The bus ride had been uneventful, and I regret now not having enjoyed it to the fullest when I could have. My last class had left me energized, as it usually did. Napping through the drone of my history teacher, who never bothered to ask questions of the back of the room, usually did that to me. The bus had stopped and dropped off the rest of my fellow students as per custom until it was only me and a two other students, a brother and sister, left. I never really talked to them, or any one on my bus for that matter, but now I regret it. When the bus stopped in front of my house, I quickly got up from my seat in the third to last row and walked past the brother and sister, with only a brief nod, that only the brother returned. I said 'Thanks' to the driver as I always did and as always he said in return "Any time".

I remember being grateful that it was the weekend and enjoying the brief freedom provided by the only two days in the week were my life was not planned out for me. I climbed the small stair way that lead to my door. When I reached the porch, I turned and waved back at the driver who never left unless he saw his charge safely into their home. He was an okay driver, better then the majority of drivers who simply viewed their job as shuttling brats from point A to B. I remember one time when he had yelled angrily after breaking up a fight on his bus,

"Driving you guys, while we all make our journey home through Gotham, is not only my responsibility but also protecting you from all the loons in this city is too. And if that means protecting you from each other then so be it, but no one's going to be able to say that I let one of you get hurt on my watch."

I never even asked his name, which seemed normal at the time, but now seems neglectful and sad.

I took out my keys, opened to door, and went in.

That's when routine ended. My parents car keys where both in the ceramic bowl I had made when I was in 4th grade; which rested on the table next to the door. My parents were rarely at home at the same time. I listened quietly for a few seconds. I heard nothing. And there was hardly a time where my parents weren't arguing about something. I dropped my keys into the bowl with the rest of them.

"Mom...Dad..." I called.

My mother then answered, her voice calm and even, "In here dear."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My mother never called me 'dear' and even more unsettling was that her voice had come from the dinning room that was to the left of the front door. No one but me ever eat in there, my mother always eating in the kitchen and my father in his office. We were that kind of family, the kind that never eat together, the family who's parents were always fighting, but it was normal to me. I can't remember a time where it had been different. My mind automatically thought of the worse case scenario, we were having a 'family dinner'. I sneered a bit at the thought of such a ridiculous concept.

Eating required neither company nor conversation so why would I need either. It was all some idea created by the PTA of some school who wanted to explain the reason as to why their children acted the way they did. Because it was never that it could be the parents fault in the first place. Teenagers simply lack the joyful experience of watching others eat.

I walked toward the swinging door that lead into my dinning room and waited there a second,

"Why are you in the dinning room, mom?" I only asked to see if there was any actual need for me to go into the room. At that moment I would have preferred to go to my room and start to read the small pile of books that I had gathered from the library.

"What kind of question is that? Come in here!" my father responded angrily for my mother. I rolled my eyes for about the hundredth time over the fact that after fifteen years my father still didn't understand that I could never be intimidated my his "serious business" voice.

Without further hesitation I quickly pushed the door open and entered the room not wanting to have to hear him speak again. My mother and father where there, along with eight other men who I had never seen before in my life. Mother looked calm and in control of herself, but I could tell that she wanted to run from the room screaming. No amount of acting training could fool me when it came to what my mother was thinking and feeling. Father's forehead was creased very similarly as to when he was signing papers in his office. To anyone else he would have looked deep in concentration but to me he looked overwhelmed and alone.

They were both seated at the table on either side of one of the men , who sat at the head of the table. I instantly disliked him for taking my seat. He was the only one of the strange men who wasn't wearing all black clothing that looked like ski wear and more importantly the only one who was not armed to the teeth. I did a quick count of how many guns there were. Each of the skiers had two glock 19s and on big assault riffle type thing on their backs. I knew that each mag for the glock had 33 bullets at most thanks to far too much History Channel specials on guns. I quickly tried to think of how many bullets there where in the room, glocks alone.

66

462

There where at least 462 bullets in my dinning room. More or less 150 bullets for my mother, father, and me if we upset these men. Although I was certain that they only needed to place one correctly to achieve any goal. Death or intimidation, simple as that.

The man in my seat, wore a business suit with a red tie. He had on the type of glasses that had no rims so you could barely see them from far away. His ice blue eyes gazed at me calmly as he stood up.

"Please, come in. Sit."

AN: Hello Everyone! Thank you so much for reading this chapter! It would be great if you could tell me what you thought, granted this was only a taste. No flames please, but I still want to hear your honest opinions, so let's agree on: honest but polite, ya? Question: I like responding to reviews but I'm always uncertain if you guys actually get them, so could you tell me next chapter if you do?

("What Shadows Bring" readers): I'm so sorry for not posting in a long time but I'm currently stock piling chapters so that you get packets of chapters and not wait so long, but that also means that there will be gaps in between packets so I apologize for that in advance.