Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

Note: Happy New Year! Sorry this one took so long, but this is the last of the collection chapters. Thank you to Remus98, Acereader55, Little Knight Mik, and twistedservice for Elio, Kylena, Manaka, and Henry, respectively.

Believe

Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 61
12:49 EST

Belief was always hard to predict.

Alvin glanced around as the church slowly filled up for the 1:00 service. He hadn't meant to get such a late start, but his files had indicated that this was the most likely place to find the first mutant he was supposed to collect – on a Sunday, at least. Stupid idea, going around and collecting people on a Sunday. Most of the rest of the week, people stuck to a schedule. School. Work. Sports practice. The rest of the week was predictable. But Sunday? Anything could happen on a Sunday.

Apparently, 'anything' included a barbecue lunch before the afternoon service. It was the church's ten year anniversary – young as churches went, but that wasn't going to stop them from celebrating. And the barbecue chicken had been good; it had seemed a shame to interrupt it. After that, people had funnelled their way back into the church, which made this an even worse time for an interruption.

So he would just have to wait. Not a problem, really – especially on a full stomach. The congregation seemed nice enough; a few of them had even tried to make small talk over lunch. And they were either blissfully unaware that there was a young mutant in their midst, or they simply didn't care one way or the other.

He couldn't help wondering which it was. There didn't seem to be any clear pattern to how people responded – even people who claimed to profess the same beliefs. Some claimed that mutants were abominations in God's eyes, while others insisted that the very same God loved all of his creations, whether human or mutant or eagle or fox or … or whatever else. But which way people would choose to respond was difficult to predict in advance, based on their beliefs alone.

Maybe that was because the way people responded ultimately had very little to do with what they believed about their God, or Gods, or their Higher Power or Greater Authority. Instead, it had everything to do with what they believed about other people. Whether they believed that their fellow beings – whether human or mutant – were fundamentally good or fundamentally bad. Whether they were worthy of dignity and respect or whether they were fatally flawed and corrupt.

The trouble, of course, was that most people weren't simply one or the other. It wasn't that easy. There were no good guys and bad guys, no heroes and villains, no black and white. Most people were just … well, people. People trying to do their best to survive in a messy world where other people were also people – beautiful and flawed and frustrating and unpredictable. Sometimes there was no telling what people would do.

On an individual level, at least. Groups of people, however, were easier to predict. You couldn't always predict which people would react a certain way, but given a large enough population, it was practically a guarantee that someone would react in any way you might expect. If the whole congregation were suddenly alerted to the fact that there was a mutant in their midst, there would be someone who would react with fear. Someone who would react with anger. Someone who would step forward and show some compassion. And the group, as a whole, would follow the strongest voices.

It was almost like clockwork.

No. No, it was more straightforward than clockwork. Clocks had loads of individual gears, all of which had to work perfectly in order for the mechanisms to behave as predicted. Groups of people, on the other hand, made up quite easily for any little gear that might be lacking, that might not behave as intended. People stepped in to fill roles as they were needed, rather than only fulfilling the one task they had been assigned.

Sometimes that was good; sometimes it was bad. It all depended on the task, really. During the Games last year, there had been a few contestants who hadn't behaved as needed. A few who had been unwilling to fight. But there had been enough who had been willing to step in and fill the roles that were needed for the Games to continue. One or two faulty gears hadn't been enough to stop the Games from proceeding.

There was no stopping it now. There was no stopping any of it – not the Games, and not any of the consequences that were certain to follow. He had tried to warn them, done everything he could to stop them, but they'd plodded along, so certain that what they were doing was necessary, that it was right. Maybe in the end, he was just another one of those faulty gears, not behaving as expected but unable to change the course of the greater whole.

Alvin sighed and slouched back a little in one of the back pews. He could stall. He could dilly-dally here until someone decided to check up on him. Hell, he could probably cause quite a scene here if he insisted on collecting a mutant from a church. Sanctuary and sacred ground and all that. People would make a fuss, perhaps, but in the end … well, the end result would be the same. There was nothing he could do to really change things.

And yet.

And yet he was still here. He was still playing his part, however small. Not because it mattered in the grand scheme of things, but because it might matter to one person, right here and now. How he chose to handle matters here wouldn't affect the course of the Games or events that might follow, but they would affect one young boy's life. And maybe … well, maybe that was worth it.

Alvin adjusted his glasses as the words to the first song appeared on the screen at the front of the church. He'd gotten a few odd looks when he'd first arrived, but no one had asked about the glasses, or about the scar that they couldn't completely hide. Maybe they were being polite. Maybe it was easier not to ask, easier to make assumptions themselves. Or maybe it just didn't matter.

Maybe none of it did.

Elio Haines, 16
Buffalo, NY

14:52 EST

He couldn't believe it had been almost two years.

Elio clasped Clay's hand tightly as the final song began. Two years since the light had first appeared to him. Two years since he had excitedly told his parents that God had appeared – right there, in front of him – not realizing, at first, everything that was a part of the gift he had been given. It was his parents who had immediately jumped to the truth, that he was a mutant. Before he'd even had time to process what was happening, he'd found himself on the streets with nothing but the clothes on his back and a backpack still full of school supplies and a half-eaten lunch.

Blessed be Your name
When I'm found in a desert place,
Though I walk through the wilderness,
Blessed be Your name.

For a few days, things had seemed hopeless. He'd spent two nights sleeping on the streets before Clay had found him, half-frozen inside a makeshift cardboard tent. Clay had helped him find a place at a shelter for homeless juveniles. Some of them, like him, had been thrown out of their homes. Some had run away. The reasons varied. Some had been driven from their homes because of their mutations, some because of their sexuality or gender identity, and some were escaping abuse. Everyone had a story, and some of them were far worse than his.

That was something to be grateful, at least. His parents had never abused him. They hadn't had time to between finding out about his mutation and kicking him to the curb. Since then, they'd contacted him exactly once, to let him know that they'd reported his mutant status to the government. That had been almost a year ago, shortly after the incident up in Alaska.

For the most part, however, things had been good. Clay had invited him to his church – First New Life Christian Church, a relatively new establishment. At first, they had only come on Sundays, but soon they'd started attending evening praise and worship sessions and Bible studies. It had been during one of those private Bible studies that they'd finally revealed how they felt about each other.

Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me,
When the world's all as it should be,
Blessed be Your name.

Elio gave Clay's hand another squeeze. Their church had been very supportive, and while he'd never made much of an effort to keep his bisexuality hidden, it was still refreshing to see them react so positively to them holding hands in church, to his tendency to wear rainbow shirts and a silver ear chain. In some way, he hoped he and Clay were setting a good example for other young people, showing them that it was okay to express themselves, that if the church really practiced what it preached when it came to love and tolerance, it would welcome them with open arms.

You give and take away.
You give and take away.
My heart will choose to say,
Lord, blessed be Your name.

Elio smiled as the last notes of the song faded from the guitars. Only when he and Clay turned to leave did he notice a man at the back of the church watching him. That wasn't unusual, really – not in and of itself. He and Clay still got looks from older members of the church, but most of the congregation was on the younger side. The man certainly stood out, dressed in a nice suit and tie and a pair of … sunglasses? No, just glasses, Elio decided after a moment – though the left side looked like sunglasses, the darkened tint hiding the eye beneath as the man drew closer. "Elio Haines?" he asked, his tone clearly that of someone who already knew the answer but was trying to be polite about it.

Elio nodded. "Yes?"

Clay took a protective step forward. "Can we help you?"

The stranger nodded. "My name's Alvin. If I could have a moment alone with Elio…"

Clay shook his head. "Whatever you have to say, you can say to both of us."

Elio nodded his agreement. "We don't have secrets from each other."

Alvin shrugged. "And the rest of the church?" People were trickling out of the church, but quite a few remained.

Elio crossed his arms. "Just spit it out. Whatever it is, we've heard it all."

Alvin raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that."

"Try me."

"The government knows about your mutation. I'm here to collect you."

"Collect me for what?"

"Something very unpleasant. If you have anyone else you'd like to say goodbye to, you should do it now. Regardless of what happens, you won't be coming back here."

Elio froze. That was not what he'd been expecting at all. It was Clay who spoke up, a little too loudly for Elio's liking. "He's not going anywhere with you. You can't arrest someone in a church."

Elio's mind was racing. Was that even true? It certainly sounded like something that should be true, but Alvin didn't look fazed. "This isn't an arrest. But you're right; I don't relish the idea of impeding on sacred ground. You could claim sanctuary, I suppose; I'll respect that. But I have to warn you that I'm not acting on my own. We all report to someone, and if I don't return with you, they'll send someone else. And they might not be as respectful."

Clay laid a hand on Elio's shoulder. Elio felt something on his other shoulder, and turned to see Pastor Damian behind him, nodding a little, letting Elio know that it was his call. Whatever he decided, he was certain they would back his play. A few others were standing behind them. But something about this wasn't adding up. Well, there were a lot of things that weren't adding up, but one thing in particular. "Why didn't you just wait?"

"Pardon?"

"The service is over. Another few minutes, and I would have been outside. You could have avoided all of this fuss. So why not just wait?"

There was a hint of a smile on Alvin's lips. "I'm running a bit late as it is. Overslept a bit, decided to stay for lunch – delicious, by the way – and didn't realize the service was going to be quite that long. Guess I just didn't want to wait much longer."

Elio shook his head. "You're not a good liar."

Alvin sighed. "So I've been told. So what's it going to be?"

Elio took a deep breath. That meant he hadn't been lying about the rest – about whoever he answered to sending someone else if he failed. Someone who might not care about who got hurt along the way. And if he had been telling the truth about him not coming back, then what he did next – the impression he left them with – mattered.

Elio turned to Clay and wrapped him in one last hug. Clay held him close – so close that, for a moment, Elio thought he might not be able to let go. When he did, there were tears in his eyes – tears that Elio could barely see through his own. He turned to Pastor Damian. "Thank you for … for what you would have done to protect me."

"We still will, if you—"

"No. But there'll be another time. This isn't over. Not really." He turned to Alvin. "Okay. Okay, let's get out of here." He took a deep breath.

"Before I change my mind."

Kylena Albright, 16
Albany, NY

17:04 EST

"I can't believe you're done with your homework already."

Kylena giggled as she took a seat across from her older sister at the dinner table. "You can't have that much left, can you?"

Nymeria groaned over-dramatically. "At least another three hours, and I haven't even started on my essay yet. Just wait until you're a senior."

Kylena rolled her eyes. "When I'm a senior, I'll have the sense not to take AP Literature and AP Biology at the same time."

"They said it would look good on college applications," Nymeria insisted.

"Only if you pass." She was joking, of course. Nymeria had already been accepted to two of her top choices, including Scranton University back in Pennsylvania. She hadn't officially made a decision yet, but Kylena knew how badly she missed her friends back in Scranton. Neither of them had wanted to leave, but…

Kylena scooped a little more sauce onto her spaghetti, trying not to think about it. She hadn't wanted to leave, either. But if it hadn't been for her, they wouldn't have needed to. If she wasn't a mutant…

Of course, if she wasn't a mutant, she could have been seriously hurt. She had been crossing the road when the man on the bike had come out of nowhere. There had been no time to get out of the way; she'd simply put her hands up to block her face, hoping the impact wouldn't be too bad. But the impact never came. Her mother had helped her piece together what had happened – that the man and the bike had bounced off the bubble she'd created to protect herself.

She hadn't meant to. She hadn't even known she could do it. Her mother had rushed her inside, hoping the man on the bike – who was now on the ground, calling out in pain – wouldn't be able to recognize her. But that wasn't good enough. They had to be certain he wouldn't see her again, so their parents had moved across state lines, practically overnight, without any explanation. She'd never told Nymeria what had happened; her sister had no idea the sudden change had been her fault.

Part of her wanted to tell her, but mutants … well, the fewer people who knew she was one, the better, right? Her power was dangerous; that was what they would say. She had hurt someone, after all. He was alive, yes, but she had hurt him. Never mind that she hadn't meant to; that didn't seem to matter. Mutants were dangerous unless proven otherwise.

So she had kept her power a secret. She wasn't even supposed to practice with it, but sometimes … well, sometimes it was just too much to resist. She'd learned how to form smaller bubbles around objects, and she could make them float across the room, just by thinking. She hadn't been able to make a larger one, though – not since what had happened with the bike. And she hadn't even meant to do that. It had just been instinct.

Maybe that was the point, really. Maybe part of it was just instinct – an instinct that could only take over if she was really in danger. She would never have hurt anyone otherwise. She just hadn't wanted to get hit.

"Kylena?"

Kylena glanced over at her mother. "Yeah? Sorry. What'd you say?"

"I asked if you could pass the noodles," her mother repeated, and her father chuckled a little. How many times had she asked? "Are you all right?"

Kylena nodded. She was. They all were. And it was going to stay that way. All she had to do was make sure no one saw her using her powers. She hadn't used them outside of her room since they'd moved to Albany. Okay, maybe once, but that was only in the living room, and there hadn't been anyone else at home, and the remote had been on the other side of the room.

A sudden ring of the doorbell startled Kylena out of her thoughts. "Who could that be?" her father asked, glancing around the table at the other three. Clearly, no one had any idea who might be interrupting during dinnertime on a Sunday.

"Probably just Girl Scouts selling cookies," Kylena offered. She'd seen a troop at the mall the other day, so it was about that time of year. She got up and headed for the door.

The stranger on the other side, however, was definitely not a Girl Scout. He was about sixty or so, tall and thin, but what caught her eye was the glasses – one side shaded to hide … something. But even the glasses couldn't quite hide the scars. Kylena looked away, trying not to stare. "Can I help you?"

"Kylena Albright?"

"Yes."

"My name's Alvin. I'm with the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board. I'm here to collect you."

Out of the corner of her eye, Kylena could see the rest of her family quickly getting out of their seats. "You can't take her!" her mother insisted. "She hasn't done anything."

"There has to be a mistake." Nymeria's voice was almost a laugh. "My sister's not a mutant. Tell him, Kylena."

Kylena swallowed hard. She wanted nothing more right now than to tell him that – and to have it be true. She'd heard rumors of mutants disappearing without a trace, collected by the government. They made a show of claiming it was only the dangerous ones, only the ones who posed a threat, but anything could be a threat in the wrong hands. Anyone could be dangerous.

Even her.

"Kylena?" The laughter in Nymeria's voice had been replaced with doubt. "You're not … Are you?"

Kylena took a deep breath. Then another. Instead of turning to look at her sister, she turned her gaze back to Alvin. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Personally? Nothing, I hope. But this next week or two … it's going to be rough."

Kylena couldn't hold back the tears in her eyes. "Why me? I didn't do anything. I didn't mean to. I … I didn't want any of this."

"I know. If you want to take a few moments to say goodbye—"

Kylena didn't hear the rest of the sentence. She turned and buried her face in her dad's shirt. Her parents' arms wrapped around her tightly. It wasn't until they finally let go that she realized Nymeria hadn't joined them. Kylena took a step towards her sister, but Nymeria backed away. "If you really are … what they say you are, then I'm sure this is for your own good."

"No," Alvin said flatly. "It's really not. And believe me, you do not want those to be the last words you remember saying to your sister. So for your own sake, kid, say something kind."

Nymeria glared at him, but when she turned back to Kylena, her gaze softened a little. "I hope this guy's wrong. I hope that whatever they're about to do, it fixes what's wrong with you."

Kylena looked away. Maybe that was the best Nymeria could hope for at the moment, but she already knew it wasn't going to happen. No one was really interested in trying to help mutants – or even in 'fixing' them. They just wanted mutants gone – out of sight, out of mind.

But she couldn't tell her sister that. So she forced a smile through her tears and nodded. "I hope so, too." Then she turned and followed Alvin out the door.

"That was kind of you," Alvin offered as they reached a large van. "Maybe she'll realize that some day."

Some day. The rest of the words hung in the air, unspoken. But you won't be there to see it. Whatever was going on, she wasn't coming back.

It wasn't fair.

Manaka Shizue, 15
Quincy, MA

18:33 EST

He couldn't believe what a beautiful day it was.

Manaka ruffled Mr. Wuffles' fur as the two of them set out for another lap around the park. There was still a bit of a chill in the air, but it wasn't nearly as cold as it had been last week. But it was still too cold for Mr. Wuffles' owner, Ms. Parsons, who was on a week-long vacation in California. When she'd offered to pay Manaka to watch her dog for her, he'd jumped at the chance. Anything that might help with this month's rent was a good thing.

Lei usually made enough to cover the rent, of course, but they were on a tight budget as far as anything else was concerned, and Manaka liked to feel like he was chipping in. He certainly owed it to Lei, after all. He'd taken Manaka under his wing and helped smuggle him out of Japan with forged papers, after discovering why he didn't want to stay.

It wasn't that he'd wanted to leave his family – not really. He'd heard stories about some mutants whose families had turned on them when their powers had appeared. His family had never done anything of the sort. They didn't even know he was a mutant. He hadn't known he was a mutant until he'd inadvertently used his power to protect his sister. A group of older boys had been harassing her when he'd happened by. Furious, he'd started attacking them, again and again. It was only after all three boys were bloody that he'd realized none of them had landed a punch. In fact, they'd barely moved, and his sister Noriko was staring at him as if paralyzed by fear – or maybe horror.

He hadn't been able to stand that look. He had run, as far and as fast as he could, before he'd collapsed, exhausted, under a bridge. He'd stayed there for a while before moving on to another city, and then another, and another. He never spent more than a week in the same place, terrified that someone would find him, recognize him, and bring him home. He couldn't face his family – not until he'd figured himself out. Not until he wasn't a danger to them anymore.

After six months of living on the streets, stealing what he needed and escaping because there was no one who could keep up with him when he used his power, Manaka had met Lei, who was studying abroad in Tokyo. Lei had offered him part of his lunch before he'd even had a chance to think about stealing it for himself, and Manaka, starved for human contact more than for food, had let that simple act of kindness overcome his fear. Sitting on a park bench with Lei, he had felt safe for the first time in months.

It was only later that he'd learned Lei was a mutant himself, with the power to control electricity. And it was Lei who had helped him slowly get a handle on his own power – which, as it turned out, had nothing to do with being fast and everything to do with slowing down time around him. By the time Lei was ready to return to the United States, he was determined to take Manaka with him. It was careful work, forging his papers, bleaching his hair, helping him perfect his English, which had already been pretty good.

That had been about a year ago, and he'd never regretted the decision. There were still times he missed his family, when he wondered what might have happened if he'd stayed and tried to explain things to them, but at least this way, they were safe. And he was safe with Lei.

Suddenly, Mr. Wuffles gave a little tug on his leash. Manaka gladly picked up the pace a little. He would have liked to go quite a bit faster, but he'd learned early on that his power could only affect him. Or, perhaps more accurately, it slowed down everyone else, whether he wanted it to or not. He couldn't use it to get done with walking the dog a lot faster – and besides, it would be dangerous to try. There were too many people who might see him. He had always been careful – well, after that first time, at least. And as long as he was careful, he would be safe.

"Manaka Shizue?"

The voice caught him off-guard. There weren't many people in the park who knew him, and even fewer who would be using his full name. He made a point of keeping a low profile when he was out in public. Instinctively, he picked up his speed a little, and Mr. Wuffles padded along beside him. Maybe whoever was following him would just give up.

Instead, the footsteps behind him grew faster. "Look, kid," the voice continued. "Please don't run. I think we both know I won't be able to stop you, but this is going to be a lot easier on all of us if you just come with—"

Before the stranger could finish the sentence, Manaka turned and sprinted back the way he had come. Everyone else barely seemed to be moving at all. After a moment – a millisecond, really – Manaka realized it was a good thing he'd dropped Mr. Wuffles' leash, or else the dog might have choked from the collar suddenly being yanked in the opposite direction. As it was, he would just have to hope someone would return the dog to Ms. Parsons.

Because he couldn't go back. It wasn't safe anymore. Someone had found him – that much was clear from the stranger's claim that he wouldn't be able to stop him if he ran. Whoever this man was, he knew what Manaka could do. He knew he was a mutant. And that couldn't mean anything good.

Manaka sprinted through the crowd, down one street and then another. But he couldn't keep going forever. He had to come up with a plan. There had to be somewhere he could go. Part of him wanted to go back home, to warn Lei. If they had found him, there was no way they didn't know about Lei, as well. But if he went back now, there was a good chance that he would just be leading them there. If they didn't already know about Lei, then they would be sure to find out. He couldn't do that to Lei. He couldn't put him in danger.

But he had to go somewhere. He couldn't just keep running. He could already feel blood trickling down from his nose. Every time he tried to use his power too long, there were side effects. A dull throbbing was growing in the back of his head, working its way out towards his ears. He had to do something. If he couldn't keep running, then he had to find somewhere – anywhere – to hide.

Okay. Okay. He could do that. Manaka turned and sprinted down the nearest alley. There was a large dumpster at the end. That would have to do. He dove inside as quickly and slammed the lid just as his hold slipped, snapping time back to normal. Manaka took a deep breath, leaning back against the pile of garbage, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to stop the headache that was steadily growing. He just had to wait. They wouldn't keep looking for him forever.

Would they?

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. He had no way of knowing. He didn't dare move – not even to lift the lid to see if it was still daylight. He had to be patient. He had to stay safe.

Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Someone was tapping on the side of the dumpster. Manaka held his breath. Maybe it was just a little kid enjoying the sound, or an animal trying to get in. Okay, that second one wasn't really a good option, but it was better than—

"Manaka?" The voice outside was a bit muffled, or maybe just very tired. "Look, kid, this can go one of two ways. Either I can have the Sentinels seal up this dumpster, leave you enough air to breathe for the trip, and let you out of it once you're in a secure area … or you can promise not to run, and come with me now."

Manaka swallowed hard. "Okay," he said quietly. Then, a little louder, in case the man couldn't hear him, "Okay! I give up. Let me out."

The lid slid open, revealing a darkened alleyway. It was already nighttime. "Not a bad hiding place, really," the man admitted, offering Manaka a hand. "Surprising number of mutants hanging around this part of town. Took the Sentinels a while to lock onto the right one." He bent down and gave Mr. Wuffles' head a pat. "Mind telling me where he belongs? I didn't want to leave him at the park."

"His owner's out of town," Manaka said before thinking it through.

The stranger nodded. "Your place, then? Think Lei would mind taking over your job?"

"You're not—?"

"Taking him too? No." The stranger shook his head, giving Mr. Wuffles another rub.

"I think you're going to be enough of a handful."

Henry Helstrom, 14
Exeter, RI

22:14 EST

They still couldn't believe how quiet Exeter was at night.

Henry glanced around once before sliding the last few feet down the drainpipe and out into the yard. It was certainly a lot quieter outside than in. Their newest foster father was yelling again. Henry wasn't quite sure who he was yelling at this time, but at least it wasn't them. They'd managed to slip out their window without being noticed, and would slip back in once things calmed down a little. It was nothing they hadn't done a dozen times before.

Henry took a deep breath of the cool night air and headed down the street, which was occupied by nothing more than a few lampposts. Exeter was by far the smallest town they'd lived in, but they could deal with it until they got moved again. It happened every time. They'd just start to settle in a bit, and then something would come up. This two-year stint with the Wheelers was the longest they'd been in a foster home, but they knew better than to expect it would last. Nothing did.

Henry ran their fingers over their pocket, where their wallet held one of the only memories they had of their parents – a photo from their wedding day. If not for that photo, Henry probably wouldn't have remembered what they looked like; they'd died in a car accident when Henry was only three. Since then, Henry had spent a few months here, a year there, never really finding a place they would have wanted to stay even if they could. Some of their homes had been better, some worse, but none of them had quite been right.

Still, they were making do. They had a roof over their head, a mostly warm bed, and a foster family who didn't seem to care that they snuck out every now and then to wander around Exeter. Probably because there wasn't much mischief they could get into here, anyway.

Henry flicked their wrist a little as they passed a neighbor's garden, and a small clump of soil formed itself into a roughly humanoid shape and leapt into Henry's palm. It rested there for a moment before clambering up Henry's arm to perch on their shoulder. Henry stretched their arms and the golem did the same, a little dirt sprinkling down Henry's back as the golem's arm brushed up against their head.

Some part of them knew it wasn't safe to use their powers this openly. Their parents had never tried to stop them from making little friends for themself, but had gently reminded them that it was safer to keep their friends a secret. Friends – that was how it had started out. The little creatures had been playmates when Henry hadn't had anyone else. Now … well, they didn't talk to the golems as often as they used to, but it was still nice to know that all it would take was a flick of their wrist or a snap of their fingers, and one would appear.

As long as the right sort of material was nearby, of course. Dirt was the easiest, but other materials would work in a pinch. Clay, rocks, twigs – pretty much any natural material. They'd tried once or twice with scrap metal and had managed to make it wriggle around a little, but that was all. Maybe with a little more practice…

And maybe practice was dangerous, but there was plenty of danger in just being a mutant these days, whether they did anything with their power or not. They were going to be feared and rejected either way, once someone eventually found out. And it was only a matter of time, no matter what they did. So they might as well do as they pleased as long as they could.

Henry turned down the next road and crossed the street, not even bothering to look for cars. There were none to be seen in any direction. But as they drew closer to the nearest street light, they could see a figure up ahead, headed straight for them. Henry snapped their fingers, and the golem slumped down into the hood of their sweatshirt, pressed snugly up against their back.

"Very nice," came a voice as the figure took a step closer. "I mean, if I hadn't known what I was looking at, I would've assumed that was just a trick of the light or something, the way it just sort of melted away. Where'd it go? Is it hiding behind you, or did it just sort of crumble out of existence?"

Henry crossed their arms, putting on their most innocent look. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Might want to get your other eye checked out."

The stranger chuckled a little, shaking his head. "Look, kid. I've already had a long day, and I'm not looking forward to an equally long plane ride. So why don't we just skip the part where you deny being a mutant, I explain that I already know you are, you try to run or hide or fight your way out of this, and it doesn't work. It's not going to work. So what do you say we make this night a little shorter for both of us?"

Henry hesitated for a moment, clenching and unclenching their fists. Part of them wanted to do exactly what the stranger had suggested – trying to fight their way out. One of their larger golems could probably manage to keep the man occupied for a while. But he probably had backup. There were probably Sentinels lurking somewhere. They weren't going to get out of this. Finally, Henry nodded a little. "Okay."

The stranger stared blankly. "Okay?"

"Okay," Henry repeated. "Cards on the table." They plucked the little golem from the hood of their sweatshirt and tossed it to the stranger, who fumbled for a moment trying to catch it. "So I'm a mutant," Henry agreed. "What're you going to do about it?"

The stranger sighed a little as the golem leapt back down to the ground. "Unfortunately, kidnap you."

"What?" It was Henry's turn for a blank stare.

The stranger shrugged. "Look, you said 'cards on the table.' That's what's happening. My name is Alvin Mendelson. I'm a member of the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board. We're kidnapping mutants and bringing you to Wyoming. That's what's happening, and I'm too tired right now to sugarcoat it, and I'm sorry – really sorry – but the sooner you come with me, the sooner we can all get some rest."

"Come with you … to Wyoming."

"That's right."

"Right now?"

"If there's someone you'd like to say goodbye to, we can swing by your house, but considering you're wandering about in the middle of the night…"

"They probably won't even notice I'm gone," Henry finished. "They'll assume someone dropped by to take me to another home, and that'll be that. And it might be easier on them if they assume that than if they know the truth. Is that pretty much it?"

Alvin nodded. "Pretty much dead on, yeah."

Henry sighed. "Terrific."

Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 61
Calpet, WY

March 16th, 01:59 MST

"I can't believe you're the last one back again."

Alvin glanced over at Mack, who was standing outside the plane, shaking his head. Alvin rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he made his way down the steps. "Why not?"

"What?"

"Why can't you believe it? It would certainly seem to fit the pattern."

Mack shook his head. "I was just making conversation. I thought I was going to be the last one, with the little detour I ended up taking."

"Detour?"

"No one told you?"

Alvin headed for the back of the plane. "Told me what?"

"About our two new additions. One's a pyrokinetic; the other's unlucky."

"Unlucky?" Alvin repeated, opening the door. "Welcome to Wyoming." The four kids piled out, stretching and rubbing their eyes – some from sleepiness, some from crying.

Mack shook his head. "Alvin." His tone was suddenly reproachful. "You forgot something."

"Didn't forget," Alvin corrected, opening his bag and producing four collars. "I was procrastinating. There's a difference." He handed one to each of the kids, glancing briefly at the numbers and letters on each before distributing them. "I'm afraid you're going to have to put these on."

"And if we don't?" Elio asked.

Henry rolled their eyes. "What do you think?" They slipped their collar on, and it gave a soft click as it closed. Kylena and Manaka quickly followed suit.

Elio shook his head. "What are you worried I'm going to do? Pray my way out of here? Heal you to death?"

Mack shrugged. "Right now, it's more about equality. Some of you probably don't need them, but some of you do. And it wouldn't be fair to treat you differently just because you're not as obvious of a threat."

"You've got no business talking about equality," Elio mumbled, but he slipped his collar on anyway as Alvin led them towards the nearest building.

Inside, he showed each of them to a room – a room that he had to admit was certainly nicer than the ones they'd used to house their contestants the previous year. Those had been little more than cells, with only a cot for sleeping and not much room otherwise. These were at least rooms, with carpet on the floor and a real bed in the corner. They each had a mirror, a small closet with a few changes of clothes, a sink with a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a draped-off section of the room that held a toilet. Maybe it wasn't much, but it was certainly better than last year, and probably better than what most of them had been expecting.

And that was the worst part, really – that they had probably been expecting worse. That as long as they met the barest standards of decency, they could tell themselves that at least they were treating their contestants like people rather than animals. They could lie to themselves about what they were really doing here, and, by extension, about what their newest victims probably thought of them.

He'd never been a very good liar.

Alvin turned to Mack as the last door closed. "What's with the different colors?"

"Pardon?"

"The colors – the sheets, the clothes, even the toothbrushes. They were all different colors. Everything in Henry's room was purple, Manaka's was red, Elio's was yellow, and Kylena's was blue. Any particular reason?"

Of course there was a reason. There was always a reason. Everything Mack had prepared for the Games was carefully calculated; it was just a matter of what the reason was. Mack cocked his head a little. "I guess you did get one of each, didn't you."

"One of each?"

"One contestant who's working with each of the coaches."

Alvin yawned. It was taking the facts a little while to slide into place while his brain was screaming for sleep, but they'd finally made their way there. "You color-coded them by which coach they're working with? Why?"

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't make any sense – dressing them up like they're teams. They're not teams. They just happened to end up with those coaches. It doesn't mean anything."

"Of course it doesn't – unless they think it does. Unless they start to group themselves based on it."

"They won't."

"Not yet. Not this year, and probably not the next. But once there are more of them…"

"More contestants? You don't think thirty is enough?"

"Not more contestants – more coaches. A few more years, and we'll have plenty."

"Plenty?"

Mack shrugged. "Twelve should do nicely."

Oh. So that was where he was going. "These camps you're setting up—"

"Colonies, Alvin."

"Camps," Alvin repeated. "You want to treat them like different teams, have them compete against each other based on whatever camp they ended up in."

"Yes."

It wasn't a bad idea. Well, strictly speaking, it probably was a bad idea, but it wasn't an unreasonable idea. It fit nicely in with everything else Mack was trying to do, everything else he wanted the Games to be. If he could find a way to pit mutants against each other, they wouldn't have to worry as much about the mutants banding together to turn against them. If Mack was lucky, it might even work for a while.

For a while. But not forever. People – human or mutant – weren't that quick to forget who the real enemy was. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, Mack was playing right into the public perception that humans and mutants were natural enemies. That in order for one to survive, the other had to be controlled. Or if not controlled, then at least contained.

Alvin sighed. In his experience, life – any form of life – simply wasn't that easy to contain. People, whether human or mutant, simply couldn't be controlled forever. They always found a way out of things, around things, or through things. They wriggled out of tight spaces and crashed through barriers that got in their way. Eventually, there was always a way out.

Eventually. That was the problem, really. Mack and the others – they weren't thinking that far ahead. They were worried about the next few years, or perhaps the next decade. And for that amount of time, what they were planning would work. In fact, it would probably work very well.

It would probably work too well. Well enough to come back and bite them once the consequences started to appear – consequences they hadn't bothered to worry about because they were too focused on whether things were going to work here and now. He'd tried to warn them. He really had. But as clever and curious and imaginative as people were, they were also incredibly, inescapably stubborn. Once they were convinced they were right, that what they were doing would work, it was nearly impossible to dissuade them.

And that went for humans and mutants alike.

Most things did, in the end. Sure, the two groups had their differences, but they were fundamentally equal when it came to anything that really mattered. Anything that made humans human – anything that separated them from the birds and the bees and even the apes – mutants shared. Their hopes, their fears, their dreams, their commitment, their stubborn need to be right, and to prove that they were right – all those things belonged to both groups, whether the 'other side' wanted to admit it or not.

Alvin sighed. It was too late for all of this – or too early. He needed some sleep; they all did. Tomorrow was going to be another long day – and the next, and the next. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. But not forever. Eventually, they would run out of tomorrows. It was only a matter of time before all of this fell apart.

And he didn't want to know what might come next.

"I understand your words; I simply do not believe them."