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The television was the only light in the Pataki household.

The wide screen shed a brilliant strip of light across the floor. Brightness bounced from the furniture and cast dancing black shadows along the walls.

One shadow in particular reached the wall opposite. This shadow was the largest and blocked the television's rays from striking the wall. The shadow belonged to a girl, snuggled in a fluffy blanket, her eyes locked on the screen. She was cocooned in bright pink, one that reminded her of earlier times in her childhood during her times of distress. Her stare was expressionless and her blank eyes remained on the changing images.

That girl was me.

It was well past my bedtime—the clock above read 3:49—yet here I remained. In front of the television with the volume low enough not to wake anyone, but loud enough that I could understand what was said.

Nel laid asleep by my side, oblivious to what they said about us—about me.

"—no footage of the conflict, some eyewitnesses claimed to have seen her limping from the area before authorities could arrive." The TV news anchor reported. "Despite the considerable damage left to the roads and nearby shops, the self-titled 'Blue Jay' managed to eliminate this beast and prevent further causalities. After authorities arrived at the a scene, an anonymous source claimed to have seen her on top of the Suncrest Apartments—"

Eliminate.

I felt like I'd swallowed glass.

Screams rang in my ears. Large red eyes pierced from the shadows of my mind—I shuddered. Squeezing my eyes shut, I clasped my ears with shaking hands to block out the shrieks.

"—your thoughts on Blue Jay?"

Why was I watching this? Why was I willingly looking at these images again and listening people recount my nightmares? It only brought more memories I wanted to forget.

"I, uh, don't really know much 'bout her," a younger face admitted. His eyes darted around awkwardly as he sheepishly tried his best to ignore the camera watching him. He looked around twenty, and had orange strands that peaked out from his beanie. "But from what I've seen online, she seems pretty cool."

"I love Blue Jay!" It cut to another face—a girl who looked twelve with braided hair and excited grey eyes. "She has such awesome powers!"

"She really kicked that alien thing to hell and back," the next face was of a woman who nodded in approval. She had lilac hair which contrasted with her dark skin and black lipstick. "She's just like Sailor Moon!"

I sucked in an astonished breath—they . . . believed in me. In Blue Jay. They'd only seen her fight once but somehow approved of the idea of her. Their words were like stars piecing the night sky.

"No, I don't like her."

The smile—the one I hadn't been aware of—slowly fell.

"And why's that sir?" The reporter asked curiously.

"Because she's just a girl—a child," the man shrugged. He was an overweight man with a fringe of grey hair that circled his balding scalp. "And young—much too young to have any experience."

"You don't think she has the experience?"

"No, I don't."

"Could you tell us why, sir?"

"Well, as I've said before," he said and crossed his arms, "she's very young. It's just not possible for her to have any experience concerning something like—well—this."

A similarly aged woman with curly, wheat-coloured hair, nodded her head in agreement. "I most certainly don't trust her—" my nails sunk into my skin "—we know nothing about her or who or what she is . . . and the police have had years of training."

"Yes," the old man nodded and turned from her to the reporter. "I trust the police—they've been trained. This woman—this girl—she's just one person. And it's in my and my wife's opinion that, give or take a few weeks, she'll either be gone or useless. She's got a pretty face, but she's nothing more then a poser—a pretty fake. Mark my words, she won't las—"

The bright image on the screen shrank into nothing and plunged the television into darkness. The remote fell from my hand and clattered to my feet. Shaky fingers ran through my hair and I bit down hard on my lip. Pretty fake, pretty fake, nothing more than a po—

This wasn't helping. It wouldn't change anything. They were coming back. I didn't have my powers, but it was my job to protect everyone.

"—had it not been for her, a lot more people would have been rushed to the hospital—"

"—she seems pretty cool—"

"—just like Sailor Moon—"

"—love Blue Jay—"

"—there's something about her that makes me feel secure—"

Pretty fake. He'd called me a pretty fake. Was that what I was? A girl playing dress up, pretending to be a hero? I had no idea what I was even doing anymore.

I hissed curses and ducked my head between my knees. What was I doing? They may have placed their trust into Blue Jay, but who was I really?

A nobody.

Helga G. Pataki—a girl no one liked.

Would the same people believe in her if they knew it were me? Would they still feel so safe if they knew that Blue Jay was really an ugly little girl?

Something was crushing my ribs. It was getting hard to breathe. I wanted to scream—for help, for air—but that would wake everyone. I . . . couldn't get in their way—wouldn't. Not that they cared. They couldn't see it—no one could. They couldn't see the weight that slowly crushed me.

Pretty fake. Pretty fake. She's a pretty fake.

Something sharp dug into my scalp—I think it was my nails. God, I wanted them to be claws.

She'll either be gone or useless.

Gone.

Dead.

"—she saved us. She—Blue Jay protected us against that thing—whatever it was—"

My heart thundered.

"—I just . . . its admirable."

Arnold.

He believed in Blue Jay—admired her. Had faith in her. He liked her. Blue Jay, not Helga. She was just his stalker. She was the bitch who bullied him relentlessly when they were children.

But Blue Jay had saved everyone. She had fought Mutants, one without powers. She was a force to be reckoned with—she was his hero.

He believed in a wonder woman—a fearless warrior. One with undefeatable strength.

They all did.

I lifted my head.

If that's who they wanted, then that was who I'd become.

I'd become her—the perfect woman. I just had to keep pushing myself.

The air felt heavier as pressure pressed against my chest. My body responded faster than my mind did—standing up, I picked up my hoodie from the armchair and made my way to the front door.

I needed a walk—

". . . did you see how she left? . . . she's just taking the cops' jobs . . ."

—an extremely long walk.

To say my night was restless would be an understatement.

My walk had only meant to be an hour—to clear my head—but had lasted for longer. I hadn't made it back home until the sun had risen from the horizon and weak rays kissed the pavement. There had only been two hours left before I'd have to get up for school. But any sleep was better then none so I'd clumsily stumbled up the stairs in search for bed.

Nel must've woken during my walk because, when I'd open my door, there she was—curled up in my blankets and sound asleep. She thankfully didn't wake as I shut the door so I was free to collapse without hearing any lectures. Though, honestly, even if she had been awake to give me one, I would've fallen asleep anyway.

I'd had two hours but only slept for one. The first was spent restlessly moving around trying to find a position comfortable enough. But my muscles cried no matter which position I chose so I was left staring at the roof. By the time I managed to close my eyes, Olga burst in, screeching that I'd be late if I didn't wake now.

So, I reluctantly got up and readied myself for school, ignoring when Olga asked when we'd gotten a cat.

Getting ready was much more difficult with my lack of sleep. Or coordination. Truthfully, I thought I pulled it off decently, considering the past forty-eight hours (Not that Nel seemed to agree. "Helga, your socks do not go on your hand." I knew that. But who was to say that originally wasn't my intention? Wearing one's socks on one's feet was awfully conventional. For all she knew, I was rebelling against the societal norms of sock-wearing by preferring my hands over my feet).

"Hey, Arnold, you gonna be able to make it this afternoon?"

My eyes found two familiar figures sitting at the front of the bus, two rows ahead of me. One had ridiculously tall hair and the other an oblong-shaped head. But, for once, my heart was too exhausted to jump at the sight of him.

Arnold smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Gerald, I can't. I'm babysitting today."

"You serious, man?" Gerald groaned and threw his head back dramatically. "Again?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, Gerald."

The dark-skinned male sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is it that weird kid again?"

Arnold frowned at Gerald's dismissal but nonetheless nodded. "Yeah, it's George."

"Man," Gerald gave another pained groan and shut his eyes. "I don't know why you put up with that kid."

Irritation danced across Arnold's face. "Because, Gerald, George is a good kid," he replied with a sharp tone. "Just a little shy is all."

Gerald apparently heard the tone and opened his eyes to scan Arnold's posture. A few moments passed when Gerald shrugged and turned from Arnold's narrowed eyes. "Whatever you say, Arnold . . ."

Something hot burnt in my system. It shifted, slid and climbed up my body, wrapping tightly across my neck and making it hard to breath. Looking down, I saw veins in my clenched fists were bulging.

I frowned—was I angry? Why? Certainly not if Arnold was involved. Never could I stay angry at such a beautiful creature. He was just too good . . . unless—

"Did you do Mrs. Garland's homework?" Arnold asked, his face completely devoid of the anger from moments ago.

"Homework?" Gerald's eyebrows drew together. "What homework?"

"The homework, Gerald," Arnold rolled his eyes. "The homework she gave us on Monday . . . that's due today."

"What?!" Gerald's eyes almost popped out of his skull. Several nearby students jumped and turned to give him annoyed glances. Arnold's cheeks turned red and he squirmed from the attention his friend received. "Aww, man, you serious?"

Arnold nodded. "Yeah, man."

Gerald knocked his head against the window and shut his eyes. "Aww, shit man," he groaned. "This really bites."

Pete's eyes shifted to glare at the boys in the mirror and Arnold, seeing this, turned his gaze in any other direction—mine.

My breath hitched.

Emerald on bronze. My heart was quaking with delight. But not just delight, there was something else—something heavier.

Arnold blinked, oblivious to my turmoil, then cracked a slow grin and waved, eyes twinkling.

And—like a brick—it hit me.

I turned to the window and watched the blurring landscapes. In the reflection, I saw Arnold frown in confusion then shrug and turn back to moaning Gerald. Eyes downcast, I realised why I felt like this—why my stomach lurched when Arnold talked with Gerald, why when he smiled my heart would hurt or why I wanted to break down in tears when seeing how innocently his eyes sparkled—

I was jealous.

Of the simplicity in Arnold's life. His world was so perfect; he was surrounded by people he loved, got along with everyone and had a personality that would make the devil melt.

When he smiled, it felt like it shone from his soul, like no part of him was upset. Arnold did have mannerisms that suggested the damaged he experienced was even happening. Right down to his micro-expression, Arnold was perfection.

I had always been envious of his ability to just smile and make everything alright. I wanted to possess his endless optimism and kindness. As a child, I wanted to not just be with him, but to be him. I wanted to be popular, likeable and optimistic; I wanted to have a family who loved me, I wanted to walk into a room with such an ecstatic glow that everyone would be forced to stop and stare.

God, I wanted a reason to be optimistic.

I'd sell my soul to walk in his shoes, even for a day. To be surrounded by loved ones. There were so many people who loved Arnold, it felt that with every day that passed, a new person fell in love with him.

Why couldn't that be me?

Why was it me stuck defending this world? Nel said there were more Guardians, but, at the rate we were going, it was me verses thousands—alone.

And after what happened yesterday . . .

Boots trampling, I run but keep coming back to the same spot. A light shines upwards ahead—that must be the way out. I'm walking for that light when sudden movements catch my eye. I spin but find nothing but blackness.

Time passes, I'm not sure how much—seconds or hours.

I turn to a hideously, distorted face that bares its teeth centimetres from my nose. I scream but my muscles have frozen—I'm stuck, staring up with wide eyes.

Its lips curl into a horrible smile. A clawed hand raises, ready to strike. The beast snarls and swings—

I jumped, eyes snapping open.

A gasp escaped.

I blinked . . the blurriness fades as the surroundings become crisper. Arnold is throwing his head back, laughing at something Gerald said, and his sat next to—

Lila.

Shutting my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to calm my heart. Had that been just a dream?

A burning sensation branded my thigh. I bit my lip, holding back the screams. I could feel eyes turning in my direction, but I buried my senses beneath the searing throbbing. I slammed my forehead onto the window and prayed I hadn't reopened the wound. I shouldn't have—the stitches were decent—but still.

Nel would have my head on a platter—again. She was already mad that I'd taken a walk without informing her. Re-opening my wounds, therefore slowing the healing process, would only make today harder.

All I wanted was to sleep—I wanted to get off the bus, go home and bury myself in thick blankets. It wouldn't to sink into a deep sleep for the rest of the day. Hell, at this rate, I could sleep for the rest of the year.

My eyelids began slipping shut without permission, but I was too exhausted to fight against their weight. The world blurred as I drifted in and out of consciousness. Random images floated by aimlessly in endless pools of my thoughts.

The engine suddenly stopped.

Several footsteps patted down the aisle and I groaned—time to get up. I counted to ten before rising to my feet, pulling my bag onto my back and stumbling down the aisle.

Eyelids fluttering shut, my focus began diminishing. Colours merged with one another as sounds faded. Darkness wrapped me in a blanket, submerging me in a black current that pulled me further and further from consciousness—

Something rammed into my shoulder.

I was knocked from my feet and my head smacked against the ground. I groaned but didn't open my eyes. I wanted to stay here, it already wasn't my day, anyway.

There were several sharp intakes of gasps. A heavy silence settled as, I could feel, seeral pairs of eyes turned in my direction. A familiar voice muttered a curse under his breath.

My eyes snapped open—there, standing in front of me, was Arnold, looking down in horror, whilst Gerald, by his side, shifted uncomfortably, and wrung his sweaty hands as he glanced at his friend.

I furrowed my brows. Why were they do nervous?

Arnold held out his hands as if taming a bear . . . and that hurt me. "Oh, geeze, shit—I'm sorry, Helga—I—I didn't see you," he stuttered. "I—shit, are you okay?"

He continued to apologise, explaining that he hadn't seen me just stop in the middle of the aisle. As he babbled, I sat up, ignoring his offered hand, and climbed to my feet. Brushing off the dust from my blazer, I, under my breath, muttered a quick, "Sorry."

Ducking my head, I didn't want for a reply, if he had any. I heard several gasps but kept my eyes down as I stumbled off the bus. Piercing stares bore into my back but I didn't halt in my steps and marched for the school's entrance.

Hearing the happy, chattering crowds as I stepped into the hallway, seeing everyone's smiles as they laughed with one another, or hearing their groans as they complained about homework, I don't think I'd ever felt so lonely.

Typically, I had no qualms being alone; I like to walk down the halls alone. I like to eat my lunch alone, I like reading alone, I like riding the bus alone and I, most certainly, like walking home alone. But, as I passed students with oblivious smiles plastered on their faces, I realised that even though I liked being alone . . . I didn't enjoy it.

I really tried keeping my eyes open—honest.

But, as time ticked away, it became more and more difficult.

Because, despite the outside world moving like a blur, time during the afternoon was purposely crawling on all fours. Images became like a painting caught in the rain, sinking into a blurred fuzz as colours bled into one another and formed murky browns.

I couldn't count how many times my eyes managed to slip shut. My limbs felt heavy as my head lolled from one side to the other. There was so many times I was called on to answer a question but I got them all wrong—I didn't care though. In the past forty-eight hours, my life managed to transform into a destructive hurricane, carrying away all my cares and worries. Answering what a mitochondrion was or perhaps its purpose—it all seemed futile now.

Not that Mr. Carlton cared—by the sixth time I'd fallen asleep, his sympathy was used up. Soaking my face in his spittle, he sent me out of the room and told me to wait for him.

And I planned on it, at least before ten minutes passed with no sign of Mr. Carlton. Standing in the hallway, my foggy mind still swam with a departing dream. My eyes were slipping shut and I knew I couldn't keep this up. So, turning on my heels, I marched for the bathroom. Mr. Carlton would likely blow a fuse once he realised I'd left, but . . .

Who cared, anyway?

The water was cold and refreshing.

It ran from the faucet and I didn't hesitate to splash it onto my face. I'd hope it would wash away my weariness but it did little to rouse me from the nightmares.

It was quiet in the bathrooms. There were no girls complaining about unfair teachers, no clacking footsteps crossing the room and no flushing toilets—just me.

Turning off the tap, I rubbed my eyes.

Looking up, my reflection caught my attention. A strong wave of nausea curled in my stomach as my eyes settled on the girl staring back. Her skin was an alarming shade of white, like the life had been sucked from her flesh, and her shoulder slumped with a weight much too large for her skinny frame. But it was her eyes that tight my stomach in knots—they were so pale. Her eyes used to be a rich shade of brown, pools of deep chocolate melted from a burning fire. But they now resembled ashy orbs of dirt—I wanted to scrub away their paleness.

Looking to my hands, I almost let out a horrified scream.

My hands—my pale, clammy hands—were smeared with blood. Jumping back, I looked back at the reflection and felt my heart drop as multiple crimson stains spread across my shirt. My veins felt like ice—up and down my arms, threaded through my hair and running down my legs—I was bathed in blood.

It pooled at my feet. My breaths were short and shallow. My body screamed at me, every muscle tight, as I looked into the girl's eyes. They were wide and quivering with fear, swimming with vulnerability.

My mind was full of static. It was like I was drowning. The sounds of birds outside were louder then normal. The world chortled as it spun—

I took a shaky step back and found myself falling—my perception of time suddenly felt distorted. Everything slowed down until there was nothing. My hand reached out for my reflection—

Bang!

My head collided with the stalls.

I twisted up to look down at my body, and frowned when I found myself unwounded. My breath came out in gasps as I checked myself for any red traces.

But I was . . . fine.

Silence began beating on my skull. I couldn't take my eyes off my hands—my white hands. A small sob burst from my chest before I could stop it. I clamped a hand to my mouth. I was better then this, I was strong, I was—

My hands were shaking.

Sobs wracked from my body—I was sick.

A violent spear of nausea struck my stomach. The room was spinning and lurching and dancing. I wrapped my arms across my stomach and launched forward on my knees, forehead meeting the tiled floor.

My chin trembled as tears fell down.

". . .this girl—she's just one person . . . she'll either be gone or useless . . . pretty face . . . nothing then a poser . . . a pretty fake . . ."

I was only one girl. The police were trained professionals with more then knives. They lacked powers, but they had numbers, experience and knowledge. Why was I picked for this job, when there were smarter, stronger individuals out there? Why was it me that the pin—that Nel—chose?

I don't remember how long I sat there, but no one interrupted me. No one barged in to question why I was curled up in such a small ball, muttering to myself. I didn't bother getting up until the bell signalled for the end of the period.

Stumbling for the mirror, I scrubbed myself clean of the break down. My eyes remained puffy and red. I slapped my cheeks a couple of times to wake myself up. I considered ditching the rest of the day but thought against it to avoid any more detentions. I already had received one for wearing pants rather than the mandatory skirt today with no 'reasonable excuse'. Of course, I'd had a reason, but I couldn't exactly explain that I'd only worn them to cover the wound I still had wrapped up. So, I'd simply shrugged and accepted the slip. There was nothing I could do, though I'm sure Nel wouldn't be too happy knowing I'd be skipping out on some of her precious training time.

Christ.

I could've hit myself. Training—I had a tonne this afternoon. I couldn't believe I'd forgotten until now.

A throbbing sensation struck between my eyes and I slapped a hand to my forehead and sighed. It felt like bad luck was following me around.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I made a dash for the door. Hopefully, I'd manage to catch up on some sleep during lunch.

Time was like cement for Arnold Shortman that afternoon.

His foot tapped rhythmically as his fingers drummed along the white mug that contained his coffee. Familiar sounds of explosions, gun shots and men yelling at one another came from the living room TV.

George had been in a less then social mood when Arnold had arrived and opted to watch an action movie instead. Arnold had insisted the boy do his homework, as George's parents had requested, but whilst he'd been making his coffee, George had switched on the television. And, really, Arnold couldn't find it in himself to switch it off.

So, as the young, brunette lay on his belly, eyes intensely glued to the road-rages on screen, Arnold sat at the dinning table, looking out the window and sipping his coffee.

Bored out of his mind.

Don't get him wrong, Arnold didn't dislike George. In fact, he'd grown fond of the kid. But, given that Arnold didn't share George's interest in gory movies and didn't have any homework to complete, all he could do was—well—sit there.

Arnold heaved a sighed. He'd ditched his friends for this.

For a good cause, of course. He was getting paid generously, especially for a simply babysitting job. But that didn't take away from the sting that, no doubt, his friends were having tonnes of fun without him.

He tapped a finger to the murky surface of his drink and watched as ripples spread toward the rim in large circles. Arnold heaved another sigh, blowing the hair from his face, as he remembered that not even an hour had passed. His gaze shifted to the window and, as seconds continued to drag, he took the liberty of counting the bricks of the house across the road. It was painful, but at least it gave him something to do.

—thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-se—hey, where's she going?

The door to the house he was watching was thrown open and a familiar girl marched out. Arnold recognised the dirty blonde hair, the swinging fists and signature frown upon her masculine face. He could've smacked himself—right! That was the Pataki house. One of the benefits of this job was that George lived by, so Arnold was only required to walk down a few houses.

Arnold narrowed his eyes when Helga held open the door and a tiny, black body emerged from the gap. It was . . . a cat, he realised with shock. When did Helga get a cat? As far as he knew, she hated cats. And why did it have purple eyes? Could humans even have purple eyes?

Helga slammed the door in a huff. Arnold deducted that, once again, she was in one of her mood, no doubt from another fight with Bob. But . . . something about her appearance was off. Something he couldn't describe . . . he scanned her form—she no longer wore her school uniform. Instead, she was dressed in her usual baggy jeans and much too-big black hoodie. Scanning her face, he realised why she looked so different—Helga wasn't angry, she was serious.

Her complexion was smooth and pulled matte and her eyes focused and steady. Her jaw wasn't quite clenched as it was set. And her eyebrows . . . they weren't pushed down enough to betray any traces of a bad mood. Rather they were set in a straight line—in a look of resolution.

Helga turned to the cat and—Arnold blinked—he swore he could see it nodding it's head, almost in approval. Pulling up her hoodie Helga and the cat dashed down the street and rounded the corner out of his sight.

Arnold frowned, unsure of what he'd just seen.

Not that it was any of his business, but something about Helga was definitely different. And it wasn't just her mood. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it seemed like the Helga from last week and the Helga today were completely different people. For instance, earlier this morning Arnold had not only run into her but knocked her over in front of a crowd of people. Normally, Helga would threaten to hit him or spit out something nasty or at least give him a dirty look.

But she hadn't.

Instead, she'd looked at him with sad eyes and apologised. Her—Helga G. Pataki—apologised to him.

Gerald had theorised that Helga wasn't actually Helga, but an alien in disguise that had disposed of the real Helga Pataki before Blue Jay could get here. Normally, Arnold was the first to brush off Gerald's wild theories, but given what had transpired, he was embarrassed to admit that perhaps there was some truth in his best friend's words. Because apparently monsters and girls with superpowers existed—aliens were hardly far-fetched anymore.

Still, Arnold couldn't rid himself of the look she'd given him.

It was so chilling. For as long as he'd known her, Helga had always had an energetic liveness about her, even when upset. In fact, especially when she was upset. Her resentment burnt ferociously in her eyes, along with her pain—he'd never seen it dowsed. But today they'd lacked that intensity. Despite her gaze remaining on him, it felt as if her mind was elsewhere, somewhere much farther. She'd given him such a hollow look, it'd chilled him to the bone.

And it's not like that had been it—she'd stayed like that the entire day. So lifeless and empty. Even when she'd gotten called out for wearing pants rather then a skirt and received a lecture that was enough to send Patty running for the heels, she'd simply accepted her punishment without much of a fight or explanation.

Come to think of it, why had she worn pants today? Helga wasn't one much for rules, but she also wasn't one to call attention to herself. Surely, she'd know that, if she were to disobey the rules, that's exactly what'd she receive.

Arnold almost wanted to follow her. Wherever she was going, he was sure it had something to do with her strange behaviour. Looking into her lifeless eyes, watching her complexion remain so pale, Arnold felt determined to help her.

But he didn't.

Helga and Arnold were not friends—nor were they ever. Not really. Arnold did like Helga and didn't mind the thought of pursuing a friendship with her, but given what had happened years ago, he doubted she was very interested in started anything with him. So, as his not-friend, it really wasn't his business what Helga did. Besides, even if they were friends, Helga was a secretive person, it wasn't likely she'd say anything.

Still, he couldn't shake away the feeling that whatever Helga was dealing with was serious—

A familiar tune suddenly blasted from his phone. Arnold almost knocked over his coffee in surprise. Gritting his teeth, he dug his phone out of his pocket and rolled his eyes upon seeing his best friend's face on the screen. Sighing, he accepted the call.

"Gerald," Arnold bit out in a scolding manner, "you nearly made me spil—"

"Arnold, you gotta get down here, man!"

"Um," he frowned, anger momentarily subsided. "Why?"

"Cause we're having so much fun—but we're all missin' ya, Arnold!"

Arnold rolled his eyes. "Gerald, you know I can't make it. I told you I'm babysitting today."

There was shuffling. Then muffled voice, discussing something Arnold couldn't identify. Rolling his eyes, Arnold waited silently for his friend's reply. Seconds later, Gerald spoke again, "Just bring 'im here!"

Arnold felt his eyebrows shoot up into his hair. "What?"

"Yeah, just bring the kid with you!" Gerald chuckled. Arnold could picture him waving his hand dismissively in the air. "We can all watch him—maybe he could even join!"

"Gerald—"

"Okay, you're right," he admitted quickly, sighing in defeat. "The kid can't join in, but he can watch! C'mon, Arnold, just bring him here, bat with us for a few then take him home! He'll be so bushed, he'll just go straight to sleep—c'mon, it'll be the easiest green you've earnt!"

Truth be told, Arnold was tempted by Gerald's offer. He liked George, but Arnold wasn't exactly having the time of his life. And it wasn't like constantly watching TV was healthy for kids anyway—bringing him outside could be beneficial to him.

Arnold hated to admit it, but the more time that passed, the more he began siding with Gerald.

Maybe if . . . no—

He shook his head. He wasn't being paid to play with his friends, he was being paid to take care of George.

Right.

No matter how tempting Gerald's offer was, nor how badly he ached to join his friends in a round of baseball, nor how painfully boring the next few hours were sure to be, running away from his responsibilities was not what Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell were paying him for.

And, with that thought, Arnold opened his mouth to decline the offer—

"Erm, sure, Gerald, we'll be there in, say, fifteen?"

Arnold's eyes almost popped out of his skull. What? He hadn't meant to say that!

"Awesome, man!" Gerald said and Arnold could hear the smile in his voice. "See you then!"

Arnold opened his mouth, ready to take back what he'd said and explain that he couldn't take advantage of George and his parents, when, before even a word had gotten past, Gerald had already hung up.

Mouth frozen open, Arnold stared at the phone in his hand and replayed what had just happened—whatever had just happened.

Gerald probably knew that Arnold was about to take it back, hence why he was so quick to hang up. Arnold's grip tightened—that Gerald.

"Who was that?"

Arnold gave a start.

Spinning around, he let out a breath when his gaze fell on George. The child stood behind him, dressed in a pair of large overalls, awaiting Arnold's answer. His dark eyes peeked from the spirals of hair that fell down his chubby face as he watched Arnold. Shifting uncomfortably, Arnold gulped and avoided the stare. "U—Um, well," damn it, he already felt bad enough. He didn't need George looking at him so accusingly—

Wait a minute.

Arnold could've hit himself.

George was six—he couldn't spell 'accusingly', let alone look at him as such.

Shaking his head, Arnold shook away the guilt. "Do you wanna go to Tina Park, George?"

Tilting his head, George gave him a wary look. Honestly, had it been directed at someone other then him, Arnold would be on the floor laughing, as such a look from a kid was ridiculous. "Why?"

Arnold gulped and fidgeted with the edges of his shirt. Moisture slid down his face as he wildly looked around the room. Was that pounding his heartbeat? "Um, no reason, I just thought that it'd be nice to get some fresh air is all. It's kinda stuffy in here, don't you think?"

George's large eyes made Arnold feel like he'd committed a murder. Pulse thriving in his temples, the silence stretched on until Arnold heaved a sigh, shoulders slumping forward. "And," his voice was thick with defeat, "we can grab some ice cream on the way."

George threw up his hands victoriously in the air, letting out a loud, "Yes!" He spun on his heel and ran for his room to grab his jacket.

As his footsteps faded, Arnold released a large breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. As he sucked in large gulps of air, he felt as if someone had released him from a chokehold. He placed a hand to his heart. Thank God for kids' short attention spans.

Still, he couldn't shake the guilt from his conscience. It was ridiculous—Arnold knew what he'd planned wasn't awful. But he couldn't rid the fact that he was deceiving George's parents, who'd specifically asked that he keep their child inside, so he could complete his homework. Hell, he was also deceiving George. Guilt pierced his gut when he remembered the carefree smile on the normally solemn child's face.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Arnold let loose a low sigh. Oh, well, there wasn't much he could do now. Gerald was expecting him, and George was excited for that ice-cream. They would just have to leave the match early so George could finish his homework before his parents got back.

Shrugging, Arnold reached for the jacket hanging on his chair and shoved it on. Perhaps it was just his annoying conscience nagging him—as usual. He swore, it was because of his conscience that he never got to have the fun that his friends did. Maybe now was just simply the time to turn it off. After all, how many times had Gerald specifically gone against his and ended up smiling in the end. Realistically, nothing bad was gonna happen.

Yeah, he thought with a nod, the chances of something unpleasant happening were low, so logically Arnold had nothing to worry about.

Yeah, that was right. Nothing to worry about.

So, why did the churning in his gut say otherwise?

Arnold hadn't meant to lie again today.

It wasn't intentional, of course. But he didn't want to start making a habit of being dishonest. Although, in his defence, it wasn't like he could help it this time.

After all, he'd promised George a scoop of ice cream and Arnold wasn't one to go back on his word. However, the problem wasn't with his problem but rather the flavour George wanted.

You see, when they had reached Slausen's Ice Cream Parlour, George's favourite flavour was fresh out. When learning this, the young brunette burst into tears and large wails. Arnold tried bargaining with him, promising him a double scoop of any other flavour, including sprinkles, but Gerald was set on getting his flavour.

So, more then a little humiliated under the many, many disapproving glances thrown his way, Arnold agreed to search for George's flavour at the Sundae Salon. Thankfully, the line at Sundae's hadn't been long like Salusen's and they did happen to have the flavour. But the damage was already done—Arnold was well over fifteen minutes late as the Salon was on the other side of town, while Slausen's had been a five-minute walk.

By the end of it all, Arnold wanted to repeatedly bash his head against a wall.

And to think that it had all been for a single scoop of ginger flavoured ice cream.

To say that Arnold was shocked that such a flavour existed was a large understatement, let alone that a six-year-old kid not only liked it, but favoured it above the others. Maybe Gerald was onto something about George being a little weird . . .

Speaking of whom had been more then a little annoyed that Arnold was so late.

"You said," Gerald's teeth grinded together as he gestured wildly at the watch on his wrist, "fifteen minutes! Fifteen, Arnold! And what is it now? It's—" he looked again "—6:08! An hour later then what you promised! Y'know, when you said you'd only be fifteen minutes!"

Arnold couldn't resist rolling his eyes. Gerald had always been the more dramatic of the two.

"Sorry, Gerald," he apologised as he bent to his knee so George could hop off his back. When his feet were safely planted, Arnold stood to face his friend with a sheepish smile. "I guess I just lost track of time—y'see we were trying to find this ice cream—"

"Yeah, yeah," Gerald waved his hand and rolled his eyes. Whipping out a mitt from seemingly thin air, he grabbed Arnold's hand and slapped it into his open palm. "You're fielding on Eugene's team."

Arnold's face fell. "Eugene? C'mon, man, you serious?"

Because, although Arnold considered Eugene Horowitz his friend, he wasn't blind to the redhead's faults, one of them being his knack for attracting the worst luck. Horowitz was a friendly guy, but his attraction for bad luck and natural clumsiness became his defining characteristics. His reputation for his awkward cluelessness spread like a wildfire, so much so that, among the guys, he'd earnt the nickname Hazard-Prone Horowitz.

Slightly cruel, but ultimately fair.

And it was because of this that Arnold felt like playing on Eugene's team put him at a disadvantage.

Gerald shrugged and put his hands on his hips. "Sorry, man," he insincerely apologised, "but you were late—we already decided on teams."

Arnold growled. This was Gerald's way of getting even with him.

Still, he was glad he got to play at all today. An hour ago, he'd been bored out of his mind counting bricks. So, slipping on the mitt, Arnold surrendered with a nod and a truce-worthy grin. "Alright, let's play then."

A slow, but steady smile spread across Gerald's face as he silently accepted Arnold's truce. "Cool, man."

The game was an exuberant experience.

Despite playing on Eugene's team, Arnold immensely enjoyed himself playing with his friends. They worked well as a team, even with Eugene every now and then finding something to trip over. But Arnold didn't care, for the drumming in his heart was louder than his thirst for winning.

The ball flew over his head and, heart thriving, Arnold took off in a sprint in its direction. It was ironic that, now with his senses on high alert, he'd become unaware that, although he and his friends were enjoying the game, George wasn't. And, when Arnold's back was turned, George left, unaware of the yellow eyes watching his every move.

Sweat rolled down my neck in thick, salty beads.

The thin disk whizzed in my direction and I ducked, avoiding the sharp blades. Short, ragged breaths flew from my mouth, heart pounding in my ears. I heard its collision into the wall, but my eyes remained frozen on the figure in front of me, its arm outstretch in my direction.

Wiping the moisture from my sticky forehead, I allowed myself a second to breath, then bolted in its direction. The clapping of my heels resonated off the walls and my calves burnt. Sprinting for the glowing figure, I pulled my arm over my shoulder and launched my fist for its face. Its reaction was quick as it held a forearm to its face and blocked my attack. I struck again, but it dodged to the side fluidly. It was behind me and, before I could turn, something smacked into my scalp and knocked me flat onto my face.

Burning sensations assaulted my body. My stomach bashed into my heart and my thigh gave a painful lurch. Mind spinning, I rolled to my side in time to see a foot plummeting to my face—

SMACK!

Fire scorched my nose and my head snapped back. White fairies spun in my eyes as liquid dribbled down my face. My chest rose up and down with shallow breaths. I didn't want to—but I knew I was reaching my limits. I rose my shaking, bruised hands in the air, making a familiar T shape. There was a sigh from the speakers but, as requested, the figure winked out of existence.

The only sound were my stuttered breaths. My heart wiggled in my ears as I lay there—beaten and subdued. Then, heat scolded every corner of my body. It was like something was burning the walls of my lungs—

I was up in a second, bent over like I'd just been punched and hacking up burning balls of air. The cough felt wet, like thick phlegmy mucus was sliding up my throat. My tongue was soaked in something metallic. An igniting fire rushed through my body as something wet splattered across my legs. Sweat trickled down my face as I tightly wrapped my hands around my stomach.

I squeezed my eyes shut, beginning the pain to stop.

I didn't know how long it lasted for, but eventually the coughing stopped. Opening my eyes, I inhaled deep gulps of cool air. Red droplets were splattered along my knees and tiles. Liquid slid into my open mouth and I hastily wiped away the blood that leaked from my nose. I caught sight of my arm and felt like throwing up, numerous purple blotches decorated my pale skin.

Shutting my eyes, I sucked in a deep breath.

It's not a big deal, Helga. You're fine—you're Blue Jay. What's a few bruises?

It's hurt to breathe.

Opening my eyes, a pair of concerned purple eyes stared back. Nel sat a few feet from me and watched me with undeniable distress.

I stared back.

Neither of us said anything—nothing was needed. We already knew what the other was thinking.

A familiar screeching pierced our silence.

The hairs stood straight on the back of my neck. Adrenaline—or something—surged through my body as my hands shook uncontrollably. My thoughts were accelerating in my head. I wanted them to stop—no, I needed them to stop, so I could breathe, but they refused. My breath became tight gasps—I felt like I was gonna pass out.

I needed to lie down, I couldn't do this.

Screams run in my ears.

Please not again.

Sweat drenched my skin.

I can't—

"I am Blue Jay, Defender of Earth and Guardian of Hillwood!"

. . . my fingers curled into a fist. I tuned out the pounding in my chest and listened to the scream. It sounded like a wild panic. A scream of hysteria, bordering on terror.

I forced myself to my feet.

The shakiness made it difficult to hold up my body, yet my head was the heaviest. I felt myself losing balance and gave a fistful of my hair a sharp tug. I didn't think it would work, but, after a few fleeting seconds, my body's pain sunk to the back of my mind.

"Helga?"

Clenching my jaw, I released my hair.

Keeping my back to Nel, I pushed back my shoulders and wiped my trembling hand along my torso. Flipping my hair from my shoulder, I headed for the door with an air of confidence. "Come on, Nel."

Let's get this over with.

We were lead to a warehouse—an abandoned warehouse.

Well, almost.

There was one being in there—the reason why we were here.

The corrugated iron roof hung at least twenty-five feet above us. There were pops of colours along the crumbling walls, simple designs in spray paint. Sunlight poured in through the broken windows, swirling along the dirty ground and dust swirled in the beams of light.

The Mutant was easy to spot.

It stood on the other end, heading whipping around wildly in all directions like it was searching for something. I sunk to my knees to pull up my knife and scanned its form with focused eyes. It was tall and gangly; its spine was curved with its shoulders pushed forward. Its arms were spread and, I could see, knife-like nails protruded from its thin fingers. An untameable mane of hair cascaded down its back like molten epidote, resembling a green bird's nest.

I wrinkled my nose—whatever, I wasn't about to let more time pass.

I swung my knife in its direction.

It flew across the warehouse silently and golden light bounced from the blade. But, as it drew nearer, the Mutant turned suddenly and swung out its arm, blocking it.

My jaw dropped.

The knife fell at the Mutant's feet. Its eyes—two golden balls—whipped in my direction as it bared its purple teeth. Throwing back its head, it let out a loud cackle that shook me to my core.

"Oh!" It cried in a raspy voice as its mouth stretched into a hideous grin that reached its ears. "What an outrageously sublime delight to be alive!"

It then turned into a green blur as it bounded forward and stopped inches from my face. A blast of warm air lashed across my face from its sudden burst of movement. My legs twitched with the impulse to run, yet they no longer felt a part of me. I couldn't move them, they refused to obey.

My jaw tightened as my vision became watery and I hoped that it didn't show. The Mutant giggled and its hot breath washed over me. The hairs on my neck were rigid.

It trailed its spidery fingers along my jaw and held my chin to tilt my head upward. I wanted to move—I tried to move—but my muscles wouldn't.

"Such soft skin . . ." It gave another giggle as its fingers slipped down to my neck. "Master would surely love it."

" . . . they said you'd be difficult."

They.

Master.

A shiver ran down my spine.

It must've seen the fear that washed over my face because it let out another shriek that morphed into a girlish snicker, like I'd made a joke. "Oh," it chortled. "I can't wait to kill you!"

Iciness gripped my neck and squeezed with all its might. I tried breathing but air refused to fill my lungs. Panic bubbled in my chest. The walls were closing in. Darkness was overwhelming. My feet dangled as I stared into the red eyes. Its maniacal grin—

I couldn't stop myself—I ran.

Or tried to.

I knew it was useless; the Mutant clearly exhibited incredible speed and, that aside, my knees were far too weak to get me anywhere. But I couldn't stop myself. My muscles were moving on their own and I found myself running for the open door—

The Mutant appeared in front of me, baring its teeth.

Sharp pain cut across my nose as its fist slammed into my face. Spots popped in my vision as my head reeled back. Dampness dripped down my nose. Bringing my head down, I raised my hands in a defensive stance, ready to strike—

A crushing blow sent me flying.

The collusion echoed off every corner of the warehouse. Landing in a heap, my back was bashed against the wall.

A tiny whimper escaped my lips.

The world was swimming. I tried climbing to my feet but found myself flat on the ground. Training this afternoon had had the opposite effect on me, my muscles cried out in unison. I could feel the trembles that wracked through my body and rendered me immobile.

It walked towards me, taking slow, deliberate steps.

"Ah, that was such a nice effect!" It cowed, examining the mess of my limbs. "I wonder what else I can do!"

It felt like thousands of needles were jabbing into my scalp as the Mutant grabbed a fistful of my hair. It dragged me to my knees and squealed in delight at my torment. I wanted to scream but I refused to give it that joy. Squeezing my eyes shut, I bit down hard on my tongue. "Aww, you're boring now!" It cried, giving me a good shake. Metallic moisture soaked my tongue. "C'mon, you're the only I can play with! You managed to give Master a shock, why can't you do tha—!"

I rammed a tight fist straight into the Mutant's foot. My eyes were shut but I heard the sickening crunch! that made my stomach turn.

There was a loud, cracked cry of pain. The stinging in my scalp disappeared and I collapsed to my elbows. I looked up to find the Mutant wrapping its long fingers around its swelling foot.

I let loose a tiny breath.

And sunk my boot into the Mutant's jaw.

It fell to the ground and I scrambled to my feet. Ignoring the dizziness, I reached out a hand in my knife's direction. I shut my eyes as I tried pulling it closer to my body and into my open palm. Warmth pooled in my stomach and a buzzing hummed in my ear when a deafening wail tore through me like glass. My blood ran cold as the scream pierced my brain.

A burst of air swept me from my feet into the air.

My skull bashed against the walls and my muscles cried out. My heart wanted to explode as my eyelids began slipping shut.

Opening my eyes, I spotted a large panel of debris—a sheet of metal—rested against the wall. I blinked and glanced to the Mutant; it was still crying and cradling its injury. Momentarily, I was confused then realised that Blue Jay's strength had escaped me again.

Not that it mattered.

The floor wobbled as I stumbled for the debris. I crouched to my feet and slipped behind it, squeezing into a tiny ball. The Mutant was still shrieking so I let my eyes slip shut. I couldn't fight it. Not properly. I could barely run—not without some rest.

A familiar wetness slipped between my cracked lips. Sighing, I rested my head against the wall. There was so much blood—too much. I pulled the mask from my face, setting it down next to me, I dabbed my fist to my nose. This stupid leotard made it impossible to bring any proper resources. I wanted to burn it—what good was a uniform that did nothing to protect me?

I growled but turned my attention to the Mutant. Why was it here? According to Nel, its goal was to collect as much human energy as possible. But this warehouse was abandoned. I was happy there weren't any civilians, but it still didn't add up.

"You're very pretty, miss."

. . . what?

Looking over my shoulder—

I saw a kid.

A small kid.

He was cute; he had dirty blonde hair that spiralled down his round face. His skin was whiter then milk and freckled. His deep brown eyes were so wide with curiosity and surrounded with thick lashes.

Looking at him, I felt myself freeze. When the fuck had he gotten there?

"Fuck."

I hadn't meant to say it—hell, I hadn't even realised that'd it slipped from my mouth. Not until he responded. He screwed up his little face and said, "Y'know, my mum says that you shouldn't say words like that."

I felt my right eye twitch. "What are you doing here?"

The warmth in his eyes cooled and he glanced down. "It . . . that thing chased me." His voice shook and his bottom lip wobbled, my heart nearly broke.

Wait.

"You?" My jaw dropped. "You're who it's after?"

He gave a disheartened nod that made my heart bleed.

"O-Oh!" I gave a shaky forced laugh. "Well, um, don't worry, uh—" I wasn't sure how to comfort this kid. I went to hug him but it occurred to me that that might be weird, considering I didn't actually know him. So, I patted him on his head. "There, there."

When he looked my way, it was with a look that practically screamed 'What are you doing?' The kind of look that suggested he knew how uncomfortable I was and actually pitied me for it. Snatching my hand away, I rubbed the back of my neck and cleared my throat. "Well, um—I'm Blue Jay. You heard of me?"

"Um," he blinked a couple of times. "I think Mum may have mentioned you a few times."

"Oh?" I asked eagerly.

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "But Dad said I'm not supposed to repeat the words she said."

Oh.

Disappointment tightened in my chest, but I pasted on a shaky smile. "U-Um, well, you probably shouldn't, then." I agreed with a nod. "But, erm, basically I'm here to protect you . . . like a superhero."

His eyes widened. "Wow, really?" His mouth was almost on the floor. "Like—like Batman?"

This kid, I decided, was a smart one.

A proud smile tugged at my lips. "Yup," I said, puffing out my chest. "I'm Batman and I'll protect you from those clown-looking things—like the one out there."

The kid smiled but it shifted into a suspicious frown. My eyebrows drew together in confusion and I said, "What?"

"You don't look like a Batman," he puffed out his cheeks. "You look more like . . . Wonder Woman!"

Never mind.

"Oh?" I battered my eyelashes, feigning curiosity. "Why's that?"

The kid blinked then pointed a finger between my eyes. "Batman," he lifted a brow, "has a mask."

Um, what?

"Uh, I hate to tell ya, kid—" pushing back my shoulders, I proudly smirked and reached up to adjust my mask "—but I also have a mas—" my fingers touched bare flesh rather then metal and I froze in horror. "What the—where's my fucking—" Suddenly, the butterfly-shaped mask was held between my eyes and clutched in small, pale fingers. "—mask."

The kid's devious smirk reminded me of Phoebe whenever she scared me.

Puffing out my cheeks, I gave him a dirty look. "Kid, you shouldn't go around—" Snatching the mask from his fingers, I placed it over my eyes, "—stealing people's things."

My heart was racing—he'd seen me without my mask.

Granted, he was too young to memorise my face and, even if he had, Blue Jay had much more pleasant features then I did. But it still made me uncomfortable. How hadn't I noticed that my mask wasn't on? How could I be so careless? I'm just lucky it was only a kid that'd seen me rather then a Mutant or older civilian.

"But I didn't steal it," he insisted defensively. "You took it off and forgot about it. Some hero—who forgets their mask?"

My jaw dropped.

Did . . . did he just . . .

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I settled for turning away. Mature, I know. But he was right. What superhero forgot their mask? I thought I'd learnt about being reckless.

"But I won't tell anyone."

My eyes widened.

Looking over my shoulder, the kid had a carefree smile that stretched across his lips. "I won't tell anyone," he repeated. "That I saw your face, that is . . . Batman wouldn't like it if someone told people he'd seen his face."

The warmth from his grin spread through me like a wildfire and, hesitantly, my mouth curved into a smile. "T—Thanks, kid."

His face twisted with exasperation. "My names not 'kid'—" I snorted when he made air quotes, "—its—"

A metallic screech rang from above us as the debris was suddenly torn from the wall. We blinked as the light momentarily blinded us and looked up to the Mutant that stood above us. The debris was held above its head, clutched in its claws, as its eyes blazed over with fury. "You little bitch!" It growled, voice thick with malice, as it tossed aside the debris.

Something arm clung around my waist.

I looked down to find tiny arms clutching tightly to my side. The kid's temple was pushed into my torso as his wide, frightened eyes stared up at the Mutant.

The Mutant's gaze switched to the kid and its eyes dilated in what appeared like delight. "Oh!" It cried, almost in a feminine voice, as a sharp smile ran across its face. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you!"

. . . what had it just said?

I looked to the kid at my side, as if to check the legitimacy of what the Mutant had said. But the kid squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face further into my side, tightening his grip around my waist.

A warmth fluttered in my chest. A fiery side of me wanted to protect this kid—especially from this Mutant. I don't know what it was about this kid, but somehow he managed to awaken some instinct deep inside of me.

Gently, I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. He sunk in further and kept his face buried. I was surprised by the warmth that sprung from his touch and hesitantly rubbed his back.

The Mutant, who had been silently watching, growled suddenly when I began comforting him. "You little bitch," it barked, "You stole him from me!"

It let out an anguished howl that made the kid and I both jump.

It raised its claw to strike. I flung my kids around the kid and launched us both into the air. A white-hot pain erupted from my shoulder and I let out a mangled scream. As we fell face-first, I wrapped myself around the kid as a shield.

The impact was unforgiving when we crashed onto the ground. My shoulder felt scolded, but I paid no mind to the searing, focusing on the kid in my arms. He was shaking—I untangled myself from him and sat up to check for any injuries. "Are you okay?" I demanded, scanning his face for his blood or bruises. A gut-wrenching feeling firmly lodged itself in my stomach that made it hard to breathe.

Looking up, he nodded.

I let loose a breath. "Thank goodness."

My heart was still racing and my muscles tight. Why was I feeling like this?

Looking back at the child, that funny feeling returned as I took in his distress. Tears soaked the boy's cheeks, but his eyes didn't leave mine. He wasn't used to this like I was, but I could see he was trying to hold it together. Inwardly, I frowned—he was too young to be looking like that. I didn't like it. I wanted to see that youthful optimism in his eyes, not this glassy anguish.

I surprised us both when I laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, kid," I whispered, smiling softly. "I'll protect you—promise."

Shyly, the kid smiled back.

"Get your hands off him," a raspy voice growled. I pulled the boy into my arms and launched to my feet. Fire ripped through my shoulder from the pressure but I focused on the Mutant. Its eyes were wide and sharp teeth bared. "GET YOUR HANDS OFF THAT BOY!"

Its mouth opened with an ear-splitting scream; vibrations ran through my body and shook me to my core. Scrunching his face, the kid stuffed his fists into his ears and buried his face into my neck. I tightened my grip around him as the voice cracked like thunder.

Then, as fast as it came, the screaming stopped. The Mutant let out a ferocious growl and bolted in my direction. I shifted the kid's body onto my back and he locked his legs around my waist. As he flung his arms around my neck, a sharper pain lanced through my shoulder.

Balancing the kid with one hand, I held out the other and shut my eyes. I fixed my concentration on the warmth between my eyes. Heat radiated from my hands as a familiar while alerted me of an approaching item.

Sweat drenched my skin. I opened my eyes in time to see the Mutant narrowly avoid the approaching item. My blade tore through the air and was headed in my direction. Tightening my grip, I dropped to the ground and watched as the blade sailed above our heads and collided with the wall.

There was a pause as I made contact with the Mutant's hostile glare. It snarled, bubbling salvia hurling from its gums, and ran for us. I growled and addressed the kid over my shoulder. "Shut your eyes," I demanded, watching the wildly approaching creature.

The kid whimpered and buried his face into my uninjured shoulder. Letting loose a breath, I turned back to the enraged Mutant.

Baring its claws, it lunged forward. Ducking, I side-stepped out of the way. Its mouth stretched into a hideous grin and it advanced again. I stepped back, evading the attack. It continued lunging at me—again and again—but I only just managed to avoid its attacks.

My breaths were becoming short—I was tiring out. And, judging from the grin, the Mutant was aware of this.

"Is that all you've got?" It cowed, giggling tauntingly. I growled up at it, crouched on the tips of my toes and balancing my weight on my one free hand. It was trying to get a rise out of me. It wanted a real fight, which I was more than happy to give, but I didn't want the kid getting hurt. It was bad enough that he was on my back, so close to the violence, I couldn't handle knowing he got injured.

I had to get him out of here.

Sweeping my hand out, I clasped a fistful of dirt and threw it into the Mutant's right eye. Its eyes squeezed shut as another unbearable wail emitted from its mouth. I could feel the kid trembling against my shoulders. Stepping forward, I rammed my fist into the Mutant's face. The force behind the hit was enough to send it collapsing to the ground so I turned on my heel and ran for the door.

The air lapped at the wounds on my shoulder. Each step was agony as my heels echoed against the metal walls. The door was wide open and, pulling the kid from my back, I seized his little arms in my hands. The terror in his eyes was unbearable. "Find a place to hide!" I croaked. "You don't come out until I tell you, yeah?"

Shakily, he nodded.

Pushing him from my hold, he scrambled out the door and didn't look back. As soon as he was out of sight, I collapsed to my knees.

I needed to breathe.

I clutched my shoulder, but the pain wouldn't subside. I whimpered, it was worsening—I could feel my strength tiring. The blood moved under my hand; it was warm and sticky. "Shit," I whispered. I didn't have anything to temporarily take care of it. I smashed my red fist to the ground in frustration. I didn't know how, but I had to defeat this Mutant quick. I didn't know how long I had before this wound became infected.

My fingers brushed against something.

I looked at my hand—a rebar; about the length of my arm. In theory, it may be powerless, but I could work with it. Yeah, I could—

A horrendous howl suddenly came from over my shoulder.

Looking behind, sharply drawn claws invaded my vision. Manoeuvring to the side, the claws whizzed past my ears and missed me by a hair.

The Mutant hissed, baring its teeth.

My limbs moved before I did—I smashed the rebar into the Mutant's temple.

It's mouth fell open as it let out another cry but I acted quickly. Leaping up, I sunk my foot into its stomach, cutting off its wails and knocking it to the ground. Holding up my hand, I went to call for my knife . . . but stopped. Something occurred to me, something that had been bugging me, and I ignored my instincts to get some answers. "Y'know what I can't figure out?" I asked. Rhetorically, of course. I knew I wouldn't get an answer. The Mutant spluttered and attempted to climb back to its feet. I rolled my eyes and slammed my foot into its jaw. It choked on its salvia and fell back onto its stomach. So, I continued, "Why you chose him—an innocent child—when you could've had many, many other innocent people? You're risking your life right now for a six-year-old. What gives, why him?"

All it did was splutter.

To be honest, I didn't know why I cared so much. For an answer, that is. Easily, I could've put it out of its misery. But something about that kid, seeing the terror in his eyes, had my blood pumping. Something about him brought out a maternal instinct. And I wanted to know why, of all the people in Hillwood, this Mutant was so set on terrorising him.

The Mutant looked up with malicious eyes, but a crooked smile pulled at its lips. "Y . . . You're too stupid to understand . . . you stupid cunt!"

And, with a disgustingly loud gurgle, it spat its yellow salvia onto my foot. Raising a brow, I watched as the foamy ball slid down my boots.

And sighed.

Gripping the bar tightly, I held it above my head in the air. "Fair enough," I admitted. Then, bringing it down, I drove it through the Mutant's abdomen.

My stomach twisted in tight cramps when the steel met soft, pudgy flesh. There was a sickening squish as the rod sunk deeper. Moisture welled in my eyes and my body shuddered. The Mutant's heart-wrenching screams filled the room and haunted my ears. My hands shook as I twisted deeper.

. . . nothing more then a poser—a pretty fake.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I dipped my chin as water descended.

. . . she'll either be gone or useless.

"I won't," I growled, pushing the steel rod further, "I won't be—never!"

I guarantee it.

Throwing back its head, the Mutant let out a deafening wail. Vibrations ran under the ground. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight and I looked up. The remaining windows, I could see, had hairline cracks spreading along the surface. The screams escalated and, at once, the windows shattered.

The noise was so unbearable. I let go of the rod and covered my head as the fragments fell for the ground. The Mutant's eyes were angry and its mouth wide as an overwhelming screech emitted from it. The screaming escalated into an ear-splitting wail. I covered my ears as my head began pounding and looked up—the shards were getting too close.

I bolted.

The screams were like ghosts and followed me.

I pushed my shoulder into the door and wasted no time in leaving the warehouse.

The grass was tough outside—wild and untamed, it grew to my knees. It waved like crowds in a stadium as a warm breeze swept by. The sun cast the last of its rays upon the clouds of billowing smoke, turning them to a fiery red.

I skidded to a stop and whipped my head around. Where was the kid? "Shit," I whispered, gasping for air. I tried calming my nerves, reminding myself that I'd warned him to hide, but that didn't stop my mind from screaming. "Shit—kid! Where are you?!"

My hands were shaking as I raked them through my hair. Dams had broken down my face as sobs fell from my mouth. I scanned the area, but I couldn't find any sign of him. Where was he? He had to be fine. He was fine—right? He seemed smart, I told him to hide. He must've found a good place.

I scrubbed the tears from my face. What if he hadn't gotten out? What if someone took him? What if that Mutant wasn't the only one? What if it was a decoy, sent to distract me, while the real one snuck around to steal the kid? What if—

"Blue Jay!"

I whirled around. His blonde face popped out from a tussock of green blades. My eyes found his.

And I sprinted in his direction.

There was still screaming. They pierced my ears and escalated to another powerful level. It was excruciatingly loud. I could hear a deep rumble from the abandoned structure behind me. The kid held out his arms as he jumped to his face, running for me.

"Stay down!" I hoarsely cried. The twisting in my stomach tightened agonisingly. Flinging my arms around his tiny body, I tackled him to the ground and covered his body with mine.

The boy's cries were lost beneath the ebullition of noise and shattering wails. The ground shook from the explosion. I clung to the kid as his arms and legs entangled around my waist. Shielding his tony body as thousands of shards of glass and steel rained down.

Looking up, I watched as the entire warehouse collapsed in piles of rubble and steel. The shrieks—shrill and deafening—disappeared. From the fresh pile that once was the warehouse rose a grey cloud of smoke.

Helga!Nel's voice cut through me. Gasping, I turned and found her sitting amongst the branches of a tree a few feet from us. I let loose a breath—I never thought I'd be so happy to find her cowardly ass in a tree. Are you alright?!

I turned to the kid. He was shaking, but otherwise unharmed.

I gave Nel a short nod and she released a relieved breath, ears sagging.

I turned back to the boy in my arms. "Kid," I spoke weakly. He looked up with wide eyes. "You oka—"

"George."

I stared at him. "Huh?"

Eyebrows pinched, the kid sat up and placed his hands on his hips. "George," he repeated with a determined nod. "My names George."

I paused, allowing it all to sink in.

Then chuckled, loudly and gratefully. Wrapping my arms around him, I placed my cheek on top of his head. "You're alright, then?" I asked.

He giggled and wrapped his arms around my neck. "Yeah," he nodded, snuggling deeper.

Throwing back my head, I let loose a sweet, joyful laugh. I laughed so hard that fat tears rolled down my face. Standing to my feet, with George in my arms, I grinned warmly at him. "So, where am I taking you?"

He beamed at me. "Arnold!"

I blinked.

"Huh?"

Finding them was easy enough.

I mean, yeah—obviously. George had told us he'd be at Tina Park. But, even had it not been for his instructions, I'm sure at some point I could've located them myself. As Blue Jay, my senses were explicit. Far above that of a regular person's. It would've been a cinch tracking them down myself as, about half way there, I could not only hear the loud, panicking voices, but feel the dread and tension in the air.

They stood in a large clump, arguing with one another. I didn't know how many there were, but I counted at least thirteen.

I recognised each of their faces. They were apart of my grade. They were unruly, chucking their voices at one another and pointing accusatory fingers—it was a hurricane of hostility.

I couldn't see Arnold, but I knew he was there—submerged in a sea of bitter faces.

I stood in the shadows, hidden from their sight and watching them from the alleyway. Nel hadn't wanted to reveal herself to George so she had to keep hidden even from me, but I could sense her nearby.

George squirmed.

I turned to the kid in my arms. He looked at me in confusion, wondering what was taking so long. No doubt he was bursting to run back to Arnold's arms.

"Sorry," I muttered. Shifting him onto my hip, I gave a strained smile. "You ready, bud?"

Beaming, he nodded.

Swallowing my apprehension, I stepped from the shadows and made my way to the panicking boys. They were so caught up in pointing at one another that they didn't even notice George or me.

The closer I got to them, the more fire fuelled my belly. A wave of raw emotion rushed through my veins that left my mouth tasting bitter. I didn't know where the rush came from, but my movements started mimicking that of years of military services—I didn't walk, I marched. My back was rigid, my strides long and movements robotic.

The boys must've heard my heels because soon all eyes turned in our direction. Their arguments trailed off as their jaws dropped low. I spotted Eugene Horowitz turning an abnormal shade of white, looking very close to fainting.

It became sickeningly quiet as I moved. No one dared to move a muscle or meet us halfway. Their eyes remained locked on me—barely registering George—full of uneasiness.

A lump rose in my throat. Their stares all struck me like nails. My heart stuck my ears so hard that nausea struck between my eyes. Why was I feeling like this? I'd just come from a fight against a Mutant for cripes sake, without the aid of superpowers or even my knife. Why were a bunch of boys freaking me out?

There was a soft tapping on my forehead and I turned to George. Seeing his questioning gaze, I realised that, at some point, I'd stopped walking. Several confused stares pierced into my skull, I could feel my face growing hot. George gave me a look, one that asked if I were okay, and, with a small smile, I nodded my head.

A familiar pair of eyes watched me.

I knew it was him—his eyes were different from everyone else's. Everyone looked down on me with judgement or disgust. But he always felt like a liquid adrenaline pumped into my veins. Under his eyes, I could run, jump and dance, just to keep his attention.

But not tonight.

My strides became longer—stronger—as I kept my gaze directed on his. He was uncomfortable, but I didn't look away.

I stopped—several feet from them. No one said anything. They avoided my eyes and shuffled awkwardly, as if drenched with guilt. I almost snorted—good.

Even from how far she sat, I could feel Nel tensing up as she recognised my stance. Helga—

"Arnold Shortman," I called in a low, powerful voice. It didn't sound like mine, or even Blue Jay's.

There was a tense pause.

The silence became thick and leeched onto my skin, sinking into my skull and tearing apart my brain. I was shaking, but my complexion remained steady.

He stepped forward.

He was in shock, I could tell. His skin was pale and pinched with worry; there were circles around his drained eyes caused from his stress. I almost felt sorry for him. But thinking of the explosion, how close George had come to being injured, felt as if someone had set fire inside me.

The boys gave Arnold piteous looks as he moved forward, some giving him encouraging pats on the back.

My blood boiled hotter.

They acted as if it'd been him that'd fought the Mutant. As if it'd been him that'd been thrown against walls or walked out of explosions with a bloody shoulder.

Arnold's hands were clenched by his sides as he took small steps. He looked pained when he met George's stare, but, swallowing, forced a shaky smile. "H–Hey, George," he said, giving a small wave.

George, oblivious to the tension, smiled at Arnold without a care in the world. "Arnold!" He cried, waving at the teenager. He looked ready to run to him, but I tightened my hold. Pausing, he looked up questioningly at me.

But I kept my eyes on Arnold. "Are—" I felt my voice tremble "—you serious?"

My body shook from the overwhelming heat that bubbled. George may be willing to forgive Arnold, but I wasn't.

Arnold blinked. "I'm sorry?"

He visibly wilted under my hot glare. "I said," I took a step forward, gritting my teeth together. "Are. You. Serious."

It was obvious that, at this point, it no longer was a question.

His confusion only enraged me further. "About wha—"

"About what, you ask?" I barked a humourless laugh and set George down by my feet. "Let's see—how about the fact that, despite being paid to babysit George, you up and ditch him for your friends? Or, despite having his parent's trust, you threw that away to act like a child and play with your toys, therefore not watching him, which is exactly what his parents expected you to do? Or that, despite there being two attacks in the past two days and me busting my ass to protect you all, you still decided to take a kid out and let him out of your sight?"

Arnold's face fell with every word I barked. He no longer could look at me—his beautiful eyes were wrenched to the ground. His cheeks were burnt red, something I felt like I'd hadn't seen in so long. "I—I'm so—"

I held up a hand. "I'm not done," I bit back. "He was targeted, Arnold! A Mutant wanted him for itself! I don't know why, but I can guarantee you he wouldn't have lived for very long to see! What's wrong with you? Why wouldn't you watch him while he's under your fucking care?"

The air was so brittle that it felt like it would crack. No one dared to say a word, scared that I would turn on them. My tongue felt like fire as I spat destructive bullets. Half the boys watched Arnold with piteous eyes while others stared at me distastefully.

Suddenly, I was nine-years old again, eyed with disdain and watched with abhorrence. I'm nothing but a bully—Arnold's bully. Everyone loves Arnold but despise me. I could never escape that—as a child, teenager or adult. My limbs became heavy and the hole in my heart grew larger. Nothing's changed, absolutely noth—

No.

They hadn't seen what I'd seen. They'd never looked into a Mutant's eyes and seen their demise staring back. They'd never felt burning claws tears down their back or a paralysing fear that latched on tightly to their wrists . . . they'd never faced the reality that living to see tomorrow was unlikely.

I wanted to shake them, scream at them, that it wasn't just me lashing out—it was the nightmares. I didn't want them looking at me like that. I wanted to open myself up, bare my injuries for what they were, and maybe then they'd understand where I was coming from.

No.

No, they were right. I was Blue Jay, I had to remain calm, in control, even if that made me a bitch. Arnold had to learn that what he did was extremely stupid and almost cost George his life.

Fire in the form of water threatened to spill down Arnold's red face. I recognised the way his hands trembled as they gripped the sides of his shirt. Tightening my jaw, I crunched my teeth over my lip. I wasn't Helga, I was Blue Jay.

Breathing in through my nose, I released a calming breath. "Do you know what George's seen today?" I asked in a smaller voice. "Do you . . . know of the horror he's suffered? . . . I suspect you wouldn't as I get the distinct feeling that you've never been in a situation like that . . . it sucks. It really, really sucks. And stays with you . . . it never leaves. George, he—won't be forgetting what he saw today. It'll probably remain with him," I lowered my eyes to my shoes. My hair fell over my shoulders, making a bloody golden curtain. "He'll wake up from nightmares he swears are real, walking down the street won't be so easy anymore—it'll feel like eyes are watching him . . . people'll look at him weirdly, convinced there's something wrong with him, not understanding the trauma he's going through, the trauma that'll be with him . . . for a long time."

There was a stinging in my eyes, and I hurried to blink it away. I wasn't crying. Crying lead to looking weak and looking weak lead to more crying. I wouldn't cry, I wouldn't cry, I couldn't cry.

. . . pretty fake . . .

"Bullshit."

I looked up.

Gerald met my gaze, hard-rimmed and determined. He stood next to Arnold, who looked downright horrified at his friend. Gerald's eyes burned with an intensity that tightened my chest.

My tongue felt like sandpaper. "W–What?"

"I said—bullshit," he repeated, crossing his arms challengingly. "What you said—it's completely bull."

My laugh was empty. "How would you know, kid?"

The veins in Gerald's fists bulged, but he kept them tucked. "I don't—but neither do you," he said. "You know about as well as the rest of us if George will be okay after today . . . what you're describing—it doesn't sound like something he'll suffer, but something you are."

There was a sharp intake of gasps as some of the boys turned to each other and murmured their agreements.

I watched without moving my head, keeping the uneasiness to myself. What Gerald said . . . it made sense. I wasn't talking about George anymore, but me. I was the one suffering from these attacks, not George. I was taking my frustrations out on Arnold . . . as usual.

I felt like I was being strangled. I clamped down on my tongue and cleared my throat. I knew how to keep up a poker face, growing up un in the Pataki household finally had some benefits. Angling my head in a casual pose, I resisted the urge to step backwards, meeting Gerald's stare.

He continued in a quieter voice. "Look, I won't lie, what Arnold did wasn't smart, but it's not like it was just him. We all encouraged him—hell, I was the one who called him!" Gerald let loose a breath and gave me a look that shook me to my core. The guilt that swam in his eyes revealed to me more then what his words did. Something must've flickered on my face because Gerald quickly lowered his face to the ground and, clearing his throat, spoke in a defeated voice. "If you're going to blame anyone . . . if you're going to yell at anyone for what happened to you today . . . it should be me."

I felt my words leave me. The Gerald that stood in front of me now was so different to the one I went to school with. He wasn't spouting nonsense about aliens or secret government alliances with a self-assured grin. Instead, he looked serious, sullen, something that didn't fit the image I made of him over the years.

Arnold's bright green eyes were wide as he too stared in shock at his downcast best friend.

I'd never been particularly close to Gerald Johansen. I'd met him a little after Arnold, but regardless I'd known of his existence for years now. It was no secret that neither Gerald or I held any affection for each other. I'm sure to him, I was nothing more then a snarky bitch who bullied his best friend as children, and, honestly, Gerald always seemed like an overdramatic asshole to me. The only thing we had in common was our fondness for Arnold and mutual dislike for each other.

But hearing him now, how willing he was to take the blame . . . almost made me respect him. Hell, in a weird way, I sort of admired him.

But I didn't forgive him—or Arnold. Too many things had happened because of their carelessness.

"Look!"

I lowered my gaze to George. He was turned in the other direction and pointing his tiny finger.

Frowning, I spun around.

. . . and drew in a sharp gasp.

How—

Multiple gasps and yelps of alarm came from behind me.

It was a bleeding mess. It stood in the alleyway, slumped against the wall and pressing its hands to the sides to prevent it from falling. The Mutant's right eye was swollen shut and fiery salvia drippled down its chin. Thick scarlet ran down its tense limbs from the gaping hole in its abdomen, where the rebar stuck out from.

Its good eye turned in my direction and it let out a low growl. "Y–You—" its lips pulled back to reveal stained teeth, orange salvia gushing between the gaps. Sweeping back my arm, I pushed George behind me. Arnold appeared by my side and lifted a scared George up into his arms. "BIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!"

Mouth opening wide, it launched forward and let out an unforgiving wail. It reverberated in my ears like thunder and shook me with its rage. The boys jumped, letting out terrified screams as they covered their ears. The Mutant burst with life as it screamed, its mouth fell lower, and its hairs flared around it. From the corner of my eye, I could see thin, spidery cracks spreading along the surface of building windows at the park's edges.

I realised that, with its anger, came along more power. I gritted my teeth, I needed to kill it before it injured anyone. But I also needed answers—

It stopped.

The shrieking—it just ended.

Letting out a pained moan, the Mutant slumped against the wall, clutching tightly onto the rebar.

I sighed, shoulders heaving. That rebar . . . the Mutant wasn't immune to its injuries. It was severely weak—it shouldn't be hard to take down. But I was also injured—not as badly, but enough to slow me down.

This fight had to be quick.

Someone tugged on my arm.

Looking over my shoulder, Arnold stared up at me. His emerald eyes were glistened but also burnt with spirit as he cradled George tightly in his arms. My chest fluttered. "Do you—" his voice shook. Shaking his head, he spoke again in a clearer voice. "Do you have this?"

Do I have this.

Pressing my lips together, I faced the Mutant. The blood, still moving down its limbs, formed a pool at its feet. It wobbled as it continued to push itself up against the wall. My fingers found my hilt in my boot as I bent down. I wanted its death to be quick and painless, but . . . I needed my answers.

So, reluctantly, I shoved the knife down further into my boot and stood up. Keeping my eyes locked ahead, I stretched out my arm in the boys' direction. "I need a bat," I announced, spreading my fingers expectedly. There was a shuffle and quiet murmuring, but no bat was placed in my hand. I turned to them questioningly. "Did I stutter? Give me a bat."

Again, they shuffled, casting one another nervous glances, but no bats were offered to me. Instead, they clutched the wooden instruments tighter to their chests, or hid behind their buddies.

Finally, one of them—Horowitz—stepped forward, panicked eyes downcast. "Um," he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. "What're you gonna do with 'em?"

My jaw dropped. Were they serious?

"Save your lives, dumbos!" I dropped my arm to the side as I turned partially to face them, keeping the Mutant in my peripheral vision. "Look, if you're so worried that I'll break your fucking bat, then just keep reminding yourselves that its either that or death at the hands of—well, that!"

I made a wild gesture to the snarling Mutant, which the boys jump but none of them made to offer me anything.

I smacked my head, turning to the side. Of all the hardships that came with being Blue Jay, this was reaching the top of the list—teenage boys. Especially since, as a masked hero, I wasn't allowed to pummel them, which was a luxury I could only afford as Helga.

A cool wisp of air took a hold of my hair, lifting the strands into my face. I spat the golden tendrils from my mouth and wrestled to keep the hair from my face.

Several gasps broke from the boys.

I frowned, dragging my face from my hands. What were—

My shoulder gave a painful throb.

Shutting my eyes, I heaved a long sigh.

I swept my hair back over my shoulder, covering the wound, but the damage was already done. They'd seen my shoulder, they knew how badly I was injured.

Spinning around, I snatched the closest bat in my reach from a snivelling boy. He practically jumped away before our fingers could meet. I swung the bat onto the crock of my neck and spun around for the Mutant—

"This is ridiculous!" I heard Gerald exclaim. Halting, I rolled my eyes, but didn't turn. "You've got powers—use them instead of our bats!"

My blood froze.

I could hear murmurs of agreement. An involuntary shiver ran down my spin as accusatory stares bore into my back. My eyes turned to Arnold, who watched his friend with narrowed eyes as realisation dawned on him. Dots were connecting in his mind as he turned to me expectedly. Blood rushed to my face and I bowed my head to hide behind my hair. I felt Arnold's confused stare and, as my body shook, my teeth clattered.

Breathing through my nose, I clenched my jaw tightly. Tightening my hold on the bat, I marched forward for the Mutant.

Gravel crunched under my heels and the night air had a stinging feel. The distance between me and the boys grew and the bands around my heart loosened. The Mutant must've heard my steps because it straightened its posture and snarled, clutching onto the rod in its belly.

Keeping my poker face, I walked like I was headed for school. In my head, I sung the words to rock songs I jammed into my ears to calm my anxieties. A bounce formed in my steps that made it seem like I didn't have a care in the world. I swung the bat around the air, twisting it elaborately with an elegance I knew was Blue Jay's in time with the coarseness of the electric guitar. I felt the boys' stares become impressed as they watched. I could hold myself back from smirking—if they thought that was impressive, wait until they caught this spectacle.

The Mutant snarled and, turning to the side, spat out another ball of orange salvia. Spinning to face me, its triangular nostrils flared and, before I could blink, it leapt into the air.

Twisting its body impressively in the air, it landed firmly on the balls of its feet by my left. Swinging the bat, I turned but it leapt again. It landed on my right, but before I could even look, it was back in the air and behind me. It kept this up as it continued to evade my attacks, which was losing more and more force.

Finally, I had enough.

It landed a few inches behind me, but I didn't attempt turning. I jabbed my elbow back and clocked it in the nose. Whirling around, I swung the bat and nailed it in the temple, knocking back. Growling, it lashed out its claws and slashed upwards. I swung back on my legs and snapped my head back, barely avoiding its nails. My fingers were swept out from under me and I was on my back, bat flying from my grasp.

It bent over my body. Snarling, it raised its claws. I thrusted out my leg and sent it flying back. It cried when it landed on its back, clutching onto its abdomen. I scrambled to my feet, battling the nausea, as it crawled into a defensive crouch on the balls of its feet.

Its hair spilled over its hunched shoulders as an ominous golden glare peeked through the strands. Sweat came down is face and blood slipped between the fingers wrapped around its wound. It spat out another fiery ball and sneered, lowering its hands but keeping our eyes locked.

And charged forward.

Raising its hand, it swiped. I dodged to the side. Growling, it swivelled in my direction and swiped again. I managed to dodge its strike again and it squealed.

Jabbing out its hand, it wrapped long fingers around my neck and squeezed. I spluttered out parched gasps. It giggled, then opened its mouth to let out another unbearable wail. We were only a few inches apart and the sound blared in my ears. I was blinded with flashing colours as my entire skull radiated with torturous throbbing. The dizziness was so overwhelming, I wanted to vomit.

I tried to formulate a plan, but the deafening voice made it hard. All I knew was that I had to fucking shut this Mutant up.

Grabbing fistful of its hair, I yanked it down and brought the Mutant's face towards mine, cutting off its screams. I threw myself forward and smashed my forehead against the Mutant's nose.

Pulling back, blood dripped down from its nose. Daze, it touched ah and to its nose and examined the red fluid. It looked up to glare at me and threw me in a random direction. My back collided against a pole, heart in my throat. Launching over, I hacked furiously and drew in deep, satisfying breaths.

A fist suddenly came for me. I dodged to the side and swung out my foot, burying it in its cheek. The Mutant staggered against the pole and I ducked to snatch back the bat. Spinning around, the Mutant was rubbing its jaw, so I struck the bat across its throat like a bar.

"You say you—that you have a master—" I was an inch from its face. My breath whipped the wisps of its hair. "The previous Mutant mentioned a 'they'—who?"

The Mutant narrowed its eyes, examining my face, before it burst into a fit of giggles. I'd imagine that, if it could, it would be clapping with absolute glee. "Oh, what a treat!" Slamming its head back against the pole, its giggles dissolved into a full-blown laughter. I cautiously looked over my shoulder, worried the boys would overhear our conversation. "Oh, master would surely—"

"Your master!" I pushed harder against its throat. Its laughter was cut off as it began choking. "You keep going on about a master, specifically a he—its not Acantha, so who. Is. It."

The Mutant smirked which made my blood boil.

I wrapped a hand around the rebar. For a millisecond, panic widened in the Mutant's eyes, before it was sunk into a mask of indifference. I rose a brow, it wouldn't remain calm for much longer.

I jerked the rebar to the side. Its anguished cry pierced the air—but it wasn't like the other. It wasn't one of inhumane nature, a weapon that could crack windows or destroy buildings. This one—it was genuine.

Thick blood ran from my wound and soaked my flesh, but my eyes remained on its face. I wasn't budging until I got an answer.

Twisting the bar in my wet hands, I slowly pulled it from its skin then thrusted it back. Crying, the Mutant struggled against the bindings, but my strength didn't falter. Leaning in closer, I lowered my mouth to its ear. "Who," I whispered through my teeth, "Is. It."

Its eyes flickered to mine and, for once, looked tired. A tiredness I recognised. Letting loose a breath, it rested its head against the pole. "Fine," it breathed in defeat, voice low.

I let loose a breath, reaching up to wipe away the sweat from my brow. Thank goodness. "Alright—" I cleared my throat. "—who is it, then?"

Letting loose another breath, the Mutant looked up into my eyes. "My Master—"

A tiny whistling suddenly caught my attention.

Releasing the bat, I dropped to my knees. The whistling grew louder and something tiny flew over my head. Panic rose and I rolled to the side. I held my breath as an invisible force pushed the Mutant back against the pole.

Its face scrunched up as it reached a shaking hand to its throat. It began hacking—choking—while trying desperately to inhale sharp gasps of air. I watched as it doubled over, sucking in as much air as it could. Another force propelled it back. Its throat gurgled as it spat out blood. Its blood shook as crimson trickled down its limbs. It clawed at its throat—pulling and tearing at the skin as it began turning blue.

That's when I spotted it—frost.

Springing from the base of its throat was a tiny spot of frost.

I blinked. What the—

The small pattern of ice began to spread. It crawled between the Mutant's fingers and down its shoulders. It glowed an unnatural blue, thickening and cackling. The Mutant tried fighting it off—slamming its skull against the pole, scratching at the blue layer clinging to its flesh—but the more it fought, the faster the frost grew. It spread to the tips of its toes and up the length of the pole. The ground became encased in an icy sheet as glimmering shards broke out from the Mutant's body.

The cement tinged blue as the ice stretched further and further from the Mutant. It cloaked the fallen bat entirely. Shards broke out from the ice as it crept towards my frozen form.

Um, Nel—

Helga! Nel screamed. Get out of there—now!

She didn't need to tell me twice.

Scrambling to my feet, I darted off in the direction of the boys. They watched with wide, frightened eyes. I sought out Arnold's; like the boys, he watched in horror with George wrapped up tightly in his arms. The kid's arms were wounded around his neck as Arnold gently nudged his face into his shoulder, shielding him from the terror.

Our eyes made contact and my heart flourished. I knew it was selfish, but I wished it was me in George's place—wrapped up in Arnold's protective arms. I didn't want to be the one fighting, I wanted to be the one being fought for. I wanted to be the one protected. I wanted to be in his embrace, where I know I'd be safe, secured with his love and affection.

My heart was racing. I was no longer running for the boys, but Arnold. The wind assaulted my face as salty tears stung my eyes.

Helga!Nel suddenly burst. Get down! Tell those boys to hide themselves!

I skidded to a halt and pointed at them. "Oi, boys!" Their eyes were back on me. "Get down now! Find something—anything—and hide yourselves behind it!"

I didn't know why Nel insisted on us hiding, but I wasn't particularly curious to ask her.

The boys obeyed—before I had even finished instructing them, they all took off in different directions. Some hid behind trees, some ducked behind bushes and some dove behind the fountain basin. Arnold went with the latter, laying on his belly with George still encased in his arms.

My heart lurched. I wanted to throw my form over them both. I wanted to protect them—

The hairs on my neck were rigid.

Looking over my shoulder, my eyes widened as shards of ice flew directly for me. I threw myself on the ground, wrapping my arms tightly over my head. The noise was sharp as the shards pushed through the air. They sailed over my body and continued to propel forward.

Screams came from all around.

There were multiple crashes as the ice hit different surfaces. My stomach was wrapped into cramps. Had anyone been hit? Had they been standing in the range of fire? My head swam with apprehension. I looked up, scanning the area, and counted each of the heads that poked up from their hiding spots.

Fifteen—sixteen—seventeen! They're okay, they're all safe!

A grin crept along my face. Criminy.

Shutting my eyes, I lay my forehead on the ground, drawing in deep breaths. My heart felt like it would explode but the tension slowly drained. My shoulders slumped forward, when something rushed down my jaw.

I reached a hand to my face and realised it was wet. My eyes were burning with salty fluid that dripped over my cracked mouth. Straightening up, I scrubbed the tears from my face, casting a wary look in the boys direction. They were too occupied—asking one another if they were alright—to notice me.

Looking back to where the Mutant had stood a few seconds ago, I suppressed a horrified pang in my stomach. It looked as if winter had just exploded; a layer of frost covered the pole and its surroundings. It beautifully glistened pale under the streetlights, so beautiful that you would never have been able to tell that there had been a violence occurrence . . . I couldn't even spot a drop of blood.

Curiosity curled in my stomach and I found myself crossing the street to the winter wonderland.

Nel, my telepathic voice echoed my curiosity, what was that? I had that Mutant in my hands . . . what happened?

I don't know, Helga, Nel responded in a voice similar to mine. Reaching the pole, I bent down to examine it. I didn't know what I was looking for, but something was nudging me forward. I didn't see it—it was too quick.

There were magnificent patterns swirling along the frosty surface, but they weren't what I was looking for.

I sighed.

Then something tiny caught my eye. Light bounced off it, hitting me square in the face. Squinting, I leaned forward then blinked a few times, to make sure that it was real.

Nel seemed to notice my discovery. Helga, what is it?

Reaching forward, I plucked the item from its frosty layer. Holding it delicately between my index finger and thumb, I held it close to my eyes.

It was a spike.

A tiny, tiny spike—the length of my thumbnail. It was a slither of ice, but it glowed pale blue. My eyebrows scrunched together, was this the whistling I'd heard? Had someone shot this at the Mutant, or intended it for me?

Helga?

Because if this had been what killed that Mutant and caused such erratic uproar, had shards coming out of thin air, attacking people, but had been intended for me, then that meant that whoever had shot this was still out there.

"Look!"

My stomach churned seeing the boys' identical terrified looks as they stared straight up. I followed their line of sight, turning to a tall building across the street.

My heart stopped.

He stood atop of the building, cloaked in shadows. His body was submerged in blackness, but the pale light that streamed from behind displayed a perfect silhouette. He stood tall, feet firmly planted apart. He had broad shoulders and strong limbs, his hands were shoved into his pockets. His teeth glinted in the light as he grinned crookedly, and though I couldn't see his eyes, I knew that, for certain, they were watching me.

A shiver ran down my spine. Subconsciously, I moved my hand to press against my throat, feeling my racing pulse. The grin on his face grew, stretching sharply across his face.

Something cackled behind me but I could force myself to look. His stare had me trapped, like chains.

Whoosh!

There was a sound similar to smashing glass as an icy gust of wind tore behind me. I spun around—

What?

—and frowned.

No one was there. I wasn't sure what I'd expected, but certainly not nothing. I was staring at the same frosty wonderland—the thick icy layer coated the pole in its gorgeous patterns, stretching to the ground—

Wait a minute.

My eyes widened—where was the bat?

The bat that had aided me in defeating that Mutant, that had been enveloped in an icy cage, was no longer there. Instead, jagged icy teeth rose from the ground where, like a shadow, the bat's imprint lay perfectly clear.

"Hey!" A boy with curly brown hair and circular glasses cried, pointing in the man's direction. "He has my bat!"

I turned back to the man's direction—senses on fire—and gasped. Clutching in his hand was a wooden object similar to the bat. His grin manically stretched before he dissolved into a fit of loud cackles that rang in my ears.

Something heavy dropped in my stomach and a tightness sat uncomfortably in my chest.

Suddenly, his eyes were back on me. His piercing, glowing eyes, shinning with a demented glee. They were trained on my figure, looking down on me, reminding me of his superiority.

Because, although neither of us had fought or ever spoke, it didn't take a rocket scientist who the inferior was.

Biting my lip, I looked down. My terrorised feet were paralysed; I tried reaching for my knife, but my hands weren't obeying my commandments.

"He's leaving with my bat!"

I looked up in time to catch the man turning around and disappearing into the shadows—taking the bat with him. I had to follow him, I knew that. He was the bad guy and I the good guy. Good vs. evil, the hero always had to win.

Yet, I still couldn't do it.

"Hey, you!"

I looked back to the clump of boys. They stared at me expectedly, waiting for something to happy. But I was drawn to the one that had called me out. The boy who's bad I'd stolen. "Aren't you gonna go after him?" He demanded.

My heart hammered.

Go after him? Fuck. The way they looked at me—like I was an adult . . .I couldn't. I was just Helga—just Helga.

But—they weren't looking at me like I was Helga.

Arnold wasn't.

My eyes found his, even amongst the other faces. I released a short breath, taken by how he looked at me. Clutching George, he watched me with admiration. He'd seen me screw up, blow up at him but chose believed in me.

Pulling the knife into my clammy hands, I sent them a quick nod, letting them know they had nothing to worry about.

Then bolted.

Swiping the hair from my eyes, I ran blindly into the shadows. I wasn't sure where I was headed, I just hoped it was the right way.

The cold night air flooded my lungs as my breaths became faster. My heart threatened to explode in my chest. The soles of my feet burnt from being kept in the angle these heels forced them into. There was static in my ear. What was it? What was—

Helga, slow down!

I skidded to a stop.

My feet slipped and I almost slipped. But my mind was racing so fast, I barely noticed. Nel?

My face felt flushed. My breaths were coming in short, spluttery bursts. My fingers curled into small, clammy balls. Where was she?

Where are you, Helga?

I paused and frantically spun around. The wind was howling and tearing my hair violently. Pushing back the golden tendrils, I scanned the area—it was a shitty place. The alleyway had led me to an abandoned site behind an indistinguishable building.

Scrunched up newspapers tumbled across the gravel as if stuck in washing machines. Stained boxes were careless stacked and unreadable graffiti was plastered over the large bins.

Um, I'm behind this building, I think—its abandoned.

A putrid smell loitered above me and I covered my nose. My stomach hurled at the repulsive stench and I blinked away the triggered moisture.

Did you see where he went?

There was laughter behind—clutching my knife, I swung around, but found myself alone. Panic trembled in my muscles and I gulped. Um, I think, uh, west? I think—I don't know. He's gone—he may have gone into one of these abandoned buildings thou—

A crushing blow struck the back of my skull.

Helga!

The force sent me forward onto my stomach, sprawled out painfully across the gravel.

Cheek pressed to the gravel, my vision blurred in and out of focus. Everything spun as shapes began merging. I tried blinking, but duplicates multiplied.

Clang.

I opened my eyes.

Blinking, I strained to make the two wooden bats beside me into one. That bat must've been the knock to my head. But if that bat had been used, then where was—

Laughter.

I froze—I didn't move, blink or even breathe.

Then, my skin crawled as my senses burnt—

I shot up and rolled to my side, avoiding the white flash that flew past my cheek. Looking back, my jaw dropped. Where my head had been, a silver pillar now stood, sticking out from the gravel.

"So, this is the infamous Blue Jay," A tender voice spoke from behind—I wasn't alone. Looking in the direction the voice had come from, a man stood completely concealed in the shadows. "I'm honoured."

His voice was mordacious. Irritation burned in my chest. My heart was still pounding, but his patronising words were all I could focus on. "Would the honoured fool," I bit out, gritting my teeth unpleasantly, "do me the honour of revealing to me his face, perhaps?"

He chuckled—a deep rumble that had a cold edge. "If the lady insists." His silhouetted footsteps were graceful as he stepped from the shadows, revealing his features.

He was handsome—inhumanely so.

His beauty was strikingly sharp; his bone structure was fine and perfectly symmetrical. His tangled mess of curls reminded me of a silver fox. His eyes were dark as they watched me, contrasting with his white skin. He watched me with amusement, the right side of his mouth turned up, I looked at him with hostility.

The silence stretched on as our eyes remained glued to one another in a battle for dominance. However, something uncomfortable churned in my stomach and I was tempted to look away. But looking away mean admitting defeat and, as Blue Jay, I couldn't afford that.

Rising to my feet, I pushed back my shoulders and rose my chin. Keeping my features neutral, I spoke in a guarded tone. "So, you're master, then?"

He smirked. "Only if you want me to be, milady."

I felt heat grow in my cheeks at his innuendo and turned to the side to avert my gaze. But I'm sure that, even from where he stood, he could see the pink glow.

He chuckled, proving me right.

I gritted answers—damn it, that was something Helga would do.

Clearing my throat, I turned back to him and placed my hands on my hips. "Who are you?" I demanded, voice strong. "And what do you want?"

"Well, milady, you can just call me Serec," he answered, offhandedly rolling his shoulders. "And what do I want? Let's see—" he tapped a finger to his chin and pretended to ponder. "Hmm, well, it appears that two of our experiments have been terminated over the past forty-eight hours . . . you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

His grin was deranged. It wasn't one of happiness or amusement, but one that laid his motives bare—his desire for my blood on his hands.

I clenched my jaw. "They attacked people. They had what was coming for them."

Chuckling, he held up his palms in a surrendering stance. "Of course, milady," he nodded. My nose wrinkled, I hated that name. "But, surely, you'd understand that if one woman were to suddenly appear and singlehandedly challenge our authority, we'd have to analyse the situation at once, right?"

Of course, I'd realised this. I knew that, at some point, Acantha would begin noticing her Mutants getting defeated. And that eventually she'd have to look into it.

But it didn't make it any less comforting knowing that I was staring straight into the eyes of a man allied with a woman powerful enough to destroy our planet. The man who, for all I knew, could walk away with my life tonight.

"Get to the point," I demanded, placing a hand to my waist.

"Such an impatient beauty you are," he commented in a rumbling tone, lowering his face so his hair covered his eyes. "But, yes, I suppose that the point is that, as of the last forty-eight hours, we have been watching you and, as such, I'll admit that I've grown somewhat an obsession with you." Hunched forward, he rose his chin slightly and stared at me from between his hair strands. I drew in a sharp breath—the horrifying malice in his eyes, yet his sharp smile felt like it could tear me down easily. "More specifically—your powers." My blood ran cold. "Please, miss Blue Jay, would you perform a magnificent display for a gentleman such as myself?"

Shit.

He held out a gloved hand—as if asking for a dance.

My muscles were frozen, but there was a tingling sensation that made me want to run. I wanted to put as much distance between myself and this man—Serec—as possible.

I didn't have my powers. Not since my first night as Blue Jay. And, at the most, I'd only been training for a few hours. I was not nearly strong enough to even go against a Mutant, let alone a man who had powers over ice. Even if I were to have my powers, he obviously had seen more battles and was advanced in his abilities.

He was superior to me—my fingers curled around my hilt—there was no way I could walk away from this fight.

I launched my knife sailing over my shoulder.

Serec scoffed, rolling his eyes. He twisted his torso to the side and let the knife fly past his shoulder.

My jaw dropped—he'd been so nonchalant, like he was swatting a fly!

Placing a hand to his hip, he turned back to face me with a raised eyebrow. "If you don't mind, miss Blue Jay," insultingly, he battered his eyelashes and grinned. "I think I'd like to be the lead in this dance."

Sweeping his arms to the side and leaning forward, he bowed gracefully at the waist. I watched as he lifted his chin and, with a smirk, whispered, "Milady."

My hands squeezed into fists.

He launched forward in my direction.

Spreading my feet shoulder-width apart, I held up my fists in a defensive pose and clenched my jaw shut. You can handle this, you can handle this, you can handle this—

He swung forward a gloved hand. I moved quickly and it grazed my chin. But I could tell that, had he landed his target, it would've been one hell of a shot. He grinned and went in for another, but I side-stepped and twisted my torso away.

Gritting my teeth, I threw a fist at him. He stepped backwards, tilting back his head and avoiding my attack. The smile was still there as he reached forward and wrapped a hand around my smaller one—and squeezed. An aching bite burst from my knuckles as I tried concealing my cries behind clamped lips. He chuckled and squeezed tighter, increasing his strength until—

Crunch.

This time I did cry.

Fire spread underneath my skin. I let out a strangled scream as a crippling throbbing lanced over my fist. It felt as if my knuckled had tripled their size. Burning spread from the tips of my fingers all the way to my elbow. I tried focusing on my whimpering breaths but Serec sent fresh ripples of pain by squeezing tighter.

Then, with a shrug, he threw me to the side. As I fell, I shot out my leg in a vicious swipe, hitting Serec in the nose. Red burst from his nose. I staggered backwards and, tripping on a particularly large rock, landed on my back.

The air was cool, but my hair stuck to my cheeks like second skin. I wanted to get up, but my limbs were too heavy. Pain still thrived in my knuckles so I clutched them to my chest. It was agonising—they were broken, I could tell. A swelling, dark bruise was already forming.

Fuck.

My right hand was my dominant—my left hit were significantly weaker. How long would it take for it to heal? The healing process could clean it up quicker then usual, but I didn't know how long it would be until I could use my hand again.

"You're . . ." I looked up at the white-haired man. His eyes weren't on me, but his stained glove as he examined the new colour. Blood was dripping down his face, but he didn't seem to mind it slipping between his lips. Sniffling, he wiped his nose and looked up at me with gleeful eyes. ". . . not acting on our agreement!"

He charged at me again. I barely scrambled to my feet when he began throwing punches. Biting my tongue, I dodged every one of them—barely. "Why–won't – you—" He grunted, throwing a punch for each word, "—show–me–milady?"

My body was getting too tired. I was almost out of air and my strength was fading.

His punches then abruptly ceased, and he took a step back.

I scowled—he looked hardly bothered by our combat. I looked like I'd come out of a war, with blood clothes, torn skin and a swelling knuckle, while he barely had broken a sweat. Yes, I'd been fighting for a much longer period of time today, but I knew that, even if our combating times weren't uneven, he'd still be doing far better than I was.

Tilting his head, Serec gave me a once-over. "Tired?"

I let out a harsh breath. "No," I barked, straightening my posture. "Of course not!"

He grinned. "Good."

I narrowed my eyes. What was he playing at?

A flash of silver flew over his shoulder. Serec didn't flinch and watched as it plummeted for my face. Shrieking, I spun to the side and narrowly avoided it.I looked over my shoulder, searching for whatever that had been. But, just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared. I couldn't spot it. I rose a brow, what even was tha—

Pain erupted as a force buried into my cheek. I was sent staggering back, salvia spraying from my mouth. Black swirled at the edges of my mind as I pressed a hand to my face.

I looked up just in time to catch a white blur.

Stars burst in my vision as my head snapped back. Metallic-tasting liquid slipped into my mouth as a pounding jolted from my nose. Something swept underneath my feet and, with a choked cry, I was flat on my back.

I gasped, salvia gurgling from the back of my throat.

Black swam across my vision as ringing screamed in my ears. Hot blood streamed down my jaw and into my hair. Against my will, my eyelids slipped shut. I could hear Serec chuckling, but I was so tired—so exhausted—that I couldn't care anymore.

Pins and needles crawled across my scalp. I screamed as I was pulled by my hair to my knees. Something sharp was held to my throat, preventing me from moving. Opening my eyes, I held back a gasp—it was my knife. It was coated in a thin layer of ice, held in a cloaked hand.

I saw his bared teeth before his eyes. He stood inches from my face, bent at the waist, nose almost touching my forehead as his breath washed over my face.

He laughed—a cold cackle. "Show me!" He demanded, pressing the knife further. "I want to see them for myself—I want to see your powers, milady!"

I spat blood.

He recoiled, reaching up to wipe the reddish salvia from his face. I hissed as the blade nicked my throat and a droplet slid down my chest. Gritting my teeth, I took advantage of his distraction and swung up my fist in an uppercut.

Crunch.

I heard Serec's upper and lower rows of teeth making contact and grimaced. His head snapped backwards, and the knife slipped from his fingers.

I scrambled out of his grasp. Standing to my feet, the ground made an alarming shift. I squeezed my eyes shut and clung to the metal stackbin. I chewed on my bottom lip as my stomach shifted. Beads of sweat slipped down my forehead. I needed to continued—I couldn't rest now.

My eyelashes fluttered.

Blood ran down Serec's white shirt as he pinched his nose. My knife lay by his feet. I outstretched my palm in its direction and summoned my weapon.

. . . only for nothing to happen.

My eyes widened. What?

I tried again. Then again. And again. But the knife refused to move. It sat perfectly still by Serec's feet, glinting in the moonlight.

I blinked. Why wasn't it moving—

His eyes snapped in my direction, burning with mirth. He spread his arm in the knife's direction, spreading apart his fingers. And, as if pulled by strings, the knife rose from the ground flew into his open palm.

My mouth fell open. How—

That's when I saw it—glistening in the moonlight was a thin layer of ice coating the blade. My jaw tightened. Of course—ice. No doubt, even when injured, Serec could manipulate it. He wasn't controlling the blade, but the ice frozen to it.

I hated to admit it, but it was sort of brilliant.

Serec bared his teeth and broke into a run, holding out the knife, and swiped viciously at my face. Jumping back, the blade missed my nose by a hair. He struck again; twisting my body away, it only glanced my side. He continued furiously swiping, while I barely avoided his attacks.

I knew that my levels of exhaustion were beginning to catch up with me. My reflexes were slowing, and fatigue was weighing down my muscles. And Serec knew this; he'd been holding back, aware I'd been battling for hours today. So, he challenged me to a fight in which he'd barely been using any of his strength, to dissipate mine. I gritted my teeth, swinging to the side to avoid the blade on my neck—that'd been his plan all along.

He then acted so quickly I barely saw it—one minute he'd been attacking me with my own knife, then the next he'd reached forward with an open palm.

SMACK!

The slap left me stumbling back, clutching my red cheek. My head smacked into the bin as my mind was left reeling. My eyes caught onto a familiar wooden instrument at my feet—

The same white blur overtook my vision and my skull hit the gravel. The edges of my vision were dark and it was hard to breathe. Fighting the shadows, I realised that Serec sat on my chest and had pinned my shoulders back with his knees.

I stared up into his eyes; his dark, pitiless eyes. Everything in my body, every fibre, was screaming at me to fight . . . but I was so tired.

Then, I remembered—the bat! It'd been at my feet when I'd fallen.

Rows of vicious teeth curled into an alienating smile. Serec leaned down closer, face looming over mine, as his eyes bore into mine. "Show me," he begged, breath close to my ear.

I bared my teeth. "Fuck—" my knuckles burned as I felt around for the bat. It had to be somewhere. "Fuck you!"

His face darkened.

Then he launched the blade into my palm.

I screamed—not just from my mouth, but my whole body. Eyes wide with terror, my screams pierced the night air. I tried breaking away, but the pain was excruciating. He chuckled and pushed the knife further into my flesh. The scream was louder, cracking under pressure. The metal disappeared into my flesh, digging into the ground, and the hilt pushed against my skin. I roared in agony as warmth pooled my palm and ran down my wrist.

I slammed my head again and again against the gravel.

It hurt—so, so much.

Something wrapped around my throat, cutting off my screams. Black swirled in my mind, drawing me into its open arms as salty tears spilt down my cheeks and into my hair.

Serec's wide eyes loomed over mine. "Use your powers, milady!" He demanded, spittle flying from his mouth and soaking me. "Defend yourself!"

My breaths became gasps when his hold tightened. My vision blurred as the darkness pushed further. My ears were pulsating—was I going deaf? There was nothing but ringing . . .

My eyes slipped shut.

Warm wetness spread through my hair, soaking my shoulders. The smell twisted my stomach, but it didn't bother me—I wouldn't have to smell it much longer.

"Do you have this?"

I wanted to cry—I failed. I'd failed everyone; Phoebe, Arnold, George, Nel . . . everyone.

". . . nothing more then a poser, a pretty fake . . . she won't last . . ."

He was right. I'd never stood a chance; not against the Mutants, Serec . . . anyone.

. . . death. What would my parents think? Would they care? Would they be surprised? How would the police report it—would it be Blue Jay's or Helga's? Would anyone care if it were Helga? It was no secret that I wasn't well-liked. Even my family ignored my existence. Would anyone be bothered if they read my name in the news?

Phoebe might. But she and I barely hang out anymore. She has other friends now. She'd get over it. Bob always preferred Olga. Miriam would barely notice my absence. Olga was too perfect for inconveniences like me. And Arnold . . . he never cared.

Was that why I was chosen? Not for virtues like bravery, determination or selflessness, but rather because no one would miss me if I were gone? Was that the only . . .

My eyesight blurred. Everything was fuzzy, then I saw nothing. The pain that once burnt like flames faded with icy numbness. I could only hear my heartbeat as an inky space filled my vision. Sobs echoed in my ears, alongside fading pleas for help.

I didn't care anymore.

I didn't . . .

A gasp.

It disappeared—the pressure, around my neck and chest.

Cold, crisp air assaulted my throat as I hacked. I coughed—violent expulsions of air—and inhaled large gulps. My ribs heaved, but I felt no benefit. Tears slipped down my face, leaving a tight, dry feeling. I brought a shaking hand to my throat—I could breathe. Why?

My vision was blurry, but I moved in his direction—Serec's. I moved my gaze to him, but only saw a white blur. He stood in front of me, just—staring. Why hadn't he killed me?

I blinked—twice, thrice, four times—I wasn't sure. But enough to see him.

He stared, open-mouthed. His bloody hands were held out as he examined the stains. I tried sitting up, but, with a bloody burst, remembered the knife stuck in my palm and shrieked.

He looked up, startled, with wide eyes. "You—" he licked his lips. "You don't have your powers."

I flinched but didn't deny it. What was the point?

The corner of his eyes crinkled as a surprised chuckle broke from his teeth. He bit his lip to suppress it but, mouth twitching, he eventually couldn't hold it back. Face twitching, he burst into a deep throaty laugh. His eyes were filled with joy as he bent forward, clutching his stomach.

I didn't know how to react, but I knew that whatever made him act like this wasn't good news for me.

Eventually, he stopped and stood up, wiping away a loose tear from his eye. "Oh, milady, this is such exciting news!" He smirked. "I can't wait for Acantha to find out—" my heart stopped "—take care of that wound, would you? Wouldn't want to fight a handicap."

And, with a sly wink, he spun around. He didn't pause as he addressed me, "I promise I won't be gone long, milady." Stopping, he gave a sinister look over his shoulder. "I don't wanna miss you for too long."

And, like that, he disappeared into the alley, leaving me alone.

I slumped back, head resting against the ground. My mind spun as I desperately tried to grasp at what just happened. Serec, one of Acantha's henchmen, had discovered my weakness—I no longer had my powers. That I was just a girl, slightly stronger then the average human, fighting alone and with no training.

The realisation hit me in one mighty wave; I was weak. To them, I was no different from other humans. Stopping me would be easy. After all, there was only one of me and thousands of them.

My mind began failing. I couldn't breathe—it felt like Serec still had his hands wrapped around me. It felt like claws had cut through my body as a cold dose of reality sunk in. Because, even though Nel would continue to train me, there was no way I could succeed. Acantha and her army were strong, stronger than me—it was only a matter of time until they killed me.

The world was a blur; as was the sounds, the taste, the smell.

Everything was gone.

I paused and tried holding back the strange feelings.

But couldn't.

A lone tear traced down my temple, soaking my stained hair. And just like that—the dam broke. The muscles in my chin trembled as more tears slipped down my face. I looked up at the moon and gasped for air that wasn't there. Brick by brick, my walls crumbled as sobs punched through. My vocal chords strained as a raw cry ripped from my blubbering mouth.

Everything I'd experienced in the past few days burst like an uproar from my throat in a silent scream. Hugging my legs to my chest, I curled in a fetal position as sobs wracked through my body. The searing pain in my palm only brought forth another torrent of tears. Curling into a ball, I hoped and waited for someone to save me. But no one would, no one was there. A choked cry for help forced itself from my throat as another drop ran down my face.

But no one would come, of course not. It was just me.

Alone.

Always fighting alone. Dying alone.

I was a cow bred for slaughter. A prisoner waiting for her execution. Living up until now had been nothing more then a stroke of luck. Without powers, I was no more powerful than anyone else—no more than Helga.

Digging my palm into my eyes, I scrubbed away the tears.

Poor Helga, no one loved her. People loved Blue Jay, but Helga? That's why she was chosen. Because her death wouldn't mean anything to anyone. It wouldn't get attention. It was perfect—no one would stop to think twice about her death.

My hand clenched into a white fist.

Helga, Helga, Helga—such a vile, ugly thing. The embodiment of pathetic. She could disappear and no one would blink. Not even Arnold—

I tore the blade from my palm.

Electric shockwaves shot through my body and caught fire. It was merciless without escape. Crying out, a sharpshooting pain shot up my shoulder. My eyes watered in agony until the floor became a pond of tears and blood.

I rolled into a tighter ball of self-loathing, holding my wounded hand to my chest. I wished for the world to end rather then suffer this sea of endless currents, but waves continued to crash onto me.

I wanted to scream—I wanted to scream badly.

But I was Blue Jay. She wasn't weak.

Biting my tongue to keep the screams at bay, the world around me was motionless. There was absolute stillness. No air stirred the newspaper balls. No clouds drifted in the dark night sky. Not a sound could be heard. Even my breath died as soon as it left my mouth.

It was an eerie sort of tranquillity.

My eyelids fluttered open.

The bat lay next to me.

Blue Jay . . . she wasn't weak. Nor was she done.

My body trembled as I pushed myself from the ground, wiping away the tears from my eyes.

No—she wasn't finished.

She still had one job to do.

"Here."

Confused eyes flickered to mine, then glanced down at the bat under his nose. His forehead crinkled as he noticed the dark red stain spread across the fabric wrapped around my hand.

"Take. It." My tongue was quiet, deadly. I wanted to go home. "It's yours."

Those eyes—speckled, dark and innocent—turned to me. Then, wordlessly, he took the bat and stepped back.

I turned to leave.

"Wait!" I almost cried hearing his voice. "Blue Jay . . . you—you're injured."

I didn't turn. Arnold couldn't see me. None of them could. If I look at them, they'll see it . . .

So, I blocked them out.

"Doesn't matter," I spoke over my shoulder. At this point, it was only Arnold, Gerald and three other boys. One of them I'd stolen from.

I went to leave.

But Arnold persisted. "But Blue Jay—"

"Arnold—!" My fist shook and I swung around, prepared to tell him to leave me alone when I caught sight of their faces. Their frightened, vulnerable faces. My heart sunk. They were scared too. Maybe more then me. They didn't know if that man was coming back or another Mutant. They didn't know if they were safe. "Just—" Arnold's eyes burnt, and I almost cried. He was such a good person. That's why everyone loved him. "J—Just—" Including me. I loved him. More than anything.

I looked to the child in his arms and my heart melted. Oh, George—sweet, innocent George. He was only a kid, but even he recognised the seriousness of the situation. Seeing him frown like this . . . I didn't like it. My stomach churned painfully. But why? Why was I so deeply affected by a kid I didn't kn—

It then clicked.

Everything—why I was so fiercely protective of him, why he brought out these maternal feelings . . . looking at how snugly Arnold held him . . . I realised that George reminded me of Arnold. Not only that, but the two of them together was a picture I'd dreamt of as a little girl. George's hair was slightly darker then Arnold's while his eyes were similar to mine. He fit so perfectly in both of our arms—George reminded me of the family I'd always wished for. He was a mixture of Arnold and I . . . a union that never would—

"Just go home," I snapped. Arnold flinched and bit his lips. I grimaced, I hadn't meant to sound like that. ". . . and stay safe."

He looked back up with wide eyes. I forced a brief smile and turned—

"But Blue Jay," Gerald burst, stepping forward. "Aren't you inj—?"

"For your safety." Pausing, I looked over my shoulder to flash a crooked smile. "And I'm fine. Just stay safe—please."

I hated that tone, it was pleading, vulnerable . . . weak.

So, I kept walking, not sparing them another glance.

"But—"

I left before Arnold could finish.

Darkness caved in.

It suffocated me like a damp blanket, clinging to every inch of my clammy skin. The world was etched in charcoal, my feet bare. Sanguine dripped down my body. The wind was icy—I shivered. Where was I?

I felt blind, like my eyes had been gouged out. My body washed cold. Had they? I brought a hand to my eye sockets—they were still there.

I breathed. But where was I?

Two eyes appeared, glowing like miniature suns. They seemed familiar, but I couldn't recognise them. Beneath the suns, those glowing orbs of obsidian, appeared a grin that showed every sharp tooth. Neither moved; the eyeballs, nor the stretched lips.

I stared. Serec—

There was a metallic flash as a blade was whipped out, clutched in a pair of white hands. I was frozen, muscles locked in place, as the knife moved closer and closer. The blade aligned between my brows.

I shut my eyes, awaiting the pain—

"—so unfair, man!"

My eyes snapped open.

Confusion blossomed. I couldn't see anything but a bright, piercing light. Groaning, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and adjusted to the sun's rays. The light retreated and sunk into familiar shapes . . . I realised where I stood.

Outside Arnold's house—waiting for the bus.

Had I fallen asleep again?

As I rubbed my temples, something fuzzy brushed against my face. Looking at my hand, I realised that I wore a pair of grey, fingerless gloves . . . ah, it was beginning to come back now—I didn't want anyone seeing my bandages. And Arnold and Gerald had both seen Blue Jay's injuries, which I knew would cause some issues. So, I hid my bandages underneath my gloves, which I often wore during winter.

My mind felt empty. I barely remembered anything after I got home. I was fairly sure I didn't want to anyway. I'd had to tend to my wounds and, since Nel didn't have human hands, it was up to me. The last I remembered was biting down on a rag as I sewed shut the cut on my shoulder—

I grimaced. I'd forgotten for a reason. If my exhausted mind had managed to block it out, I most certainly wouldn't go against its wishes.

I stifled a yawn. Despite getting more sleep last night then I had in the past week, it still wasn't enough. I'd risen like the dead this morning and moved passively as my mind sunk into dreamland. I didn't know how I was getting through school today, but I figured I'd ditch P.E. to catch up on some rest. I just didn't have the energy to put up with Ms. Ainsley today.

Voices surfaced as if rising from murky water. ". . . you really blame them, Gerald?" That was Arnold. I could recognise him anywhere. "I mean, it was because of us that George almost . . ."

There was a strained pause.

"But, Arnold—"

"No buts, Gerald." Arnold interrupted. I rose my bows—he sounded angry. I'd barely seen this side of Arnold, most certainly not anymore. What had him so wound up? "It was because of us that they almost lost their son . . . we have no one to blame but ourselves."

Oh. My heart dropped. I knew what they were talking about.

My eyes dropped to my shoes and I bit my lip nervous. I couldn't looked at them, not after last night. In fact, I'd gladly go without seeing anyone from last night again. After how they looked at me . . . how I'd yelled at them.

"So, uh," Gerald cleared his throat uncomfortably. "What happened . . . after they, erm, fired you, that is?"

What—they fired him?

There was another pause as Arnold shuffled his feet. "What do you, uhh, mean?"

"I mean," Gerald flung around his arms. "Like, what happened to the kid? Did they hire another sitter or somethin'?"

"I dunno, Gerald," Arnold said, sounding exhausted. "After they fired me, they said it'd be best if I left. I don't know what happened. I'd doubt they'd want to discuss it—or anything—with me."

I bit my lip, unsure of how to feel about this.

Arnold had fucked up last night but . . . he really loved George. Were they right to fire him? Maybe if I'd been quicker, or maybe if I had gone with him to explain or perhaps even lie and take the blame . . . if I hadn't been so selfish.

"That really sucks, man," Gerald admitted, reaching over to pat his friend on the shoulder.

"Yeah," Arnold's shoulders slumped and he hung his head, accepting Gerald's comfort.

"I just feel really bad, bro," Gerald frowned and shook his head. "I mean, it was because of me that you even went out in the fir—"

Arnold looked up. "It's not your fault, Gerald," he smiled, but somehow it didn't reach his eyes. "It's mine—I was the one that agreed to it. You weren't the babysitter, I was."

Gerald seemed as convinced as I was and frowned. "But—"

"And, anyway," Arnold suddenly beamed. "At least George is okay. And us, for that matter."

He wanted to end this conversation. He didn't want others feeling sorry for him, Arnold just wasn't like that. He'd rather change the subject then bring anyone else down with his own strife.

I wish I were like that. Arnold was like fire—a flame that kept burning and burning. His light always shined, bright and brighter.

A line appeared between Gerald's eyebrows. He seemed torn between respecting his friend's privacy and letting the subject drop or insisting that Arnold talk about his actual feelings and lift some of the weight from his shoulders.

Ultimately, he decided to honour Arnold's unspoken wishes.

"Yeah," a crooked smile spread across his lips. "Guess we are."

Just in time—our school bus, a hazy yellow blur, pulled up in front of us. The door shuttered open and, for a moment, my eyes locked with Arnold's. He rose his eyebrows and smiled as he gestured for me to go first. My cheeks warmed and I looked down at my shoes, hiding my face behind my hair.

His face twisted with confusion as he turned to Gerald who went ahead to enter the bus. Shrugging, he also climbed inside.

Sighing, I went to step into the bus, when—

"George!"

I froze. George?

"Where're you going, buddy?!"

I looked up in the direction of the calls and felt my mouth drop. Running down the sidewalk was a familiar blonde kid. My heart swelled as he moved vigorously, like ball of sunshine. His golden hair consumed his face, save for the smile that could light up anything. The smile he wore was the biggest I'd seen and I couldn't help smiling also.

But where was he going? I looked over my shoulder. There was nothing that seemed particularly exciting to invoke such a reaction. Maybe he was visiting a friend—

"Lady."

Turning around, my heart dropped at the beaming kid that stood at my feet. George giggled and tugged on my pants, gesturing that I bend down. I was so astonished that I didn't even think about it. Nodding, I lowered myself to my knees, crouching to the balls of my feet. His smile was bright as we stood face-to-face, it instantly pierced my heart. I felt everyone's dumbfounded gazes from the bus boring into me as they questioned why a kid would wanna talk to me.

He smiled and wordlessly pressed something into my hand. I looked down—it was a folded piece of blue paper. Narrowing my eyes, I opened and examined it. It was a crayon drawing of a blonde boy held in the arms of a woman dressed in a white leotard, with long, flowing hair.

It was unmistakably him and Blue Jay.

His smile was suddenly shy. "I—It's . . ."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Blue Jay."

It was an innocent drawing—a child depicting a scene of someone he admired. Perhaps his way of coping. But, to me, it spoke volumes of unsaid words—ones that pained and comforted me.

He ducked his gaze to the ground, cheeks pink. "Yeah," he nodded bashfully. "Would you give it to her, please?"

And when he lifted his gaze to me, I knew. I knew that this little six-year-old had figured it out.

He knew I was Blue Jay.

"George!"

A dishevelled blonde-haired man dressed in a suit, sweating profusely, suddenly appeared. I rose a brow—he was a handsome man, but clearly wasn't one for exercising. He panted as his running slowed to hurried footsteps.

From the bus, I heard someone hiss, "Shit!" I looked behind just in time to catch a flash of blonde hair and darker curls ducking underneath the bus window.

Then everything made sense.

Turning back to the man smiling apologetically at me, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head, I realised that he was George's father.

"Sorry about this, miss," he laughed, green eyes sliding down to look at his son. "He just sorta ran off."

I opened my mouth to brush off the apology, when a woman appeared, shouting "Adrien!", which I assumed was the father's name. She was much more casually dressed then the man—she wore a long-sleeved shirt, tugged into a pair of baggy jeans and an old pair of sneakers. Her short hair was an inky black and fell above her almond-shaped eyes.

"Sorry, dear," she apologised in a light voice. "He's been like this all day—George, c'mere, you know you're not supposed to talk to strangers."

George pouted, puffing out his red cheeks.

Then, suddenly, George knowing about my identity didn't bother me as much. I don't know what it was, but something about him lessened my worries. A soft tug at my heartstrings reminded me of that instinct I'd felt last night.

And I found myself laughing.

A real, god forsaken laugh. The joyful bubbling coming from inside felt as if a gigantic weight had left my chest.

I practically heard people's jaws dropping from the bus as I laughed carelessly. I didn't blame them, I wasn't exactly known for laughing at anything other than at someone else's expense.

Turning back to George's parents, I wiped away a tear that had escaped. I smiled apologetically as they stared at me bizarrely. "It's alright," I nodded with a grin. "He and I were just having a nice char, right, George?"

I sent him a look, silently asking if my secret was safe. A smile burst across his face as he nodded excitedly. "Yeah!"

I ducked my head closer to his. "And you know what, George?"

His eyes were twinkling. "What?"

"I have a secret for you."

"What?!"

"I happen to know Blue Jay," I said, raising my chin and crossing my arms. "And I can personally deliver this to her."

He eagerly smiled. "Really?"

I nodded. "Yeah," I pointed to the paper. "And y'know what? She's gonna love it . . . it's so beautiful."

He starred at me, wide-eyed, as the meaning behind my words sunk in. Then, pursing his lips, he ducked his head and ran into my arms. I was taken aback, as were his parents and—hell, the entire bus. I think I even heard someone collapsing from shock.

Mind racing, my swollen heart pounded and, next thing I knew, I'd wrapped my arms around George and pulled him in. Nestling my chin on his head, I breathed slowly as my muscles lost their tension.

I was confused; a hug was a simple, normal gesture, yet I'd received so little that, even from a child, it was enough to make everything seem brighter.

His parents smiled, warmth in their gazes. Taking her husband into her arms, George's mother smiled at me, mouthing, "Thank you."

Smiling back, I mouthed, "You're welcome."

A rambunctious blaring jarred me from my peaceful state as Pete slammed his hand down on the wheel. We both jumped and, growling, I yelled, "Stick it in your ear—I'm coming!"

George's mother giggled.

Turning back to George, I smiled warmly. "Gotta go, kiddo," I said, bumping his chin with the tops of my knuckles.

He giggled and lightly battered away my hand. His smile then slipped as something occurred to him. "Tell Blue Jay she's really cool, okay?" He said, nodding determinedly. "She didn't look like she knew that last night, which is said, cause everyone at school likes her and . . . she should know it."

My heart thundered, but I covered it with a shaky smile. "Yeah, of course, kid. I'll be sure to—"

Another infuriating cry from the bus's engine. I gritted my teeth and turned back to glare at Pete, who gave me a pointed look. "I'm coming!" I barked, cause, really, this overgrown man-child was really getting on my nerves.

Shoving the paper into my pocket, I gave George a smirk and climbed to my feet. Dusting off the invisible dust from pants, I winked and gave a small wave, "Seeya kid."

He giggled.

As I climbed up the steps, I gave Pete a particularly nasty look. Of course, the coward promptly ignored me and kept his grey eyes pointed ahead. Rolling my eyes, I threw myself on the closest free seat and looked out the window. I ignored everyone's stares, focusing on the family outside and giving them small waves.

Scooping the child in their arms, the family had barely risen their hands to return the gesture when the buses door slammed shut and shot off down the street. I'd imagined that we'd lost quite a bit of time in our schedule, but, given that Pete was a dick, I didn't care.

Eventually, everyone resumed their conversations with their friends and the level of chattering rose.

Letting loose a breath, I slumped in my chair and stared up at the ceiling. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the paper. As I unfolded it, something caught my eyes. On the other side was a message, written in red ink.

I scrambled to read it.

To Blue Jay,

You seemed really upset when we left last night. But I don't know why, you're super awesome! You're like Supergirl or Wonderwoman—and they're sick!

We're not allowed to go out and find you, so I figured I could tell you in a letter, like to Santa.

So, I wanted to say thank you for saving me, Arnold and his friends. They seemed sad, but I know they're grateful too.

I have to go to bed now but just know that you're super cool

Love, George xx

p.s. I can't wait to tell my friends about you

I suddenly forgot how to breathe. Both my eyes and mouth were wide open. I was unable to speak, totally stunned as a new realisation hit me.

I knew that writing—

Looking up, I met a pair of panicked, green eyes.

—it was Arnold's.

Fun Fact: I wrote the first draft of the Mutant fight scene to 'Walking on Sunshine'. Oh, and I also wrote the last draft of the entire chapter to Reputation . . . So, do with that knowledge as you would.

So, what'd ya guys think? Worth the wait, garbage - tell me in the reviews, y'all! Did Arnold's point of view feel decent, I'm pretty satisfied with what I got. It was nice to break away from Helga for a little bit, cause Arnold's obviously not as pressured as her, aha! Also, personally, who do you think was more in the right - Gerald or Helga? Cause, like, I feel like they both had decent points, but neither were really thinking from the other's mindsets . . .

Anyway, onto ma reviewing babes!

DhamarFlowers1.5:jaja, ¿creerías que todavía no he olvidado esta historia? Gracias por la revisión, hombre, y sí, eso siempre me pareció interesante para las historias de chicas mágicas. ¡No necesariamente el entrenamiento físico, sino el psicológico! Espero que te haya gustado este capítulo, hermano!

Nikki Pond: Wow, man, I've never seen a review like this before :D but I legit love everything about it! Thank you - yeah, Helga's responses are largely inspired by Katniss in The Hunger Games or like the entirety of Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica. Because like, at the end of the day, she's human - a young one at that - and I don't think anyone could really take it calmly XD AND YES, NEL'S SLOWLY RISING TO MY FAVS AS WELL (although I didn't get to write her to much in this one). Yeah, unfortunately Lila wasn't in here, but Arnold and Gerald definitely were and had a significant part in this one! Surprisingly, Gerald's actually the easiest character to write, and it's really fun to contrast him with Helga. Yes, Helga's homelife also is gonna play a huge part in here - I want her to grow strong enough to confront all areas of her life. Contrasting her vulnerabilities with the mask she shows to everyone is probably the most interesting part about her. I love going deep into her mind to reveal what she's actually thinking versues what she's doing/saying. But, thanks so much for this review! It was a huge motivation for me to finish! Thanks so much, darl 3

ariani (it wouldn't let me write out your whole name for some reason): Awwwww, thank you so much! Hopefully, her emotional breakdowns aren't getting repetitive! And yeah, I could definitely see her showing an interest in those artists! And haha thankfully this wasn't nearly as long as the last chapter!

aroyal22: Haha, thanks, man! Yeah, the M ratings definitely going to give me a lot more freedom! 3

Badwolf123456: I'm glad you like Nel - she's growing on me to! Unfortunately, she wasn't really in this one to much tho. But thanks so much, darl! Everything you wrote is seriously appreciated!

GoldenBug Prime: Hahaha, thanks, man! 3 Hopefully it's the same for this, aye? And, nice guessses - we'll just have to see ;)

dvd123: I knowwwww, it took fracking forever to write! And definitely - that's my goal! I really want Helga to grow into her own skin. Yeah, the burden won't be like this for a while, I'm pretty sure, but yeah, her habit of distancing herself is beginning to bite her in the ass. Hopefully you enjoyed this one just as much 3!