A/N: The reason these chapters have been so short is the buildup of
suspense. You know, leaving you guys hungry for more. Enjoy!
To say that Syd Lipsky's life was free of stress would likely be an understatement. This statement, however, had shown the recent vandalization of her locker had proved she could indeed go down farther on the path of depression. "Syd, it'll be okay..."
"No it won't! You didn't see what they called me, Aunt Jessie!" The teen hero sobbed.
"What did they call you?"
"A-A synth...."
"Syd, it's no big deal...." Jessie tried to comfort Syd.
"Y-yeah...I know, Aunt Jessie, but..."
"....But you're still upset."
"R-right..."
"We'll get this settled, Syd, don't worry."
"I'm gonna go upstairs."
"Okay. Need anything?"
"No thanks."
Syd trudged up to her third-floor bedroom, flopping down on the purple bedspread, gazing at the black ceiling, orange walls, and purple walls. "Sydstem voicemail. Thirty-seven messages," a computer voice rang inside Syd's pocket. Syd pulled out the purple and orange device, and checked them. "Syd, it's Ron." Syd rolled her eyes as the message continued, "You're not going to let those vandals win, are you, Syd?" The message abruptly ended, Syd was glad, she simply could not take the stress any more.
The back of Syd's head immediately found the pillow as she closed her eyes. Just calm down....find your center...inhale...exhale...she thought. But, she discovered, this attempt would not work. She allowed her mind to wander, back to her initial creation. Everyone wonders about the circumstances of their birth at some point in their life, Syd found it relatively early in her life. She was a tool, a weapon to destroy her own parents. Granted, she hadn't been blind to her purpose...surely, hopefully, the other citizens knew that.
As the brick crashed through her third-story window, she knew. She knew they didn't give a crap if she had been rehabilitated. She knew they were bloodthirsty. Her heart pounded in her chest as she realized they were only after one thing.
Synthetic blood. Her blood.
To say that Syd Lipsky's life was free of stress would likely be an understatement. This statement, however, had shown the recent vandalization of her locker had proved she could indeed go down farther on the path of depression. "Syd, it'll be okay..."
"No it won't! You didn't see what they called me, Aunt Jessie!" The teen hero sobbed.
"What did they call you?"
"A-A synth...."
"Syd, it's no big deal...." Jessie tried to comfort Syd.
"Y-yeah...I know, Aunt Jessie, but..."
"....But you're still upset."
"R-right..."
"We'll get this settled, Syd, don't worry."
"I'm gonna go upstairs."
"Okay. Need anything?"
"No thanks."
Syd trudged up to her third-floor bedroom, flopping down on the purple bedspread, gazing at the black ceiling, orange walls, and purple walls. "Sydstem voicemail. Thirty-seven messages," a computer voice rang inside Syd's pocket. Syd pulled out the purple and orange device, and checked them. "Syd, it's Ron." Syd rolled her eyes as the message continued, "You're not going to let those vandals win, are you, Syd?" The message abruptly ended, Syd was glad, she simply could not take the stress any more.
The back of Syd's head immediately found the pillow as she closed her eyes. Just calm down....find your center...inhale...exhale...she thought. But, she discovered, this attempt would not work. She allowed her mind to wander, back to her initial creation. Everyone wonders about the circumstances of their birth at some point in their life, Syd found it relatively early in her life. She was a tool, a weapon to destroy her own parents. Granted, she hadn't been blind to her purpose...surely, hopefully, the other citizens knew that.
As the brick crashed through her third-story window, she knew. She knew they didn't give a crap if she had been rehabilitated. She knew they were bloodthirsty. Her heart pounded in her chest as she realized they were only after one thing.
Synthetic blood. Her blood.