk through the small foyer to a small kitchen and an even smaller living room. I grab an apple, my backpack, and the keys to my motorcycle that rests in the apartment complex's garage on my way out the door. I'm the only person living in the building but I still insist on living on the highest floor, no matter how inconvenient it may be. Every morning I run down fourteen flights of stairs, dodge the glass shards that decorate the first level's floor, and ride a motorcycle to the second-worst place in Haven. Hilltop High School.

It's not that I don't like school, I used to love going to school before I came here. This school is cursed to have only Abominations walk the hallways, and or criminals that the government lease to the teachers as test subjects or dummies for us to practice on. It's ironic if you think about it. The government gives us materials and equipment to train and study, but they're just going to kill us or use us against our will in the end.

I dodge the normal shards of glass embedded into the carpet floor as I take a bite of the apple. I open the doors to the garage, my eyes wander to one of the many windows on the first floor. The dark, gloomy January sky stares back at me. January is commonly known as the thunderstorm month while December was the blizzard month. February is tornado month, March is Earthquake month, April is wildfire month, May is heatwave month, and the rest of the months are usually disaster-free or a combination of disasters.

I pull the tarp off the motorcycle while taking another bite of my apple. I usually rotate between riding to school on my motorcycle or riding with my best friend Monroe. Monroe is taller than me. Besides things like hair color and personality, we're basically related. Our school doesn't provide transportation, so most teens steal cars and learn to drive. Since I've never tried to steal a car, I don't know how to drive one. Abominations get bored with their powers sometimes, so a few years ago The Conglomeration paved a racetrack right next to the thirty-foot tall border. You think if you have enhanced climbing, you could climb the wall that keeps us in. Nope. The last person who tried that was killed brutally. The Conglomeration has guards that surround the wall at all angles, but from 1:00 am to 2:00 am no one guards the wall. I haven't messed with the agents since my first examination.

I grab my helmet off the handles as I walk the motorcycle out of the garage. I take one more bite of the apple then chuck it in a random direction as I mount the motorcycle. I slip the helmet over my head and start the engine the first try. I take off in the direction of the school.

"'Abominations are evil, mutated versions of the perfect human. They shouldn't be considered humans. Such vile creatures shouldn't even be thought of as anything close to a human. They seek chaos and injustice. Would a good thing claw its way into your brain and plant wicked thoughts and plans? No. How do we know that suicidal thoughts aren't planting in someone's head because of Abominations? The most destructive criminals in history could've been influenced by an Abomination with the power to control one's mind. I move we rid this world of such cursed things, but shouldn't we let them suffer? These things were created, therefore they must have some use. That is why we are containing them safely in Haven. Haven is a safe place for the troubled.'" Monroe reads the latest speech by one of the Parliament of Enterprise, a group that is the Conglomeration's main foundation. She sits in the seat in front of me.

"You shouldn't listen to that stuff," I say as I prop my feet on my desk. I pick at my nails as I stare out at the nimbostratus clouds in the sky. "It'll mess you up." I tap my right temple twice with my pencil. She scoffs and leans back in her seat.

"How are you okay with this stuff they're saying? It doesn't make you mad that people think they can treat us differently because we happen to lose the human lottery and end up with some abilities?" She says, her long black following her body as she waves her arms around carelessly. The paper she holds catches some people's attention, but they stay away from the back right corner of the room. They always do.

"It does, but it fuels my ambition and determination. Unlike you, which your ignorance and pain-in-the-buttness devour it completely while I siphon the perseverance slowly to keep me sane." I say while shaking my pencil between my pointer and middle finger quickly. She narrows her eyes at me, her dark brown irises almost mix with her pupil.

"Are you sure it fuels your sanity?" She mutters, turning her body to face the rest of the room. I just shake my head and return to my thoughts that echo repeatedly throughout my skull. I continue to fidget with my pencil as I stare out the window. A sharp pain tears through my legs as I shift my body from the uncomfortable seat.

I really don't like Mr. Holloway that much. I usually fall asleep in this class, but after my wonderful visit to my past last night I have too much on my mind. That means tons of boring, worthless lectures. I cross my arms and lean over the desk, resting my chin on top of my arms. I always memorize my classmates' abilities, just in case there happens to be a situation where they use their "gifts". The boys sitting by the door are all a part of a group that follows and praises the ground the popular bully walks on. Most of the boys there have enhanced strength or any enhanced sense, but some of them have abilities that will require a little brawl to deal with.

About a minute later, Everett Wilde kicks the door open with his foot. "There's a door there for a reason, and it's not to be kicked open. You see that thing right there?" I point at the doorknob. "You twist it and push the door slightly. That should do the trick. Unless your brain is still frozen after Mr. Shaw kicked your cocky attitude down a few notches. I think it needs a few more cold chills if you ask me." I say calmly from my seat across the classroom. He narrows his eyes at me, and my muscles tense up. Everett has a tall, broad build, and he happens to be my least favorite person in Haven. I've tried to avoid him and his posse as much as I can, but it's not the easiest thing when I share almost all my classes with him.

"Yeah, yeah. Nobody asked you, blue." He walks with confidence I would love to pry away from his body and watch him crumble into a pile of nothingness, but I prefer to stay away from violence. Most of the time.

I roll my eyes. "What did I tell you about calling me 'blue'?" I growl as he continues with his confident stride in my direction. I lean back in the chair with my arms crossed over my chest defensively. He sits in the seat next to me, my body tightens and tenses at the annoying threat near me. I turn away from him and look at the storm forming outside.

"You said you would rip my spine out through my nose if I continued to call you blue. Yet I don't see my spine outside my body, not yet at least. You're all bark and no bite. I don't understand why people find you so intimidating when you don't follow through with your threats. Maybe it's because the last time you did, someone ended up in a mental institution." His judgemental tone tugs at a tight string inside me. It becomes tight and weak, close to snapping. I launch myself out of my seat quickly. Everett responds by jumping up defensively, but I'm faster than him.

My forearm connects with his chest as I shove him into a wall. I take the pencil from my desk with my left hand and force it into his right shoulder with lots of force. He cries out as I twist the wooden weapon in his shoulder. "Don't call me blue. My name's Indigo and you have no business mentioning my past or the actions that have happened then. The past is the past, get over it." I pull the pencil out of his shoulder slowly as I finish speaking. He groans and shuffles to the door, most likely to the front to report me and get his shoulder healed before our second class.

He bumps into Mr. Holloway as he exits the classroom. Everett groans and walks out of the classroom, leaving Mr. Holloway confused. Mr. Holloway analyzes the red stain on his white button-up shirt, he immediately looks in my direction and his gaze settles on my bloody pencil. I pull my sleeve over my hand and run my hand over the pencil, wiping away the blood. Mr. Holloway shakes his head and pulls out a jacket to hide the blood staining his shirt. I sit down completely as Monroe sticks her hand out behind her body for a high-five. I lean forward and smack her hand hard.

"Today we have a quiz over shapeshifting before we start the next unit tomorrow." He grabs a stack of papers and starts setting them on each desk, walking up and down the rows to make sure there are no cheaters yet. He stops for a second before reaching my desk. "Good job." He mumbles quietly while sliding a piece of paper on my desk.

I write my name with the pencil resting in my right hand. I grin as Everett comes back into the classroom and sits far away from me. I look down at my neat handwriting and start answering questions.