Alright, folks, I'm back again with this story, completely rewritten. I'm working on later chapters now, but for now, you can have the first chapter. I'm sorry it took so long, and to the readers of the original, I extend my sincerest gratitude for following it, putting up with the sporadic updates, and still caring enough about the story to hunt this one down and try again. Y'all are amazing. As in the previous one, the majority of the story is rated for occasional language, violence, and the mentions of occasional alcohol use - nothing explicit, as usual. There will be one chapter way later in the story rated for much stronger stuff, but we'll burn that bridge when we get to it. This first chapter doesn't really have much to do with the League, admittedly, but as in the last story, the League is coming next chapter. So, without further ado, the remake of Fade. I hope you all enjoy it as much as you seemed to enjoy the original.

It never ceases to amaze me how easy it is for the silent to become invisible.

I don't speak. Never have, probably never will. My mom says she remembers me talking all the time when I was younger, but all I ever hear when I look back at my past are the words of the others - the sounds of my parents talking at the table, of the cars flying down the streets, of the gentle whisper of tree leaves fluttering like butterfly wings in the wind. Everything makes noises except me.

For the first eleven years of my life, no one noticed, or if they did they didn't care. But once we hit sixth grade, all my friends abandoned me. When I'd go out on the driveway to shoot some hoops and would hold up the basketball questioningly, the kids next door would share a look and shake their head, making up some excuse as to why they couldn't. I'd go to school and write out messages on one of the pieces of paper I always carried with me in a journal to talk to the people who sat next to me, and be rewarded by them turning away. When I'd raise my hand to write out an answer, I was conveniently skipped over by teachers.

Eventually, I disappeared almost entirely from everyone's vision. And when no one sees you, you start to become invisible to even yourself, start forgetting that you're worth seeing at all. Even to yourself, you disappear.

Take it from me. I did.

The summer everyone forgot about me, I took up reading. I mean, I'd read a lot before, but I'd always had other things to distract me. But when the only thing you hear is the kids down the street laughing without you as you bounce a basketball alone, the activity loses some of its charm. With my social calendar – what little had ever existed of it – successfully cleared, I filled the time by working against the backlog of books on my list of future reads. I'd find a quiet corner, take out my latest conquest, and disappear for a while into the words, where I could forget that I wasn't an adventurer, could forget that I didn't speak and didn't stop apocalypses and save the day.

I enjoyed forgetting, to say the least. Reading was silent – an activity where quietude was the norm and being a bystander was acceptable. No matter how many times I stood on silent sidelines, the stories never rejected me like the world had, and instead they fed my need for all the adventures I would never have. I breathed in the typed ink like it was air, because to me it was. When ninety-nine percent of everything you know is stripped away, you cling to the one percent that remains, because losing it means you lose yourself. I knew that, and so I held on to the one thing I had left that I knew, the one thing that I loved. I had to.

The library became my home, more than even my real one. Half the time, my parents probably didn't even notice if I was there or not anyway. I'm not entirely sure that they even cared.

And so it was that I disappeared. Over time, I faded into invisibility, and once that happened, no one noticed anything I did anymore. And by the time they remembered that once upon a time, there had been a mute girl named Riley Carson, I had forgotten why it mattered and become transparent to even myself.

By the time they started looking, it was too late to find me again.

The day that they tried to find me again, I engaged in my favorite activity: taking up a semi-permanent residence in the silent area of the library.

School had let out early then for the last day of sophomore year, and the section I sat in was even more sparsely populated than usual. Without the usual crowd of students who had been cramming for finals and desperately trying to type out their last essay of the year over the last few weeks, there were only a few seats occupied, all of them by regulars. The woman with the bags sat in her own corner, drawing designs aimlessly on the table, not making eye contact with anyone as she stared into open space. Two tables to the left, in front of the third full sized window that threw light onto this section of the library, a backpack with electronics spilling out of it was thrown on the table, its owner sprawled in the windowsill with a handheld system two inches from his face. A business man sat with his coffee, pecking at computer keys on the next table over, and another younger girl sat artfully sketching out animals and fantasy scenes, pencil twisted up into inky hair.

I was sitting alone in my usual corner, and enjoying it. On the table in front of me sat three books – one I'd already finished since coming here, two that I'd checked out the last time and was still working on, along with the fourth that I held in my hands and had read all but the last thirty-two pages of.

I was working on rendering the situation of the remaining pages when Will showed up. With messy brown hair, a longish face with a square jaw, and bright green-grey eyes that hid behind thick-framed black glasses, he was a tangle of long, pale limbs, looking about as awkward as I felt. Taking the headphones from over his ears and hanging them around his neck, he grinned at me, pulling a journal out of his backpack and sitting down. I smiled, marking my page with a finger and turning to him.

Messy, familiar handwriting scrawled out a message on the notebook page. Hey, Riley. How are you? Been here a while?

Nodding, I took the pen to scribble out a reply. A couple hours or so. Last day of the school year, so they let us out early since finals were done. I'm just glad it's over. Reading over my shoulder, he gave an understanding nod of his head. I had explained a long time ago exactly why I didn't enjoy my time in social settings these days, and he'd understood the concept surprisingly easily, taking it in stride. More time for reading, I wrote, and he grinned.

Better slow up, Will replied in his writing. Otherwise the library will run out of books for you to eat. Then you'll have to try your hand at game programming again.

I smacked him playfully. The last time didn't go that bad.

He raised an eyebrow. That game character only got completely back to normal two weeks ago. You coded him to twitch three months ago. At that, I had to shrug. He did have a valid point, though in my defense, the bug that had caused the twitchiness had been placed there on accident.

Anyway, he continued, enough about that. Got a book you might enjoy. He noticed my grin and responded in kind, pulling a copy out of his backpack. It was a paperback, relatively thin. On the cover, the letters LXG were printed in a raised silver font over the shadowed faces and forms of seven individuals.

I looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. Quickly, he scrawled out a message again, flipping the paper so I could read it. It's crazy. It's basically this insane alternate version of the nineteenth century where they've already got tanks and machine guns, and there's this nutcase trying to start a world war with an arms race. So this nutcase – the last word was scribbled out – sorry, anyway, this guy, he summons up seven people to help fight this guy off and prevent a world war, called the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Even though there's one chick. Maybe it should have been League of Extraordinary Badasses, since that's gender neutral? I don't know. Anyway, all the characters are from a bunch of different classics, so I think you'd like it.

I nodded slowly, looking at him and examining the book. It didn't seem too long, and it seemed like an interesting enough read. Plus, Will's recommendations tended to be of exactly the kind of book I wound up enjoying, regardless of how strange they sounded initially. Being about the only person who seemed to enjoy socializing with me since we'd met three months after I'd started disappearing, at the start of sixth grade year, he knew me better than almost anyone, including my parents.

Alright, I wrote. I'll bite. Once you return it, I'll read it. I'll be done with these by then.

Will shook his head. No. You've got to read this one. It's amazing – you're going to love it. Besides, you can borrow my copy. I've got three weeks to get it back here, and I know it won't take you that long, given your track record.

I gave a silent laugh at that and nodded, taking the copy and putting it on my stack of books. Alright. Thanks.

Will nodded. Now, with that out of the way, you want to go hang out somewhere else? My hand's starting to cramp, I forgot my laptop, and I have writer's block. Besides, end of our school years – might as well celebrate with food. Ice cream sound good?

Your treat, I wrote back, grinning.

Will sighed.

"Man, that place was empty," he said as we headed out the front door, my bag banging against my side and his slapping against his shoulder blades. "I guess I somehow forgot that ninety percent of the people who have been taking up our space over the past month and a half aren't usually there. At least it's open again, though."

I nodded, bracing the notebook against my arm as we walked. Yeah, true. I was getting a bit put off by the intruder parade, especially since I know most of them. I mean, I get that we're all silent in there, but seriously. All those people are kind of strange to be around in my favorite place, since I'm always running into them in my least favorite place.

Will gave an understanding smile. "I get that. Luckily enough, you don't even have to see them for a few months. And then you have another couple of months before the finals rush. And maybe by then they'll find another place to haunt instead of that library. Which would definitely be good. I mean, I'd feel bad for whoever got them instead since the people you get stuck with in school are pretty much trolls and I don't think half of them are even literate given how inept they are at usage of library materials, but at least our library wouldn't be inundated."

I had to grin at his description, laughing noiselessly. Though maybe a bit harsh, it was at least true. The number of people who had flooded in over the recent times with little to no knowledge as to how to even use the website to look up books had walked the border between irritatingly common and absolutely ridiculous. The librarians had all been a somewhat scattered mess trying to keep up with the times, though they'd managed to make it through another season.

You know what they say, I wrote, better them than us.

Will chuckled a bit in agreement before switching topics. "Anyway, where are we off to? Any preference?"

I shook my head. Though I had encountered numerous people over time who claimed that one brand or store was infinitely superior, I'd always found ice cream to be just that – ice cream. It tasted the same regardless of origin.

"Didn't think so," Will laughed. "Duke's it is then."

After a wait that took twice as long as the walk to get there – evidently, everyone else had had a similar idea for end of the year celebrations – Will and I were sitting on a park bench about ten minutes away from Duke's, holding two cones of ice cream that had already started melting.

To summer, I traced on Will's arm.

"To freedom from idiots," Will responded, gently tapping his cone against mine and leaving a smear of chocolate syrup and strawberry ice cream behind.

With a grin, the both of us set in, faces leaned back to stare at the blue silk sky. Wisps of feathery clouds drifted past, sun scorching one side of my face lightly, and I almost smiled at the quiet peace. Reaching a hand over, I tapped Will, writing on the bench without looking down. This is nice. Thanks.

Beside me, I felt him shrug. "Don't mention it. I mean, summer, right? The last normal one. We may as well remember it." I nodded my assent silently. Somehow, I'd forgotten again that he was going into senior year in a few months, and I made a mental note to start planning for graduation. Seeing as how he was both my best and only friend, I had to do something.

Valid point, I wrote on the bench. Excited to be done? Ready to graduate?

Will let out a choked laugh, his response so fast it was almost comedic. "No. I mean, I still have no idea what I'm doing after I graduate, and my Mom's already getting all twisted about her baby growing up, and she keeps talking about me in this stupid gooey way. Half the time she talks in past tense, too, and it's just an enormous mess. And then Mr. Hyde – no, that's not his real name, he's the principal but half the time he's bearable and half the time he's a dictator and his assistant isn't any better – already asked me about speaking at graduation because as far as English grades go, I'm a unanimous valedictorian, and just no. I've got almost a year before it actually happens and the idea of graduation already makes me sick." Beside me, he ran his hands over his face and groaned.

Smiling a little, I gave his arm a squeeze. You'll be fine. If you can talk to someone like me, you can talk to a bunch of people like you.

Will shot me a strange look. "People like me? Try again. There are very, very few people in that crowd that are anything like me. It's all a bunch of jocks and cheerleaders and cliquey clichés. I mean, maybe you disagree, but I don't think any of them are like me."

Maybe not in personality, I wrote. At least they talk though. They'll be able to cheer for you.

To that, Will just sighed. "Yeah. I know. They'll also be able to laugh later at how epically I screwed up. I'll probably stutter or puke or something, ruin the whole ceremony."

Lightly, I punched him in the arm, earning a resentful look. Hey. You'll be fine, I repeated again.

"Yeah. Sure. Hey, you're going to be there, right?" Will asked, watching me. At the look I gave him, he seemed somewhat flustered. "It's a serious question. I want to know."

Once again, I punched him lightly. Of course I'll be there. No other preferences. Besides, I owe it to you, as thanks.

Will smirked a little a that. "Good. I just wanted to be sure."

The silence returned then, this time for about twenty minutes. While I pulled out my book from before, Will continued to stare up at the sky. The steady sound of breathing and pages turning tinged the air with a sort of peace, until my book was shut and replaced, and I tapped Will.

Another one down, I wrote, this time in the notebook. Onto LXG now.

Will flashed me a grin. "You'll love it," he told me. Nodding, I opened the book to the first page, but was stopped before I could start. Once again, it was Will.

"Hey," he asked. "You have any idea what time it is?"

I paused to check my watch, flashing it at him and writing on my wrist. 4:03.

"Aw, crap," he muttered, hurriedly standing up and throwing all his belongings together in a somewhat deranged attempt at order. "Mom's going to kill me. She wanted me home at 4:15 so we could take Jackie out to dinner before her big show. I have to go. Catch you tomorrow?" His voice was laced with hope, and I nodded, shooing him away. Flashing a grateful smile, he turned and started running.

I watched until he left around the corner entirely, smiling to myself. It figured that he was late again. In four and a half years, I could think of few times when he hadn't been late. As he disappeared, I waited a few moments before standing up myself. If he wasn't here, there was no point in being in such a public and exposed setting. Packing up everything but LXG, I opened the book and, multitasking, started the walk home.

As it turned out, Will had hit the nail on the head again. Instantly, my attention was grabbed and swept away by the story, my mind falling into it without any trouble. Walking down the sun baked streets, it did exactly what I needed it to do. It made me forget.

On autopilot, I maneuvered the streets, checking for traffic in the rare moments when I let myself breathe, cautiously avoiding the passerby. It was my usual peripheral attention, the same I paid to the surrounding world at all times when I had a book.

In some ways, then, I suppose what happened next was my fault.

I only remember brief snapshots of the next few minutes.

I had pressed the crosswalk button with an absent mind, listening until traffic stopped. Throwing a look up, I trooped off across the street at my usual pace. It was perfectly safe.

It still wasn't enough.

There were no screeching tires. There was no sound at all, really, no hint of danger. Just echoes, the wind, and the birds. Nothing worth noting. I didn't look up.

Until a horn shattered the silence. My head shot up, fingers slipping from their holds on the paper, and I looked towards the source of the noise. Barrelling down the street which had been empty a breath before, a red car screeched towards me, sunlight glaring off an immaculate hood as I stood in paralyzed fear.

The car connected with a crunch. For a moment, I was flying.

Then the asphalt rushed up to meet me.