PROLOGUE
They weren't expecting to find him. It was just a mere coincidence. He'd been wandering the streets of New York City when they'd caught him.
He wasn't very tall but had blond hair and was rubbing his hands over his bloody and scratched up arms. As he had been rubbing his hands over the scratches, they'd disappeared. He could heal himself. He was one of them.
The Mogs hadn't been in New York for five minutes and they had already found a Loric. And this one looked as if his Cêpan either wasn't around or he was dead. He was probably dead.
The head Mog motioned to the others. This was their chance. They were going to take him in. Hopefully he would be number four. If not, they would find the others first and then kill him.
One of the Mogs snuck up behind him. The boy seemed too interested in his cuts to notice. Which was absolutely perfect for the Mogadorians.
The Mog that had snuck up behind him silently walked over and stood there for a moment. The boy stopped rubbing his arms and looked up. The Mog quickly reached down and covered his mouth. The boy tried to scream but the sound was muffled by the glove. Another Mog rushed to help him and when he reached them, he withdrew a sword from his trench coat.
He was about to stab the boy when he heard from behind, "No. See if he knows anything first. He may help us find the others."
The Mog with the sword didn't look too happy but did what he was told, "Where are the others?" it hissed at the boy.
The boy gasped when his mouth was uncovered, "What others?"
The Mog struck the boy with a fist, "Do not lie to me boy! Now, where are they?"
"They're fighting!" The boy screamed, "Now please don't kill me!"
The Mog gave the boy a monstrous grin, "We know they're fighting. We've already killed Numbers One, Two and Three. Now, what's your number?"
The boy looked confused, "I... I'm not a number. My name is Michael."
The Mog's grin fell into a snarl, "Don't lie to me," Then the Mog noticed something. There was blood on the boy's face. If he had been a number, he wouldn't be bleeding.
The Mog let go of him, looked at him for a moment, and then ran him through with his sword. The boy convulsed for a moment and then lay still. One of the Mogs filled his body with a few heavy rocks and threw it into the river.
"Let's keep moving," The head Mog said to the others, "There are no numbers here."
The Mogs turned around and walked over to their armoured vehicles and left without a trace of evidence that they had been there, except for Michael. Michael Yew's body was steadily sinking to the bottom of the Hudson River.