Syl had lived in Los Angeles for four years. She came there when she was fourteen. Before, she'd been in Chicago, New Orleans and NYC.

She was adopted from a shelter that looked after post-Pulse orphans. By a banker named Peter Gallagher and his wife, Isobel.

When Syl (or, as she called herself, Sylvie Amos) was sixteen, Peter decided to remarry. By Syl's seventeenth , Peter had married a woman named Crista Morgan. They had a baby girl named Eloise.

Peter was a millionaire. He and Syl had always lived in a huge white and glass house over looking the bay. Peter owned five cars and the entire house was full of the latest gadgets – laptop computers, DVD players, digital security camera…even after the Pulse, he had them.

When Crista moved in, the entire house was redecorated in a more modern style. Lots of white, gray and black. Three more cars went into the garage.

Crista then inherited a few billion from her father and his company. So, by the time Eloise was born, Crista was princess of the social scene. She was money and she got whatever she desired.

Syl hated Crista the moment she'd taken over from Isobel – Syl and Belle had been very close; the closet thing Syl had ever had to a mother.

Syl's room was huge – painted white like the entire house and full of her 'stuff'. A bulletin board was full of photographs and postcards – mainly of Syl and Belle together. A double bed covered with a homemade flannel quilt. A sheer piece of pale pink material was tacked across the floor to ceiling window. Her clothes were tossed across a white wicker chair.

Syl lay in bed, watching the sunrise through the material. Her hair lay, dull and tangled, across her shoulders. She had a headache coming on and she had school in 90 minutes.

"Connie!" came a yell. Connie was the housekeeper and Eloise's nanny.

Syl rolled out of bed and walked over to her pile of clothes – she really needed to do some laundry…

She pulled on a red halter top, a pair of tight black jeans and some black thongs. Smear of lipstick and eyeshadow, brushing her long hair, Syl grabbed her book bag and coat and raced downstairs.

"…Connie, I told you, Eloise is to be given soy milk only. No diary products. She's got a rash. I'll have to run to the doctor with her. And I've got an important meeting with my lawyer." Crista bustled round the kitchen, holding Eloise, who was almost three. She had light brown curls and was old – and tall – enough to walk. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, but Crista was holding her, wrapped in a mink blanket, with an ice pack pressed to her forehead, like she was wasting away.

"Hey Crista," Syl said, coming into the kitchen, and opening the fridge.

"Good morning, Sylvie," Crista said stiffly. "I hope you have a nice day at school. There is money on the phone table. Eloise is ill, I'm taking her to the doctor then to a meeting. Your father said he'll be home by nine. I shall be home a six. Dinner will be around six."

Syl nodded, deciding on a bottle of iced coffee and a doughnut for breakfast. Glancing at her watch, she realized that Jem was picking her up in five minutes; for all of Jem's faults, lateness was not one.

"Whatever, Crista. See you tonight." Syl grabbed her phone and wallet from the kitchen table, walking down the drive.

Crista rushed out after her, hurrying to her car.

Syl walked down the drive, slipped through the bars of the front gate and waited by the road. Just as Jem's red jeep pulled to the side of the road, Crista sped by in her BMW, almost colliding with Jem.

"Jesus, where's the fire?" Jem laughed.

"Eloise is a bit flushed," Syl rolled her eyes, tossed her bag in the bag and jumped in.

Jem was slightly shocking to look at. She had paper white skin, blotched with bruises; she liked playing soccer with her brothers; she had black hair she streaked with bleach and wide brown eye outlined with black eyeshadow. All her make up was thick as hell. She favoured spandex dresses and skirts for school, with stilettos. And her hat – a faux faded red velvet knit hat that she'd stuck beads too.

"Ciggy?" Jem offered. "Drink?"

Even from this distance, Syl could smell the orange juice mixed with vodka. While smoking didn't affect Syl, she stuck to the herbal cigarettes. On the rare occasion she did smoke.

"Turn up the radio!" Jem screamed over the already-blaring stereo. Syl nodded, wincing slightly – being an X5, her ears were much more sensitive.

The girls made t to school on time, to see a bus come in from the bay area.

"Hey, Syl, fresh meat," Jem grinned, leaping out of the jeep.

"Yum," Syl smirked, grabbing her stuff.

Both girls stood on the steps – three new girls and two new boys.

"Sad that the bay area has so few..." Jem waved her skinny arms about. "Damn, Syl, we need to meet Harley and Phoenix."

"What have we got first?" Syl asked, flipping her hair. "Peter said that I'm failing cause I haven't turned up to enough history classes."

"How can they flunk you when you got 92% for midterms? That's a crime."

"It's the system. So, the verdict?"

"Algebra."

"Excellent."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Krit lived forty minutes from the bay area. When he got accepted into a private school on the outskirts of the city, his guardian, Sue, was thrilled. Full scholarship. It also meant that her had to catch a bus at 5:50 am to be in time for the 7:30 am bay area bus to school.

School. A safe haven. He was planning on graduating and studying genetics so he could work out the problems with the seizures. Good job, good pay and he could afford a car. Once he was a doctor.

Sue had taken him in when he was twelve. They'd never been caught. They lived in a wooden townhouse with Sue's son – Micah – who was 25 and unemployed. He was bitter Krit was able to get a proper education.

Krit yawned and watched out the bus window. This was his ticket to closing down Manticore and getting a real life – a normal one.

The bus pulled up along a street. It was neat and tidy. The school took up most of the block – except for a newsagent and a deli. It was a concrete and brick building. Better than the high school Krit had slummed it before.

A red jeep pulled up opposite the school, and two girls jumped out, laughing and carrying on. One was tall, with black and bleached hair and bruises. Krit guessed leukemia or some terminal disease. The other was a short blonde and looked like she'd spent the evening in the gutter.

Krit got off the bus and moved towards the principal's office. Time to start his Life. And damn anyone who got in the way.

*~*~*~*~*

Syl pulled a cigarette out of her pocket, lighting it. There were five of them skipping class – her, Jem, Phoenix, Harley and Tania, sitting in a tree. Phoenix and Harley were passing around a bottle of vodka while Jem was drinking bourbon and coke.

"The party last night was so mad," Phoenix purred, inhaling, dangling the cigarette from her finger tips. "At least, what I remember." She giggled, grabbing at the vodka.

"It was great," Syl agreed, taking a mouthful of the bourbon and coke. "Damnit, Joel throws the best raves."

"So, spill Syl, is Joel as good as he looks?" Harley asked, smirking. "Cause Matt sure as hell was a disappointment to the family."

"Runs in the family," Syl rolled her eyes. "He was backing away before we even did anything. Freak."

The girls laughed.

*~*~*~*~*

Krit sat in his algebra class, trying to concentrate. But he had caught site of a bunch of girls hanging out in the parking lot, in a tree. Finally, irritable from the Math he had learnt as a child in Manticore, he got a hall pass and went in search of the girls.

There they were, passing around cigarettes and bottles of drink that smelt incriminating.

"Hey," he said, eyeing them.

"Hey good-lookin," said one. She had hair that had been dyed a harsh artificial red, wearing a black bikini top (damn, Krit hoped that was a bikini) and a purple leather skirt.

"Lookin' for a threesome, huh?" asked Leukemia Girl. "You've come to the right place."

"Phoenix, Jem, leave the new guy alone." The blonde from the car. She had loosened up now and was laughing.

"I don't like to get in too deep before I know your names," Krit said, leaning against the tree. "So?"

"Phoenix," the redhead said. "Pleasure."

"Jemma. Call me Jem or I'll kill you," Leukemia Girl said.

"Harley." A wiry girl with cropped black hair and two cigarettes.

"Tania." She looked perfectly innocent – two braids and a cute t shirt, denim skirt and knee socks. Not the sort who hung around drinking and smoking during their senior year.

"I know whatcha thinking," the Blonde said. "Yeah, our families are rolling in cash. They send us to a nice school so we can go to college and make them proud. But, basically, we don't wanna be here. An all night club is all we need to get that boost of self-esteem." She leant forward and Krit was suddenly aware that there wasn't anything under her skimpy halter top.

"And you are…?" He stepped closer to her, intrigued. Someone else as jaded as he was. He could read the pain in her eyes.

"Sylvie Amos. Call me Syl," she shrugged, leaning back.

Krit's eyes widened. He hadn't met anyone called Syl in his life except his baby sister…

"Krit Morias," he said. "Krit'll do just fine."

She looked up, her eyes wide. "Krit, huh?"

Looking back, Krit knew instantly, this was his Syl. Or what remained of the girl he had been so close to. Years of emotional neglect had left Syl a bitter girl; if Zack had stopped and realized that even though Syl had a rich family, an education and safety, she still needed his contact, she might've been okay. But thanks to Zack's sibling-related problems, Syl was just like Ben; she was killing. Unlike Ben, Syl was slowly killing herself.

He was about to ask her anything – the name, the reminder of his best friend was enough for him to never let her go, but a teacher came over.

"Ladies," he said. "Drinking games?"

"We were about to set up a hot threesome, Mr Dune," Tania smirked, giving him her best sex kitten look. "I'm sure we could fit you in…somewhere."

Mr Dune glared at Tania. "Right all six of you have an hour of after school detention. One of these days girls, I'd like to see you when you don't smell like a brewery."

The girls grabbed their stuff and left. Mr Dune turned to Krit.

"Morias? Heard about you. First full scholarship given out in years."

"Yes sir."

"Want some sound advice, Morias?" Mr Dune asked, as they walked back to class.

"If you're offering it sir."

"Stay away from those girls. Tania Zuckerman, Harley Adams, Phoenix Spencer, Jemma Houston and Sylvie Amos. You get mixed up with them…Amos doesn't clean up her act, she's expelled. Jemma has been expelled – paperwork is being finalised, she's outta here."

"But she's sick, right? Why are you expelling her, if she's a terminal patient," Krit asked, confused.

Mr Dune was three years older than the Seniors and had been at BAHS when the famous five were freshmen.

"Those girls…I was a Senior when they were freshmen. Jemma has been on hard drugs since she was twelve. She's shitted up so many people. If she hasn't already got AIDS, HIV or something, she's got an STD. She hasn't got leukemia or cancer, just a whole lot of rage," Mr Dune shrugged. "Sylvie's worse; lost cause. The other three are nothing but sheep. Tania was a top student until she and Phoenix became friends."

Krit nodded, arriving at his class. "So, you're just giving up on Sylvie? She can't be saved?"

Mr Dune gave him a hard glare. "Amos has gotten to you, hasn't she? Look, Morias, she can't be saved. No body can unless they want to; unless they have a reason. I'll see you in detention."