The austere news anchor's voice floated faintly from the buzzing, archaic TV that rested on a wilted dresser.

"Recently… havoc on… many dead… Will Mission City ever recover from this terrorist attack?"

Upon the last detached word a slow fog began to engulf my already smoky gray eyes. My heart instantly started racing and I was enveloped in a cold sweat even though my frail form rested in-between a thick, rough quilt and a somewhat lumpy mattress.

No! No!

My lips trembled from the effort to shout but remained stubbornly in a taut line. I desperately tried to focus through the mist that I was falling into on something, anything. On the now gray TV screen. The stained, filthy carpet. The unadorned, off-white walls. Even the curly black strand of my own hair twisting in front of my face, but it was all to no avail as I was ruthlessly thrust into another place, another time.

Smooth silver metal slid like liquid over black chrome. Delayed, the sound of the corresponding sleek screech reached the ears of both the fleeing humans and the gigantic metal creatures dancing through their horrific battle, causing them to spring asunder before gliding together once more in a wave of sparks. All of these lightning quick motions appeared in a slow reel, as though through the rolling screen of an old movie; murky screams seemed to travel through thick, syrupy air as explosions jostled the view.

One of the robotic beings, tall and dignified, pressed forward with a regal battle cry that complimented his blue and red flamed body and the righteous glimmer to his blue, so blue, eyes. The other, a repugnant malefactor with winking black metal, unveiled razor sharp teeth and narrowed his crimson eyes in retaliation. They quickly became ensnared once more in a turmoil of metal and strange, blue liquid.

Slowly, but so quickly, the inky metal man-no, he was a monster- stepped backwards and the squishing crack of a flesh-bag was heard.

I rocketed back into a tremulous body gasping and sobbing. A repulsive taste spread throughout my mouth, causing me to lurch off of my tattered bed and stumble towards the tiny, cracking bathroom where I proceeded to expunge the contents of my stomach.

"No… No.." The word continued to tumble from my lips with accompanying sobs.

I could've saved them.

The visions had started two weeks ago. These visions at least. I've had flashes of things I've never seen, horrible, awful things, as long as I can remember, some of the past, some of the present, and usually ones of the future. It's been my curse ever since I saw Charlie fall off of the swing set and onto his neck five minutes before it happened in the first grade. Of course when I ran crying to the teacher saying I knew it was going to happen, that I saw it, I was marked as a loony before I even knew what was going on. Not only that but about 99% of the time I have no idea what's going on when the mist clouds over me and I'm left in a complete state of disorientation. Imagine sitting in a classroom one minute and then being sucked into the scene of a car accident and feeling every inch of someone's agony as they're burned in the wreckage. Try turning that into something understandable as you come up gasping with a room of English students leering at you. So I've ignored them. For years now I've been turning a blind eye to the havoc that seems to reach my mind before it reaches reality, pouring myself into my art (also the cause of my dirt poor conditions) and taking sleeping pills to avoid the visions that plague my dreams. Car accidents, suicides, fires, storms, twisters, earthquakes, all these barely comprehensible scenes turned away from my thoughts.

However, the same denial that has saved me all these years from agony and crippling migraines, another lovely benefit of my 'gift', has just backfired on me within the short time span of two weeks. You see, my visions, as I said before, are cloudy, almost never truly enough to fully know who's involved and where it is, although occasionally they are more or less clear. But these visions… The very first of them was probably one of the most luminous I've ever had. A crystal cut scene of horror, a raging battle with giant explosions, however it lacked sound. However apparent it was, it wasn't enough to determine what the heck was going on. But slowly, steadily over the two weeks the images of the battle scene grew clearer and more realistic, the fifth gaining sound quality, and slowly, against my vehement struggles, gaining enough clarity for me to see the town. Is that…. Mission City Park? And what exactly was fighting. Oh my God… What is that?!

As of yesterday the battle I have been able to see for two weeks finally took place, destroying half of a large city and inciting a giant death toll. And therefore also inciting a wave of guilt over me. Understand, I've never truly had to feel guilt over not helping people through my visions because they're typically about as clear as a mirage, I can't understand what's even happening most of the time until I see it manifest in reality. But I'd clearly been able to see what happened in that city for a good time before it actually occurred, including the fatal step that disgusting metal monster took onto a little girl with wicked brown curls and startling green eyes.

Which now led me to my contorted position on the cool, cracked tile floor of my bathroom with a mixture of sobs, gags, and guilt wracking through my long, slender frame.

I slowly, so as not to incur another round of sickness, uncurled from my place on the ground and pulled myself up to the small sink, immediately reaching for my toothbrush and a small bottle of sleeping pills. As I vigorously brushed my teeth I glanced up at myself in the mirror with my smoky gray eyes. A melancholy face met my view. Large, misty eyes sat above purple rings amid a smattering of freckles on pale skin. Full, but dry, lips were tugging down at the corners, as I knew they always were, and curly black hair was falling out of a messy high ponytail. Slowly I set down the toothbrush, my nails, chewed down, scraping on the porcelain counter and stared at myself for a minute before tossing the pill bottle onto the ground in a sudden rage and twisting my head to the side with tear filled eyes.

"I can't live like this. I can't look at my stained face in the mirror." I trembled as I made my decision.

My life is a wreck, the only good thing being my art. My days and nights were spent in an immortal loop of drawing, working, and sleeping with no gaps in a weak, selfish attempt to avoid the visions. I took pills that left me drugged and groggy and avoided people as a safeguard against the anguish that came when I saw them get hurt but was unable to warn them, as though I was trapped behind an impenetrable glass wall, isolated from the world but still subject to its horrors.

But the most recent horror was the clearest I've ever had in my life, and the anguish that followed was the most feeling I've had in a long while, and hell, I'm not letting the small taste of humanity I had get away from me again, I'm weary of isolation.

So my tremulous courage and desire for something to fill the void has left me with an option I haven't explored, ever.

So… How do I start this?

I moved from my long static position in the bathroom and back into the bedroom, my sheets still in their tangled mass from my rush out. I began to rush about my room, not particularly caring about the mess, and grabbed my small black backpack, proceeding to shove assorted clothes into it. A black t-shirt matching the one I now wore, a grey tank top, a pair of fading blue jeans, all tossed in with a reckless hand. After a wide assortment of random clothes were shoved in without care, I grabbed my tiny black laptop and added that into the bulging bag and grabbed one more bag to fill with my drawing pads and pencils that lay scattered about the dull room. I reached up to fix my ponytail into something socially acceptable as I let my eyes sweep over the ugly, cramped room one last time before I stepped into the door frame of my small apartment.

This could be the last time I ever see this place.

Oh well. I allowed the door to creak close, that place had never truly been home.

A/N: Okay, so, this is my new story! This is the sort-of prologue, and I will be continuing it shortly. So please review with any sort of concerns, I'm totally open to criticism, I really want to improve my writing!

Also this story is not going to be long most likely, it's supposed to take place between the first and second movie. So yeah! Please continue to read! (: Thank you!