Author's Note: Please don't flame me or hurt me or anything. I get frustrated at the lack of reveiws I get and I look at my stories and realize that they kind of lack enough detail and stuff. This story, I will add all of my heart into it. Btw, this is set in Five Years Gone but all of the original Heroes have died or disappeared. So it's all OC
-New York City, New York-
(Neal Winthrop 10:00 AM)
Neal Winthrop sat at his desk boredly. He never even cared about school. Neal did what he did every single class to drag him through the endless sands of time until the mirthless whine of the bell would ring through the hallways filled with grey tiles and faded blue lockers. He reflected upon his thoughts. One single thing had dared Neal to pay attention to the news for once, one single thing that had caught his attention and played with it like his attention would never become obtained by anything again. The President had disappeared for a few seconds and he never came back. The building right near where he was in Kirby Plaza that day had collasped. Corpses were found within it. In the President's closet, a girl's body was found as well. He fidgeted anxiously in his seat, as if the answer would come on after this long wait, just like a TV show. Neal didn't like being captured and drawn to something this easily. He glared around at nobody, seeing the plaintive faces staring forward at the white board as if manipulated to. He watched them intently. Watching them like a normal 16 year old shouldn't. But Neal wasn't normal. He never was. Neal noticed it all.
"Mr. Winthrop, is something bothering you?" the teacher drawled, not even caring.
"Yes, actually," Neal murmured softly as he turned to face forward like the rest.
"Well, what is it?" The teacher inquired with fake curiousity. Near allowed a razor thin sneer to make its way upon his lips.
"Do you know what happened to the President?" The question slithered out of his lips like a snake and Neal's words usually seemed to intimidate people. He made them think, he made himself feel superior as the rest of the class would watch a teacher squirm with a question he'd work all day on. To make someone older than him, more experienced than him, feel stupid made Neal feel so big. He was truly insecure that way.
"If I did, you would not be permitted to know," The reply came late and Neal's mouth twisted into an ugly line. He wanted a reaction, emotion, a struggle from the teacher. He began to wring out the hem of his shirt as his brows furrowed, his dark green optics averting from the teacher to stare blankly at the paper.
"You wouldn't care anyway, now would you, Mr. Winthrop..?" The teacher asked, now curiousity filling his voice accusingly. Neal stared up. The teacher was daring him to answer.
"What if I did?" Neal decided to take the bait, to play the game. This little fun would end class quickly.
"Do you?" The teacher returned the original question, begining the game of cat and mouse.
"Maybe I do," Neal's lips breathed lightly, his eyebrows raising mockingly. The class had leaned forward, intently focusing on their little gameplay.
"If you did," The teacher hissed with a wavering tone.
"You'd do what?" Neal's familiar sneer had graced itself upon his lips again, his brows lowering as he made himself comfortable within the seat.
"You're beating around the bush, Mr. Winthrop."
"As are you, Mr. Dewlong. Maybe you should just answer my original question," Neal intended to go farther than nessescary. He wanted to see a reaction now.
"The President?" Mused Mr. Dewlong. "Well...He.."
"Yes?" Neal purred lightly, leaning forward as his sneer broadened sickeningly.
"Mr. Winthrop, why do you believe this is your buisness?" More stalling. Neal was growing tired of this game very quickly.
"Just tell me or not," Neal let out a low growl, rising from his seat.
"Sit down, Neal." Mr. Dewlong stepped forward.
"I don't believe I will," Neal muttered, his eyes lingering upon the dirty window that hung to the wall at the other side of the class. The teacher advanced forward once more and Neal braced himself to run. The bell broke them from their intent match. Neal darted out the door and leaped down the stairs. He ignored the protesting moniter and burst out of the doors from the side of the school. He ran into the streets, only having his black hoodie, a plain grey T-shirt and jeans. His shoes heavily thudded hypnoticly against the hard concrete.
He burst into the apartment building and pounded up the metallic stairs. Neal lived on the third floor. He felt his heart pounding, his temples pulsing, his blood rushing. He allowed ice cold air lash at him, his throat longing for warmth instead of the labored breaths that allowed the air to whip at it and freeze it even more.
He slammed open the apartment door and rummaged through everything in his room. Neal obtained all of the essentials: Food, clothing, money, books, and his cell phone. He took the elevator down to regain his breath. Neal exit the apartment building a few minutes later, sauntering down the street to begin his journey that would connect with many others in a war against the one that truly started this all.