Eila

I brushed down my unremarkable windbreaker and walked into Walmart as unobtrusively as I could. That is, ignoring the fact that I was a five foot seven Nicaraguan bird-mutant with what appeared to be a smear of blood on my face. Well. Life can't always be perfect.

I felt around in the back pocket of my cargo pants for the meagre remains of the money I'd stolen two, three weeks ago. There were three notes left and a couple of coins. Round about twenty bucks in total. There was no way that'd buy Griffin a windbreaker and two sets of clothes, with money left over for a decent meal.

I wiped my sleeve across my face as I quickly headed to the guys' section. I immediately went to the most promising rack, grabbing two t-shirts, two pairs of pants, a belt and a windbreaker. I found a pair of boots in about the right size, and grabbed a couple of pairs of socks and some boxers.

I glanced out the corner of my eye, spotting three security cameras. I carefully turned so that my body blocked the view of all the cameras as I stuffed the goods into my backpack.

"Hey you, stop!" That was a shop assistant, chasing after a tall, skinny teenager. The teenager was clutching a bundle of clothes and food items as well as having stuff streaming from her bulging backpack. Looks like I'm not the only one with limited funds.

She looked back, cursed, and ran faster. A rent-a-cop skidded out in front of her, followed by a pack of red-faced employees. She dodged. One particularly persistent cop grabbed his billy club and smashed into her side with it. She cried out and staggered to the side, just enough so she overbalanced and all the stuff she was filching spilled out across the floor.

"Oh, no," she said. "You didn't."

She snarled and- get this- extended her wings. Bird wings, about fourteen feet across in total and coloured like a tropical parrot's. A wind stirred up, whipping her waist-length black hair around, into her mid-green eyes and tanned face. She slammed her fist into the floor and a crevice split the linoleum tile. The employees yelled and pointed at the girl, dodging the cracks racing across the floor.

Shoot. This hot-tempered mutant is going to get herself killed!

I jumped across the widening crevasse and grabbed the girl by the arm. She was shorter than me, about five four, tanned, with a swirly birthmark on the back of her hand. I dragged her with me and swung my backpack on. I crashed through the fire escape, running up the stairs so I could take off with this girl.

"Let go of me!" she cried, thrashing. I hissed at her.

"I don't think so," I muttered. "If you don't want to be caught by the police and be gift-wrapped and delivered to Itex then run with me, okay!"

That shut her up.

We crashed into the open as the alarms in the store below wailed. I unfurled my own wings and ran off the side of the building, followed by the hot-tempered mutant girl.

Mist

Something collided with my back as I was in the air. I whipped around. Could the School be tracking me? I can't go back there, not after Aelita let me out again.

The projectile mumbled, "Oof!"

It rubbed its fluffy strawberry-blond head, and I saw that it was another birdkid with startling green eyes. He looked to be no more than about nine years old, and he looked at me with huge eyes.

"Wo-ah," he said, looking at me with this sort of spaced-out expression.

"Kid? Hello?" I asked, waving my hand in front of his face. The kid shook his head and looked at me.

"Ooh. Another birdkid?"

"Yeah!" I smiled. "I'm Mist!"

The kid smiled at me. "I'm Bobby!"

Yeah. He did look like a Bobby.

"Are you looking for someone?" Bobby asked me, this contemplative expression dawning in his face. I nodded.

"Do you know of a mutant named Griffin?"

Kichiro

Th Eraser's fist slammed into my face and sent me crashing into the wall. My vision flashed and I slid to the ground.

"Heh, you were always the one gone wrong," the Eraser sneered. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, picking up another streak of blood. I coughed. More of the red substance bubbled out from between my lips. I pushed off the ground, but my arms gave out and a stab of pain lanced through my ribs.

The Eraser laughed and spat on me. Jagged claws erupted from his fingertips and the Eraser examined the best angle from which to strike me at. He grinned, pulling back his gleaming pink gums over grotesquely protruding canines. He lifted his claws to strike.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, and with a fizzing noise, the Eraser seemed to dissolve. He froze,a terrified expression on his face. Then he let out one long, agonised howl. His face crumbled into nothing as his atoms dissipated into the atmosphere.

Oh, God. An Obliterator. Obliterators had the power to destroy objects, people, with a single touch and in the most painful way imaginable.

The Obliterator leaned over me, a figure of shadow lit from behind by the fluorescent strip lights above the sand-floored arena.

The figure chuckled darkly and waved over a team of whitecoats.

"Make sure this one doesn't die. The Director told me that I won't get another replacement body if this one kicks the bucket," the figure drawled. As whitecoats lifted me none too gently onto a gurney, I caught a better look at the Obliterator.

The shaggy blue-black hair, the pointed canines, wiry build. The strip of fur covering their shoulder blades and running down their spine.

It was me. Another me. The original copy.

Tred.