"Hey you!" You look up, eyes wide, your hand tightens around the wrapped deli sandwich you had been slipping under your jacket, "Get your grubby thieving hands off my merchandise!" The man coming at you is almost twice your height and five times your width, and the sandwich tumbles from your hands as he grabs the back of your shirt and pulls you towards the door, with one large hand he shoves you forward and you tumble out onto the sidewalk, skinning your hands and knees as you hit the pavement. "-And if I see you in here one more time I'm calling the cops. Go home kid." You turn so you're sitting and examine the newly ripped holes in the knees of your jeans, where blood is already seeping out of the torn skin. Tears burn behind your eyelids at the humiliation, and then a different kind of burn begins to itch in your palms.
The panic is almost suffocating but you manage to scramble to your feet and into the alleyway next to the store before the flames erupt on your skin, spreading quickly from your palms to your fingertips. You cast a horrified glance behind you to make sure no one had noticed you before you return your gaze to the problem-literally-at hand.
"Come on-" You whimper quietly trying to stifle the flames, "Come on!"
"Panicking isn't going to help you know." Your heart leaps up into your chest, and you shift your position from a crouch to your full height, your hands held out protectively in front of you as the flames spread to engulf your wrists. The girl standing in front of you looks to be about your age. She's standing in front of you with her hands on her denim covered hips and her frizzy dark hair pulled into two short pigtails on either side of her head. "Hey, it's alright!" She says gently, taking a tentative step towards you, "I'm not going to hurt you. I've been watching you for awhile now."
"You have?" You try to make yourself sound tough, but it sounds weak even to your ears, "Why? Who are you?"
"My name is Justine," The girl's full lips stretch into a smile, and the contrast between her dark skin and her brilliantly white teeth is stunning. "I'm just like you, see?" Keeping her eyes on you she kneels down, placing her hands flat against the ground. Immediately the concrete frosts over, completely at odds with the warm summer day.
"You're...like...me?" The words feel odd in your mouth and you're barely aware of the flames receding until they disappear entirely.
"Yup," She pops the 'p', "I've had a feeling about you for awhile now, but I had to be 100% sure, you know how it is. But when I saw that-" She gestures towards your hands, "-I knew it was time to make my move."
"But how did you know?" You press, but Justine just smiles.
"Maybe we should talk some place more private. I've got an apartment a couple of blocks away. Why don't you come with me? You look like you could do with a hot shower and a warm meal-no offense."
You hesitate a moment, but the ache in your stomach forces you to nod. "Are your parents home?" You ask tentatively as the two of you walk, and your eyes watch her lips curl in a bitter smile.
"No idea. I know they're definitely not at my apartment though. As far as I know they're still in Omaha."
"You're on your own?"
"Just like you."
"But how do you have your own place?" You ask, "How do you pay for it?"
"My job," She laughs, "I know, I look much too young to be working. That's what all my past employers have said, before I showed them my fake ID of course."
"Fake ID?"
"You have a lot to catch up on girl, but we'll get you there. The trick is to find places that don't ask too many questions. Seedy bars, strip joints, places like that. If they pay under the table it's even better. The less paper trail you leave the better. Just in case you find yourself in deep water-you know what I mean?" You nod even though you don't.
Justine's apartment is small and in a part of town you typically tried to avoid, but the inside is neat and tidy.
"Grab a shower, bathroom's through there. I'll whip up some food. Oh, here-" She darts into an open door and comes out with a bundle of fabric, "Something to change into."
When you come out feeling significantly cleaner than you had in weeks Justine is setting the table. You look down at the sandwich and mac and cheese and your mouth immediately begins to salivate. "Help yourself," She says, pressing a cold can of soda into your hands, "You must be hungry."
"I hate this place," You tell Justine, leaning against the brick wall outside of the strip club. Justine grabs your hand and you obligingly light her cigarette, "I wish we were still in Topeka."
"Me too hun," Justine offers you the pack and you take one, bringing your lit finger to the tip of it. "Some creep grope you or something?"
"When isn't some creep groping at me?" You ask, and you both laugh.
After a long silence Justine clears her throat softly, "I've been thinking...I think we should go to Boston."
"Boston?" You snort, "Why Boston?
"So the other night I met this guy-I knew right away he was one of us-you know how I can just tell-and after my shift I met up with him and some of his friends, all like us-"
"-So that's where you were. You said you were working late!" You say accusingly, but Justine just waves you off.
"-No, listen. So they start telling me about how some mutants-"
"-Shh!" You look around, "Not so loud!"
"Will you just listen?" Justine rolls her eyes, "they started telling me about how some people like us have been getting together in Boston, getting organized and stuff."
"Getting organized for what?"
"To do something!" Justine throws her hands up and your eyes drift over the newly healed tattoo on her wrist, "To start protesting this registration act."
"Come on, that'll never pass," You drop the cigarette butt on the ground and stomp it out with your heel while Justine does the same, "People won't let it happen."
"Come on (Y/n)," Justine grabs your arms and forces you to look at her, "You're not the naive 14 year old girl I met in Indianapolis anymore. You've seen how it is, haven't you? You know how people feel about us. (Y/n) they hate us."
"They don't understand-"
"They just don't understand us," Justine mocks, but not altogether cruelly, "They hate us." She repeats firmer this time. "They wish we didn't exist-don't argue, you know it's true," Your lips part but no words come out, and you cast your gaze downwards to avoid her eyes, "But if we go, we could have a chance to do something good, to stop this law from being passed. So come on, say you'll come with me to Boston."
You hesitate a moment, but looking into your eyes you know that she's going either way. You can't imagine being on your own again, not after seeing how much better life was with Justine in it.
"Okay. Let's do it."
You weren't sure what you had been expecting, but it wasn't this. At night you and Justine worked at another club, this one ironically named Fire and Ice, and during the day you trained. Shooting, martial arts, defensive tactics; you watched your previously soft body harden over the months, your instincts sharpen like razors, and your powers flourish as you trained them.
It was amazing, being around other mutants, and Justine had taken to the group which simply called themselves ARM (Anti-registration mutants) with a flourish, quickly establishing herself as a key part of the group. Even so, you found yourself with many doubts. For a group who claimed to be working towards mutant rights, a group that claimed to be peaceful, they were becoming increasingly and increasingly militant.
"Girl," Justine says interrupting your thoughts as she falls onto the sofa next to you, "That fireball thing you did during training was sick."
"Thanks," You mumble, avoiding her eyes.
"What is it?"
"I don't know about all this Justine, maybe we should move on."
"Move on?" Her lips curl into a frown, "Why the hell would we move on when we've finally found a home."
"A home? Justine...I don't know about these people." You admit, "I know they claim to want peace but...it seems like they're gearing up for war."
"Well maybe we should be!" Justine exclaims, jumping up to her feet, "The mutant registration act is gaining traction, if nothing happens soon it's going to pass."
"Have you considered that maybe all these protests, the vandalism, and everything else is ensuring that it's going to happen?" You offer, "You're scaring people."
"We need to be heard," Justine says simply, sitting back down, "I want you to be happy here. You're my best friend (Y/n), and I want you to be beside me." She lays her hand on top of yours, "Together we will change the world. Please don't go." Before you can register what's happening, she leans forward and presses her full lips to yours; shock floods your system and you freeze, until suddenly you pull back, eyes wide.
"Justine-I-You're my best friend," You stammer, still leaning back. You watch as something flickers in Justine's eyes, and she stands up again.
"I've got to go," She says, not looking at you, "I'll be back in a few hours."
The next few days there seems to be an icy feeling to the air in your shared apartment. You're unsure whether it's in your head or if it's Justine's doing. You hadn't talked about the kiss, and neither of you seemed willing to bring it up; causing the two of you to be oddly formal when you spoke.
That's why it surprised you when Justine was sitting on the couch waiting for you when you returned from work, a smile on her lips. "Hey, can I talk to you a sec?"
"Sure," You tossed your bag down, "What's up?"
"We're all heading down to DC tonight for a big protest, right in front of the white house, hundreds of us. We've been working on this for months now, and it's time."
"Justine I-"
"Before you say anything, I want you to know that I'm going, and there's nothing you can say that'll change my mind. But I want you to come with me. This is it, our final stand. This is our chance to make history." Your eyes drift down to the open bag on the couch next to her, and the pistol sitting on top of her packed clothing.
"What are you guys doing?" Your voice is barely a whisper, "Justine, what are you guys planning?"
"Will you come?"
"Justine, stop this, please," You beg, "You're going to end up dead, all of you."
"Okay. That's what I thought." Justine shrugs, her eyes hard, "They told me you wouldn't. Told me to ditch you months ago. I said you were different. I said you were a fighter. I guess I was wrong." She stands up, grabbing her bag, "If you change your mind, we're meeting at noon the day after tomorrow."
You expect her to head to her room, but she walks out the front door, slamming it behind her as she leaves. You sit frozen on the sofa, before you slowly pull your knees up to your chest and bury your face into your arms.
You make your decision with only hours to spare, and find yourself on the side of the highway, your scarce belonging in a duffle bag on your back, your leather jacket wrapped tightly around yourself to protect from the chill in the air. You don't have to wait long before a truck pulls over.
"Where you headed?" The man calls out the window, and you pull open the door.
"DC?"
"It's your lucky day then, come on." You climb into the seat, setting your duffle between your feet. "What's in DC?"
"A friend," You say softly, watching the landscape go by the window, "I've got to stop a friend from doing something stupid."
"Hah, we've all been there," The trucker says, "Just make sure that friend doesn't bring you down with them eh?"
You find yourself running through the streets of DC, until finally you see them grouped together, marching towards the white house and the swat team waiting. You shove your way through the throng of people, until you see her. You grab her arm, pulling her to a stop.
"You came! I knew you would come!" Justine's elation stabs you like a knife to the chest, "Come on, let's go."
"Justine you have to stop this!" You have to shout to be heard over the rioting mutants, "They've got SWAT waiting for you at the white house!"
"SO WHAT?" Justine shouts in response, her face twisting in anger, "I would die a thousand times to stop this bill from passing, don't you get that?" She shakes you off, "If you want to spend your life hiding like a rat, then do it!" You watch horrified as she fights her way to the front of the crowd, and then they stop in front of the swat team. You hear Justine shout something at the armed men, and then they open fire into the crowd.
You scramble for cover, taking refuge behind a nearby building as your heart beats wildly in our chest and the tears run down your face. Choked sobs escape you as you blindly move away from the scene, unaware where your feet are taking you.
"Are you okay?" An older woman asks, placing her hand on your shoulder, "Do you need help sweetie? Did someone hurt you?"
"Train station," You gasp out the words, "Where's the train station?"
She nervously points you in the right direction and you hastily wipe the tears from your face before you arrive.
"Where you headed?" The man behind the counter asks, and you look up at the board to find the next departure.
"Chicago."