The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the worn linoleum of the classroom. The air was filled with the smell of chalk and sweat, mixed with the scent of antiseptic.
Mr. Thompson, a large man with military posture and piercing eyes, paced between the rows of desks. His highly polished shoes creaked with each step, making some students flinch.
"So, children," his voice sounded deceptively soft, "who can name the main threat to our society?"
The class froze for a moment, and then, as if on command, the children shouted in unison:
"Mutants!"
Thompson nodded with satisfaction, his eyes gleaming.
"Correct. And who protects us from them?"
"Sentinels!" The answer rang out even louder, almost with enthusiasm.
In the corner of the classroom, Jake nervously fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt. His gaze darted to the poster on the wall, where a massive Sentinel towered over the city, its metallic face radiating cold determination. The caption below read: "Always guarding your safety."
Jake unconsciously touched the bracelet on his wrist, remembering the events from two months ago. Back then, frightened by the first manifestations of his mutation, he tried to avoid main streets, making his way to school through narrow alleys. On one such day, a strange woman noticed him.
He still vividly remembered her appearance: chestnut hair with unusual white streaks framing her face, giving her a mysterious yet captivating look. Her eyes, attentive and understanding, seemed to see right through Jake. Instead of calling the Sentinels, she approached him with a warm, reassuring smile.
"Don't be afraid," she said softly, taking something from her pocket. "This will help keep you safe."
She handed him a bracelet that seemed to be made of some unusual metal. As soon as Jake put it on, the bracelet seemed to come alive, adapting to the shape of his wrist.
"Tell your parents it's a gift from a classmate," the woman advised. "And never take it off on the street. It will protect you from those terrible robots."
Since then, Jake had never parted with the bracelet. He didn't know exactly how the device worked, but it somehow concealed his mutation from the Sentinels' scanners. Every time he passed one of those metal giants, Jake felt his heart stop, but the Sentinels never reacted to his presence.
Now, sitting in class and listening to Mr. Thompson's propaganda speech, Jake felt the weight of his secret. He was grateful to the mysterious woman for her help, but the fear of being discovered never completely left him. Each day was a test, a balancing act between two worlds-the world of "normal" people and the hidden world of mutants living in constant fear.
Next to Jake, Sarah leaned toward her friend Emily.
"My dad says they caught a mutant in our neighborhood yesterday," she whispered, her eyes widening with a mixture of fear and excitement.
Emily gasped.
"Really? What did they do with him?"
Sarah shrugged.
"I don't know. Dad said the Sentinels took him away. Probably to one of those centers."
Jake, overhearing their conversation, shrank even more. His hand involuntarily moved to his neck, where barely noticeable scales were hidden beneath his collar.
Thompson continued his lecture.
"Remember, children, vigilance is our duty. If you notice anything suspicious, immediately report it to adults or the nearest Sentinel."
Mike, sitting at the front desk, raised his hand.
"How will we recognize a mutant, Mr. Thompson?"
The teacher smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Excellent question, Mike. Mutants can look like ordinary people, but there are signs to watch for. Unusual eye or hair color, strange abilities, unnatural strength or agility."
A whisper ran through the classroom. The children began looking around at each other, as if trying to find these signs in their classmates.
Thompson clicked a remote, and an image of a destroyed city appeared on the interactive board. The children held their breath, staring at the apocalyptic scene.
"What you see, children," Thompson began, his voice becoming low and serious, "is Manhattan. Or rather, what remained of it after the attack by a mutant named Juggernaut exactly eight years ago."
He pressed a button, and a video appeared on the screen. A huge figure in a red helmet was crushing buildings as if they were made of cardboard. Skyscrapers fell one after another, raising clouds of dust and debris.
"Juggernaut possessed incredible strength and invulnerability," Thompson continued. "He went through the city, leaving only ruins behind. Police, special forces, even the army-no one could stop him."
The screen flashed images of desperately fighting police officers and soldiers. Their bullets and projectiles bounced off Juggernaut, causing him no harm.
"Thousands of people died that day." Thompson's voice faltered. "Families, children, entire blocks were wiped off the face of the earth."
The children stared at the screen, unable to look away. Some of them quietly sobbed.
"When all seemed lost, heroes came to the rescue." Thompson switched slides. Familiar figures of the Avengers and the Fantastic Four appeared on the screen. "They engaged in a brutal battle with Juggernaut."
The video showed epic moments of the battle: Captain America being thrown back by Juggernaut's blow; Iron Man attacking from the air; The Thing engaging in hand-to-hand combat with the giant.
"The battle lasted for hours," Thompson continued. "Finally, by joining forces, the heroes managed to stop Juggernaut. But the price was horrific."
The screen showed footage of the destroyed district. Smoking ruins of skyscrapers, overturned cars, people wandering like ghosts among the debris.
"And here's the most terrifying part, children." Thompson lowered his voice to a whisper. "After this battle, the Avengers and the Fantastic Four... disappeared. Without a trace. No one knows what happened to them."
A frightened half-sigh, half-whisper ran through the classroom.
"Some say they died in battle. Others believe they were kidnapped or killed by other mutants in retaliation. But the truth is, we don't know. We lost our greatest defenders that day."
Thompson turned off the projector, and the class fell into silence.
"That's why," he said instructively after a pause, "we need Sentinels. That's why we must be vigilant. Because mutants are among us, and we must be ready to protect ourselves and our loved ones."
The children sat, shocked by what they had seen and heard. Fear mixed with determination could be read in their eyes. Thompson knew his lesson had achieved its goal. The new generation was ready to continue the fight against the mutant threat.
"This is what happened in New York eight years ago. One mutant, just one, did this."
The children stared at the screen, their faces expressing a mixture of horror and shock. Someone quietly sobbed.
"But don't be afraid," Thompson continued, his voice softening. "That's why we have Sentinels. They protect us. They are always nearby."
Jake looked out the window. A Sentinel stood on the corner, its metal body gleaming in the sunlight. The robot slowly turned its head, scanning the surroundings. When its gaze momentarily stopped on the school window, Jake quickly turned away.
"And now," Thompson clapped his hands, drawing the class's attention, "let's recite the gratitude anthem to the Sentinels. Stand up, please."
The children rose, straightened up, and the classroom filled with the sounds of a patriotic melody. The children's voices, uncertain at first, gradually strengthened, merging into a single chorus:
"Standing guard day and night,
Keeping the peace of our native land.
Steel guardians, none stronger than they,
Protectors from all darkness."
Thompson conducted, his eyes burning with enthusiasm. He pointed to Sarah, and she enthusiastically sang the chorus:
"Sentinels, Sentinels, you are our shield!
Your power keeps us safe.
From threats and from misfortune
You protect the people."
The class joined in, and the voices became more confident with each word. Mike, standing in the front row, puffed out his chest, and his voice sounded louder than the others.
Jake silently moved his lips, pretending to sing. His gaze darted back to the window, where the motionless Sentinel stood-a silent guardian of the new world order. The words of the anthem echoed in his ears:
"Their gaze pierces the night darkness,
Their step thunders, instilling fear
In those who carry evil threats,
In those who lurk in cities."
As the class sang about vigilance and loyalty, Jake felt his throat tighten. He looked at his classmates, whose faces shone with pride and confidence. They believed every word they sang.
The anthem reached its climax, and the children's voices rang out with renewed strength:
"Sentinels, Sentinels, we swear
To be worthy children!
We remain vigilant,
So that we may help you."
When the last notes faded, Thompson beamed.
"Excellent, children! You are true patriots. Remember, vigilance is our duty to the Sentinels and our great country."
Jake sank back into his seat, feeling a heaviness in his chest. The words of the anthem continued to sound in his head as a reminder of the world in which he had to hide his true nature.
The bell announcing the beginning of the long break rang unexpectedly loudly, making Jake jump. The teenager slowly gathered his things, trying not to attract attention while his classmates rushed to the exit, filling the classroom with the hum of voices and the screech of chairs being pushed back.
Leaving the corridor last, the young man momentarily froze, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of noise and movement. Bright posters on the walls screamed about upcoming school events: "Big Fall Ball!", "Join the Robotics Club Today!", "Be a Hero-Join the Safety Patrol!"
The last poster, adorned with an image of a majestic Sentinel, made the teenager swallow nervously.
Clutching a worn paperback book to his chest, he began to carefully make his way through the crowd of students. His shoulders were slightly hunched, as if the young man was trying to make himself smaller and less noticeable.
Evans heard excited voices by the window and involuntarily turned his head. Mike, as usual surrounded by friends, was emotionally telling something, waving his hands.
"...and then I, like, enter this cave, right? And there's this monster, man, so huge!" Mike widened his eyes, portraying surprise.
"No way!" Tommy snorted. "You're probably exaggerating again."
"I swear!" Mike playfully pushed his friend. "'Eldoria' is an absolutely unreal game. Haven't you played it yet?"
Sarah, sitting on the windowsill, leaned forward.
"Can you really be anything there? Like an elf or a dwarf?"
"Yeah," Mike nodded. "I became an orc. Building up strength, swinging a sword-it's great!"
"Ew, orcs are so creepy," Emily grimaced. "I'd rather play as an elf. At least they're pretty."
"What does being pretty have to do with it?" Tommy rolled his eyes. "Abilities are what matter. Now, my wizard..."
Evans listened to their conversation, feeling a growing desire to join in. He could have told them about his druid character, about how cool it was to control the water element...
But the teenager remained silent, afraid of drawing attention to himself. Instead, he gripped his backpack strap tighter and moved further down the corridor, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
The young man took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and began looking for a quiet corner where he could read. Finally, he found an empty bench at the end of the corridor, partially hidden by a large potted ficus.
Settling on the bench, Jake opened the book-a worn copy of the science fiction novel "The Underwater Cities of Neptune." The teenager immersed himself in reading, allowing his imagination to carry him far away from the noisy school, into the depths of the ocean, where creatures like him lived freely, without fear of persecution.
The pages of the book described an amazing underwater world: huge domes protecting cities from water pressure, streets where people swam like fish, and amazing creatures glowing in the dark depths. Evans unconsciously ran his fingers over his neck, where barely noticeable scales were hidden under his collar. He imagined how great it would be to live in such a world, where his features would be not a curse, but a gift.
"Hey, is that 'The Underwater Cities of Neptune'?"
An unexpected voice pulled the young man from his fantasies. He flinched and looked up, meeting the gaze of an unfamiliar girl. She had red hair gathered in a messy ponytail, and bright green eyes that looked at him with genuine interest.
"Y-yes," the teenager stammered, surprised that someone had spoken to him.
"Cool!" the girl smiled. "I'm Lisa, the new girl. Transferred last week. And you must be Jake? We're together in biology."
Evans nodded, feeling his heart beat faster. He wasn't used to anyone paying attention to him, especially a new girl.
"I love that book," Lisa continued, sitting down next to him on the bench. "Especially the part where they discover the ancient ruins on the ocean floor. Have you reached that part yet?"
For a moment, the teenager forgot about his fears. His eyes lit up with enthusiasm.
"Yes! It was amazing. And did you notice how the author describes the glow of the algae in the dark? Like an entire underwater city, illuminated by neon lights."
Lisa smiled wider.
"Exactly! I've always dreamed of seeing something like that in real life. You know, they say that in some caves on the coast, you can see a similar glow from plankton."
Evans felt a wave of excitement growing inside him. He opened his mouth to tell about his experience of swimming at night, when the water around him glowed from bioluminescent plankton, but stopped himself in time. The young man couldn't talk about his night swims. It would be too dangerous.
Suddenly, awareness of the situation crashed down on him like an ice shower. He was talking to someone. Openly. About his interests. But what if he said something wrong? What if Lisa noticed his oddities?
"I... I need to go," the teenager mumbled, quickly getting up. "Forgot... to do something before class."
Lisa looked surprised and a little disappointed.
"Oh, okay. Maybe we can talk later? It would be great to discuss the book in more detail."
Evans nodded, not meeting her eyes, and hurried away. His heart was pounding, and conflicting thoughts were spinning in his head. Part of him was thrilled by this brief conversation, by the opportunity to share his thoughts with someone. But fear was stronger. If everyone found out he was a mutant, his life would be ruined. The young man thought about his mother: how would she react if it was discovered that her son was a mutant? After all, eight years ago, a mutant killed her husband-the teenager's father, whom he barely remembered.
The bell for class caught him off guard. Evans hesitated, letting the stream of students rushing to class pass by. He noticed Lisa looking back at him before entering the biology classroom. Her gaze held curiosity and something else... Perhaps concern?
The young man entered the classroom last, head down, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. He slid into his seat in the far corner, feeling Lisa's gaze on him but not daring to look up.
Miss Audrey, the biology teacher, began the lesson with enthusiasm.
"Today we're starting a new topic: animal adaptations to aquatic environments. Who can name some adaptations that marine animals have developed?"
The class was silent. Evans felt a growing desire to answer. He knew so much about this-more than anyone could imagine. But the teenager remained silent, afraid of drawing attention to himself.
"Come on, class," Miss Audrey encouraged. "Think about what you know about fish, dolphins, whales."
Mike uncertainly raised his hand.
"Um... they have fins?"
"Right, Mike," the teacher nodded. "Fins are an important adaptation. What else?"
Silence again. Evans felt the answers practically bursting out of him. He knew about gills, about body structures that help swim more efficiently, about special sensory organs...
"They have gills," the teenager suddenly said, unable to stop himself. The entire class turned to him, and the young man felt color flooding his cheeks.
Miss Audrey beamed.
"Excellent, Jake! Gills are a key adaptation for breathing underwater. Can you tell us more about how they work?"
Evans hesitated. Part of him wanted to tell everything he knew-not only from books, but from his own experience. But the fear of being discovered was too strong.
"Well... they extract oxygen from water," he said quietly. "Water passes through the gills, and oxygen enters the bloodstream."
"Very good, Jake!" praised Miss Audrey. "Does anyone else want to add something about aquatic adaptations?"
The lesson continued, but the teenager was no longer listening. He felt the gazes of his classmates on him. Some were surprised by his knowledge, others seemed to look at him with suspicion. Mike whispered something to Tommy, and both looked at the young man with a smirk.
Lisa, sitting a few desks away from him, smiled at him encouragingly, but Evans quickly looked away. He felt fear and panic growing inside. He had said too much. Drawn attention to himself. What if someone guessed?
The rest of the lesson passed as if in a fog. The teenager sat staring at his notebook and ignoring the teacher's questions and his classmates' whispers. When the bell rang, he felt immense relief.
The young man quickly gathered his things, trying to slip away before anyone could talk to him. But luck wasn't on his side.
"Hey, Jake!" Lisa called out to him, approaching his desk. "That was impressive. You seem to know a lot about marine biology."
Evans froze, not knowing what to say. His heart was beating so hard it felt like it might burst out of his chest.
"I... I just read a lot," he mumbled, not raising his eyes.
"That's great," Lisa smiled. "Listen, maybe we could study together sometime? I'm not very strong in biology, and you clearly understand it well."
The teenager felt two feelings battling inside him: the desire to agree and the fear of consequences. What if she discovered his secret? What if he said or did something strange?
"Sorry, I can't," the young man blurted out and, grabbing his backpack, quickly left the classroom, leaving a surprised Lisa behind.
Leaving school, Evans took a deep breath of the cool autumn air. The sun was already setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. He paused momentarily on the school steps, watching as other students dispersed in groups, laughing and chatting.
Out of the corner of his eye, the young man noticed the massive figure of a Sentinel at the corner of the street. The robot slowly turned its head, scanning the surroundings. The teenager felt a chill run down his spine when the Sentinel's gaze momentarily stopped on him. But the machine continued scanning, showing no signs of alarm.
Exhaling with relief, Evans began his way home. He walked, deeply immersed in thoughts and automatically navigating around pedestrians and traffic lights.
The day's events raced through his head like frames of a film reel. His classmates' conversation about the "Eldoria" game. The unexpected chat with Lisa about the book. The biology lesson and his careless answer. The attention he had drawn to himself.
The young man felt a mix of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the brief moment of communication with Lisa brought him unexpected joy. For the first time in a long time, he felt a connection with someone, even if just for a moment. But this joy was poisoned by fear-fear of being discovered, fear of the consequences.
"What if she suspects something?" the teenager thought.
He remembered his classmates' looks after his answer in biology class. Mike's surprise, Tommy's suspicion, Lisa's interest... Each of these gazes now seemed like a threat.
But deep inside, behind all these fears, a small spark of hope glowed. Maybe, just maybe, he could have a friend? Someone to talk to about books, science, the world around them?
Evans shook his head, driving away these thoughts. No, it was too dangerous. He couldn't risk it. The stakes were too high.
Approaching his house, the young man momentarily stopped, looking at the second-floor windows. He knew his mom was still at work-her shift at the hospital ended late. The house would greet him with its familiar silence and emptiness.
But today this emptiness didn't seem so oppressive, because tonight the teenager had something he was looking forward to. As soon as it got dark, he could fill the bathtub with water and immerse himself in his true element. There, underwater, he could be himself, without fear of judgment or persecution.
Evans smiled at this thought, feeling the tension of the day beginning to release. Yes, the world around was full of dangers and fears. But he had his own little world, his refuge.
With this thought, he opened the door and entered the house, leaving behind the bustle and fears of the school day. Ahead was an evening of freedom, even if this freedom was limited to the walls of the bathroom.
Climbing the stairs to his room, the teenager thought about Lisa, about her friendly smile and genuine interest. For a moment, he allowed himself to dream about what it would be like to have a real friend. But then reality reminded him of itself again, and the young man dismissed these thoughts.
"Maybe in another life."
Closing the door to his room, Evans took a deep breath. The evening lay ahead, and for a while, albeit briefly, he could be himself. That was enough for now.
It had to be enough.
The warm water enveloped Evans, giving a sense of safety and freedom. In the dimness of the bathroom, the surface seemed impenetrable, creating the illusion of a separate world. He slowly sank deeper, allowing the water to cover his chest and neck.
Taking a deep breath, the teenager felt his gills open, allowing water to pass through-a strange sensation, like a cool breeze passing through his body. Closing his eyes, the young man enjoyed the moment. Here, underwater, he wasn't an outcast or a monster, but simply himself.
His thoughts returned to the day's events. Mr. Thompson's lesson, saturated with hatred for mutants, surfaced in his memory again. Evans remembered how he shrank from each of the teacher's words about the danger of "those like them." Each phrase hit like a hammer, reminding him of his difference from others.
And then there was Lisa with her smile and genuine interest. For a moment, the teenager allowed himself to dream of a real friendship, of someone who could accept him as he was. But reality quickly returned, reminding him of the risks.
Suddenly, his heightened hearing picked up the sound of the front door opening, muffled by the water but still discernible. Panic seized the young man. Mom had returned! He jumped out of the bathtub, splashing water. Cursing under his breath, the teenager grabbed a towel and began to hurriedly dry himself, paying special attention to the chest area where his gills were hidden.
"Jake? Are you home?" his mother's voice came, tired and slightly irritated.
"Yes, Mom! I'm in the bathroom!" he shouted, pulling on his T-shirt.
Coming out, Evans saw his mother sitting on the couch, massaging her feet. Her medical uniform was wrinkled, and dark circles lay under her eyes.
Ellen barely noticed her son's appearance, immersed in memories of the day at the hospital. The events of the last few hours were still spinning in her head.
Young doctor Mark, who had been working at the hospital for just a couple of years, was called to the chief physician. Passing by, Ellen witnessed a tumultuous scene: Mark flew out of the office, pale as a sheet, shouting about injustice.
"I was just doing my job!" he protested.
The chief physician, Dr. Stern, followed with a stone-faced expression.
"We can't risk the hospital's reputation, Mark. You should understand what times we live in."
Ellen, intrigued, quietly asked a passing nurse about what was happening.
"Mark is being fired," she whispered. "They say he treated a mutant and didn't report it to the authorities."
A chill ran down Ellen's spine. She knew Mark as an excellent doctor and a kind person. Could he really have...?
"I took the Hippocratic oath!" Mark continued to shout. "We should treat everyone who needs help!"
Dr. Stern, noticing the gathered audience, lowered his voice, but Ellen still overheard:
"Understand, Mark. Rumors of treating mutants could attract the attention of authorities or Sentinels. Do you want them checking every patient? Every staff member?"
Mark shook his head, his shoulders drooping.
"But it's wrong," he said quietly. "We're doctors. We're supposed to help people."
"Times have changed," Stern replied. "We have to think about the safety of the majority. Gather your things and turn in your badge to security."
Ellen watched as Mark slowly walked to his office, her heart torn between sympathy and fear. She wanted to approach him, to console him, but concerns for her own job held her back. Jake depended on her; she couldn't risk it.
Dr. Stern addressed the gathered staff:
"I hope everyone understands the seriousness of the situation. Our task is the safety of patients and personnel. Report any suspicious cases to me or security immediately."
As the crowd began to disperse, Ellen caught the conversation of two passing orderlies.
"...what about that patient from four-twelve?" one asked.
"Shh," the second hissed, looking around. "Heard they took him this morning."
"Took him? Who?"
"Bureau people, of course. Came at dawn, in black, no identifying marks. Talked to the chief and took the patient away. Said they were transferring him to a 'specialized facility.'"
"The Bureau? You mean the Bureau of Mutant Affairs?"
"Exactly. Real bastards. They say they work directly with Trask Industries."
The orderlies moved away, and Ellen stood frozen, feeling a chill run down her spine. "Specialized facility"-a euphemism for the prisons and camps where captured mutants were held. She remembered Mark, his desperate cry about injustice, and everything fell into place. Mark had tried to protect a patient, and ended up losing his job. And the patient... Ellen didn't even want to think about his fate in the hands of the Bureau and under the supervision of Sentinels.
A tremor ran through her body. She thought of her son, of his strange behavior lately. No, it was just paranoia. Her son couldn't be... She pushed the thought away.
The rest of the day, Ellen worked as if in a fog, catching wary glances from colleagues, hearing whispers behind her back. The atmosphere in the hospital had changed, becoming heavy with suspicion and fear.
"Hi, Mom." Jake's voice pulled her from her memories. Looking up, she saw her son standing before her with a concerned expression. "Tough day?"
Ellen smiled weakly, trying to shake off the weight of her memories.
"You have no idea," she sighed. "Double shift because Jen was out. And the patient in three-oh-five screamed all night about aliens chasing him."
She omitted Mark and his dismissal, not wanting to burden her son with additional anxieties in this world full of fear and suspicion.
The teenager awkwardly shifted from foot to foot.
"Want me to make you some tea?"
"That would be great," Ellen nodded. "And if there's pizza left from last night, please heat it up. I'm not in a state to cook right now."
While the young man busied himself in the kitchen, Ellen asked:
"Have you had dinner yet?"
"Not yet," came the reply. "I... I was waiting for you."
Ellen sighed.
"Jake, how many times have I told you not to wait for me? You need to eat properly."
"Sorry, Mom. I just..." Evans fell silent, not finding the right words.
Soon he returned with a tray on which steamed cups of tea and a plate of reheated pizza. Ellen had already turned on the television.
"...thanks to the vigilance of our Sentinels, the infiltration attempt was prevented," the news anchor was saying. "The suspected mutant has been detained and handed over to the appropriate authorities..."
Grimacing, Ellen changed the channel.
"Just what we need right now," she muttered, taking a slice of pizza. "How was school, honey?"
"Fine. Nothing special," the young man shrugged, trying to appear casual.
"Your biology teacher called me," Ellen said between bites. "Says you gave an excellent answer in class about aquatic animals."
The teenager's heart skipped a beat.
"Really?" His voice sounded a bit higher than usual. "Well... I just read a lot about it."
"That's good. Maybe you'll become a marine biologist or something like that."
Evans laughed nervously.
"Maybe."
They silently watched a reality show, and the young man glanced furtively at his mother, gathering courage to say something important.
"Mom," he finally began. "I..."
"Oh, damn!" Ellen suddenly exclaimed, looking at the clock. "I completely forgot about the report due tomorrow." She stood up, finishing her tea. "Sorry, honey, I need to work. Can you handle the dishes yourself?"
The teenager nodded, feeling the moment slipping away.
"Yes, of course."
Ellen quickly kissed the top of his head.
"You're my good boy. Don't stay up too late, okay?"
"Okay, Mom."
Watching his mother walk away, Evans felt a familiar mixture of love and disappointment. He knew his mom loved him, but sometimes he wished she had more time. Time to notice that something was wrong. Time for him to gather the courage to tell her the truth.
Sighing, the young man began clearing the dishes. Tomorrow would be a new day. Maybe tomorrow he would find the right words. For now, he would just try to be a good son. Even if "good" in this world meant "normal." Even if it meant hiding part of himself.
Going up to his room, the teenager approached the window. In the distance, the silhouette of a patrolling Sentinel was visible. This sight no longer evoked terror-only weary resignation.
Evans walked down the corridor, clutching his textbooks tightly to his chest. Each step felt like a struggle, as if he were heading not to a swimming lesson, but to the scaffold.
The teenager's thoughts circled around the viral video he had seen the previous evening. The glowing mutant flying over the night skylines of different countries seemed both frightening and captivating. The young man remembered sitting in front of his computer screen, holding his breath as the bright figure glided between New York skyscrapers, then suddenly appeared above the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
"How can he be so... open?" Evans thought, his heart beating faster at the mere idea of displaying his abilities publicly. Years of school lessons where teachers instilled that mutants were dangerous to society had taken deep root in his consciousness. But now, watching this glowing mutant, the teenager felt a strange mixture of fear and... envy?
Passing by a group of students clustered near a windowsill, the young man involuntarily slowed his pace, listening to their conversation.
"Man, did you see that video with the flying guy?" asked a boy in a red baseball cap excitedly, waving his hands. "He just flew right between the skyscrapers!"
"Come on, it's probably fake," snorted a girl with long blonde hair, rolling her eyes. "They can easily do that stuff on computers these days."
"No, Kate, there are tons of videos from different countries," objected a skinny boy with glasses, adjusting them on his nose. "It can't all be fake, can it?"
"What if it's some kind of super-secret government project?" suggested the fourth participant in the conversation, lowering his voice to a half-whisper. "Like, a new weapon or something."
"Get out of here with your conspiracy theories, Mike," laughed Kate, gently nudging his shoulder. "Although it would be cool if it turned out to be a real superhero."
"Or a supervillain," the boy in the baseball cap added grimly. "The Sentinels would show him what's what."
"Hey, guys, we're going to be late for math!" realized the boy with glasses, glancing at his watch. "Let's go already."
Lost in thought, Evans didn't immediately notice the familiar figure ahead. Lisa stood by her locker, taking out textbooks. Her chestnut hair was gathered in a casual ponytail, and a slight smile played on her lips. Seeing the teenager, she waved to him amicably.
The young man's heart skipped a beat. Lisa was one of the few who was always kind to him, despite his reticence.
"Lisa! Let's go, or we'll be late for swimming!" shouted one of her friends from the other end of the corridor.
Lisa cast an apologetic glance at Evans and hurried to her friends. The teenager felt both relief and disappointment simultaneously. He continued on his way to the locker room, feeling anxiety building with each step.
Swimming class. Evans had been preparing for it for weeks, constantly coming up with excuses to skip lessons. But today he had no choice. His mom was unhappy with his constant absences and insisted that he go.
"I can handle this," he repeated to himself like a mantra. "I'll just stay at the edge of the pool. No one will notice anything."
But deep inside, the young man knew it wouldn't be simple. Water always enticed him, called to him. Every time he found himself near a large body of water, he had to fight the desire to dive in and allow his true nature to emerge.
Approaching the locker room doors, the teenager took a deep breath, trying to calm his wildly beating heart. He paused for a moment, listening to the voices and laughter coming from inside. Normal teenagers preparing for a normal swimming lesson.
With one last deep breath, Evans pushed open the locker room door.
The smell of chlorine hit the young man's nose as soon as he entered the pool area. Reflections from the water's surface danced on the walls. Evans froze for a moment, feeling his body instinctively drawn to the water as if by a magnet.
"Alright, guys, line up!" The loud voice of Mr. Burns, the physical education teacher, snapped the teenager out of his stupor.
Tall and muscular, with short-cropped graying hair, Mr. Burns looked like a typical coach from the movies. The whistle around his neck and stopwatch in his hand completed the image.
"Today we'll test your swimming skills," he announced, sweeping his gaze over the students. "We'll start with something simple: swim from one end of the pool to the other using any style."
Evans felt his heart beating faster. He knew he had to pretend to be an unskilled swimmer, but the very thought caused him almost physical pain. Water was his element, his true home.
Students jumped into the water one after another. Some swam confidently, cutting through the water with powerful strokes. Others floundered, struggling to cover the distance. The young man observed them, mentally noting who needed to adjust their technique and how.
"Evans, your turn!" Mr. Burns's shout made the teenager flinch.
Taking a deep breath, the young man clumsily plopped into the water. The cold liquid enveloped his body, and for a moment he felt an overwhelming desire to open his gills, to allow his true nature to emerge. But no, he couldn't. Instead, the teenager began to paddle awkwardly, deliberately creating too many splashes and pretending to barely stay afloat.
"Come on, Evans, move it!" Mr. Burns encouraged. "My grandmother swims faster than that!"
Evans heard the muffled chuckles of his classmates. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Lisa watching him with slight concern. He forced himself to concentrate on his role, ignoring the natural instincts that screamed at him to move correctly, efficiently.
"I must be careful," the young man thought, slowly moving forward. "One wrong move, and everything could be revealed."
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the teenager reached the opposite end of the pool. He climbed out of the water, breathing heavily-not from fatigue, but from the tension caused by pretending.
"Not bad for a start, Evans," commented Mr. Burns, making a note in his notebook. "But you need to work a lot on your technique."
The young man nodded, not raising his eyes. He stepped aside, watching the other students. His attention was drawn to Tim-a skinny boy with chestnut hair and glasses, which he had removed before diving into the water.
Tim had always been somewhat clumsy in physical education classes, but in the water, he looked particularly helpless. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, as if he were fighting the water rather than swimming in it. Evans felt a pang of sympathy-he remembered how he himself had once feared water before discovering his abilities.
Suddenly something changed. The teenager noticed Tim's movements becoming even more chaotic. The boy began to stop frequently, gasping for air. At first, Evans thought Tim was just tired, but then he saw the panic in his classmate's eyes.
Time seemed to slow down. Evans watched as Tim tried to take a breath but instead began coughing and wheezing. An asthma attack-the young mutant remembered that Tim always carried an inhaler with him. But now, the inhaler was far away, in the locker room, and Tim was in the middle of the pool, struggling for each breath.
The teenager felt his heart pounding at a frantic rate. He looked around-it seemed no one else had noticed what was happening to Tim. Mr. Burns was busy watching other students, and his classmates were too engrossed in their conversations.
"I need to do something," flashed through the young man's mind. But the fear of exposure paralyzed him. If he swam quickly, if he showed his real abilities... But on the other hand, Tim's life was at stake.
Seconds stretched like hours. Evans saw Tim beginning to sink beneath the water, his movements becoming weaker. The panic in the boy's eyes changed to horror when he realized he could no longer stay on the surface.
At that moment, something inside the teenager seemed to click. Without thinking further about the consequences, he plunged into the water. His body instantly remembered all its natural instincts, and he raced toward Tim with incredible speed.
The young man felt the water flowing around his body, how each movement brought him closer to his drowning classmate. He fought the urge to open his gills, knowing it would give him an even greater advantage. But no, he couldn't risk it. Even now, even in this critical situation, part of his brain continued working to preserve the secret.
Reaching Tim, Evans wrapped one arm around him and began to stroke toward the edge of the pool. Tim was in a panic, grabbing at his rescuer, making movement difficult. But the teenager was stronger than he appeared. His muscles, accustomed to water resistance, worked at the limit of their capabilities.
"Hold on, Tim," the young man rasped, trying to keep his classmate's head above water. "We're almost at the edge."
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement-Mr. Burns had finally seen what was happening and was hurrying toward them. But the young mutant knew he couldn't wait-every second counted.
With one last powerful push, the teenager reached the edge of the pool. He felt someone's hands-it seemed to be Mr. Burns-helping to pull Tim out of the water.
"Someone, bring his inhaler! Quickly!" the teacher shouted.
Evans climbed out of the pool, breathing heavily. Only now did he realize that all eyes were on him. Surprise, admiration, bewilderment-emotions on his classmates' faces blended into a kaleidoscope that made the young man's head spin.
"Evans, that was... incredible," said Mr. Burns, patting the teenager on the shoulder. "How did you...?"
But the young mutant wasn't listening. His gaze was fixed on Tim, who now sat at the edge of the pool, eagerly inhaling medicine from his inhaler. Color gradually returned to his face, and Evans felt a wave of relief wash over him.
"Jake..." Lisa's quiet voice brought him out of his stupor. She stood nearby, looking at him with wide eyes. "That was amazing! How did you manage to swim to Tim so quickly? I thought you weren't a very good swimmer."
The teenager felt panic engulf him. He looked around and saw other students approaching, clearly wanting to ask the same questions.
"I... I don't know," mumbled the young man. "I guess it was adrenaline. I just saw that Tim was in trouble, and..."
But the words stuck in his throat. Evans felt his heart pounding so hard it seemed about to burst from his chest. The pool walls seemed to be closing in around him.
"I need to... I need to go," the teenager blurted out, stepping backward. "I... I forgot something in the locker room."
Without waiting for an answer, the young man turned and quickly headed for the exit, ignoring Mr. Burns's calls and the surprised exclamations of his classmates. He felt their gazes on him, especially Lisa's, full of incomprehension and concern.
Reaching the locker room, Evans slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, breathing heavily. His wet skin was covered in goosebumps, not from the cold-from fear. What had he done? How could he now explain his actions?
The teenager slowly slid to the floor, hugging his knees. He had saved Tim, yes. But at what cost? Now everyone would be asking questions. Everyone would look at him differently. And what if someone guessed? What if his secret was revealed?
The sound of approaching footsteps and voices made Evans start. He quickly stood up and began hastily dressing, trying to ignore the trembling in his hands. He needed to get out of here, and as quickly as possible. Maybe if he disappeared fast enough, everyone would forget what happened. Maybe if he was careful enough, no one would suspect the truth.
But deep inside, the teenager knew it was just an illusion. Today had changed everything. And he had no idea how to deal with the consequences of his actions.
The young man sat on a cold bench in the locker room, his wet hair sticking to his forehead. Water droplets streamed down his back, causing him to shiver. But he wasn't shivering from the cold-adrenaline and fear pulsated in his veins, making his heart race at a frantic speed.
He closed his eyes, trying to regain control over his breathing. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. But with each breath, he felt the gills on his chest pulsating, striving to open. Evans instinctively pressed his palm to his chest, as if trying to physically keep them closed.
"Calm down," he thought. "You'll handle this. You've always handled it."
But today was different. Today he hadn't just concealed his nature-he had actively used his abilities in front of everyone. In saving Tim, the teenager had revealed part of himself, and now he didn't know how to put the genie back in the bottle.
A knock on the locker room door made the young man jump.
"Jake? Are you in there?" Lisa's voice sounded concerned.
"Yes, I'm here," he answered, trying to make his voice sound calm. "Just a minute."
Evans quickly pulled on his shirt, trying to hide the barely noticeable lines on his neck. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.
Lisa stood before him, her hair still damp from the pool. Concern and... something else read in her eyes. Curiosity? Suspicion?
"You look worried," she noted, frowning slightly. "Is everything okay?"
The teenager stepped back, not wanting to let her inside.
"Yeah, everything's fine. Just... too much all at once."
Lisa took a step forward, her voice becoming softer:
"You were incredible in the pool. I couldn't even understand how you swam to Tim so quickly. What was that?" There was more surprise than suspicion in her voice.
"I don't know," the young man tried to smile. "Probably just fear for a friend."
Lisa frowned and thoughtfully bit her lip, as if gathering her thoughts. Her gaze became more intense, but still remained friendly:
"You know, Jake, I always thought you didn't like water... or was I wrong?"
Evans felt a chill run down his spine. She really had noticed more than he'd hoped.
"Well... in general, not really," he shrugged, trying to speak as casually as possible. "Maybe it just worked out because everything happened too quickly."
Lisa nodded, but her gaze didn't leave his face. Then she said carefully:
"Jake, you can trust me, you know that, right?"
There was sincerity in her voice, and at that moment the teenager felt his heart beat faster. He wanted to trust her, but the fear of exposure was too great.
He remembered an incident that occurred two years ago. Then he had almost revealed himself to his best friend Alex. They were on the beach, and Alex suggested swimming. Evans refused, as always, but Alex insisted. Finally, the young man couldn't stand it and shouted: "I can't! I'm... I'm different!" Alex looked at him strangely, and from that day their friendship gradually faded away. The teenager never again tried to get close to anyone.
"I know, Lisa," he finally answered. "It's just... there are things that are difficult to explain."
Lisa nodded, as if understanding more about what he was saying.
"You know," she began, changing the subject, "I keep thinking about that video with the flying mutant. It's so strange, isn't it? All our lives we've been told that mutants are dangerous, that we should fear them. And then suddenly someone appears who just... flies. Doesn't cause harm, just exists."
Evans felt his heart beat faster. He had never heard anyone speak about mutants in such terms.
"And what do you think about it?" he asked cautiously.
"I think..." Lisa paused for a moment. "I think the world is more complex than they tell us. Maybe not all mutants are bad. Maybe they're just... different."
The teenager felt a lump in his throat. He opened his mouth, ready to say something, to confess...
"Hey, Lisa! Are you coming?" called one of her friends from the corridor.
The moment was shattered. Lisa gave Evans an apologetic look.
"I have to go. But we'll talk more, okay?"
The young man nodded, not trusting his voice. Lisa left, and he remained standing, feeling emptied and simultaneously full of conflicting emotions.
Leaving school, the teenager felt the gazes of his classmates upon him. Some looked with admiration, others with curiosity. He caught snippets of conversations:
"Did you see how he swam?"
"I never would have thought Evans was capable of that..."
"Maybe he's been pretending all this time?"
The young mutant quickened his pace, wanting to leave the schoolyard as soon as possible. The autumn sun was already sinking toward sunset, painting the sky in orange hues. The air smelled of fallen leaves and approaching winter.
Suddenly his gaze fell on the massive figure of a Sentinel. The three-meter machine towered over passersby, its optical sensors methodically scanning the crowd. Jake involuntarily touched his bracelet-a gift from a mysterious woman. After the incident in the pool, he wasn't sure the protection still worked.
The Sentinel turned its head. The red glow of its sensors stopped on Jake. One second. Two. Three. Finally, the robot turned away, continuing its patrol. Jake exhaled, feeling cold sweat running down his back.
At home, an unusually early light awaited him in the windows. Mom sat on the couch in front of the turned-on television.
"Hi, Mom. You're home early today."
"There's an inspection at the hospital today," she answered distractedly, not taking her eyes off the screen.
On the screen flickered images of a night city: a bright figure rapidly flying between skyscrapers.
"The mysterious creature has been spotted again in Chicago," the announcer reported excitedly. "Already the third major city in a week. Experts suggest we're dealing with an unknown type of mutant..."
"Terrible," muttered his mother. "How can they so openly..."
"But maybe they just want to live freely?" burst out from Jake.
His mother turned sharply to him:
"Jake, you remember what happened to your father? Mutants are dangerous. All of them."
Each word pierced his heart like a sharp needle. "But I'm one of them! And I'm not dangerous!" screamed an inner voice. Instead, Jake simply nodded:
"I understand, Mom."
In his room, he approached the window. In the distance, another Sentinel patrolled, its metallic body reflecting the light of street lamps. Jake touched the glass. Somewhere out there, in the night sky, a free mutant was flying. Without fear. Without the need to hide.
"Someday," he thought, looking at his reflection in the dark glass. A lump formed in his throat. The thought that his mother might turn away from him was unbearable. But living forever in fear, hiding his true nature...
Jake turned away from the window and sat down to do his homework. Formulas and equations couldn't drown out the dream of freedom. Of the day when he could open his gills underwater without fear of being discovered. When he could tell his mom the truth and see understanding in her eyes, not fear.
That day seemed impossibly far away. But Jake knew-he would live for this dream. Because the alternative was too frightening to contemplate.
Jake woke up with a heavy feeling. Another school day. After a quiet breakfast alone, he found a note from his mom wishing him a good day.
On his way to school, he tried to avoid making eye contact with passersby. Each Guardian made his heart beat faster, but his bracelet remained cold-he was safe.
After the incident in swimming class, where Jake had saved Tim, his classmates continued to whisper behind his back. He felt the growing tension-it seemed as if at any moment someone would guess his true nature.
The teachers had notified his mom about what happened. Ellen was troubled-she knew Jake had never been a strong swimmer. He explained that he had simply been near Tim and reacted quickly. Ellen believed him but insisted he no longer attend swimming lessons.
Lisa had started showing more interest in him, talking to him more often, asking about his hobbies. She particularly enjoyed discussing marine life. Jake looked forward to these conversations, although he feared getting too close.
At the school entrance, he met Lisa.
"Ready for the biology test?" she asked.
"Yeah, I think so. I spent all evening reviewing," Jake replied, trying to keep his voice steady.
Walking past the history classroom, they saw Mr. Thompson. His gaze lingered on Jake longer than usual, piercing and cold, as if the teacher was trying to look into his very soul.
"Everything okay?" Lisa noticed his tension.
"Yeah, just forgot my textbook at home," he lied, feeling his throat go dry.
In biology class, Miss Anderson handed out the tests. Jake tried to focus on the questions, but his thoughts kept returning to the strange look from the history teacher, to his eyes full of suspicion.
Heavy footsteps in the hallway sounded like hammer blows. Miss Anderson didn't make it to the door-it swung open as if struck.
People in black uniforms with Mutant Control Bureau badges entered the classroom. Their boots echoed loudly on the floor, counting down the final seconds of Jake's former life. One of the agents slowly surveyed the class and stopped in front of his desk. Everyone froze. Someone's muffled sob cut through the silence.
The agent grabbed Jake's wrist. Cold fingers closed like steel vises. The bracelet fell onto the desk with a dull thud. Lisa, sitting in front, turned around. Her face turned as white as chalk.
The scanner in the agent's hand hummed quietly as it moved along Jake's body. A mechanical voice sliced through the silence: "Mutant detected."
A wave of whispers rippled through the classroom like an icy gust of wind.
"I knew it," came from the left.
Jake didn't raise his eyes, but he felt the stares-curious, frightened, hostile. They burned his skin like acid.
The agents yanked him up from his desk. Somewhere in the distance, Miss Anderson's voice spoke about notifying parents. Mom. Would he see her again?
At the door, Jake forced himself to look at Lisa. He was prepared to see disgust or fear-what he saw every day on television in people's eyes when they showed captured mutants. But a solitary tear rolled down her cheek, and her gaze revealed only sadness and compassion. That proved more painful than hatred. Jake turned away, feeling a lump rise in his throat. The last person with whom he could be almost himself now knew his secret.
In the corridor, metal clanked-an agent pulled out a collar with blinking indicators.
"Stand still, mutant!" Rough fingers dug into his chin, tilting his head back. Cold metal clasped around his neck.
"Move," a shove in the back forced him forward.
Classroom doors opened one after another. Students and teachers lined up along the walls like spectators at a freak show. Whispers followed him like serpent hisses:
"He was always strange..."
"I knew there was something wrong with him..."
"A mutant among us..."
Mr. Thompson stood outside his classroom. A mask of triumphant disgust froze on his face.
"Thank God," he said loudly so everyone could hear. "Things like you can't hide forever."
At the school exit, a crowd seethed. Camera flashes struck his eyes like lightning. Faces distorted by hatred swam before his eyes. A black van with the Bureau emblem waited, its steel maw open.
The path through the crowd became torture. Shouts, whistles, blows. Someone's spit landed on his cheek, but Jake didn't even try to wipe it away.
"Get in!" Another shove threw him toward the open doors.
Jake cast one last glance at the school. There, behind those walls, remained his former life-so simple, so desirable now.
The cold metal floor of the van greeted him like an old acquaintance. Thoughts of his mother came in waves, threatening to drown him. How would she find out? From an indifferent voice on the news? From a police officer at the door? What would she feel when she realized her son was one of those whom society considered monsters? Those very mutants because of whom his father had died.
He remembered her conversations about mutants, the fear in her eyes when she watched the news. Would she turn away from him? Could she ever accept him as he was?
But before his eyes stood Lisa's gaze-without disgust or fear, only with sadness and understanding. If she could see him as a person even after his secret was revealed, perhaps his mother could too? This thought became the straw to which his consciousness clung.
The van moved through the city, and through the barred window his former life floated by. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but Jake no longer tried to hold them back. Familiar streets flashed by like frames from an old film-the park where he walked with his mom, the bookstore, the café where he dreamed of inviting Lisa. All this was now becoming a distant, unreachable past.
The van stopped at a checkpoint. The guards' voices reached him as if through cotton:
"Mutant, hazard class unknown. Taking him to the central isolation facility for classification."
Jake closed his eyes. Now he was just a number in a database. Not a person-an object.
The van drove onto the highway. Fatigue hit suddenly-the adrenaline receded, leaving emptiness and exhaustion in its wake. Jake fought sleep, but his eyes closed on their own.
A jolt yanked him from oblivion. Concrete walls crowned with barbed wire drifted past the window. Dark silhouettes with weapons stood frozen on guard towers. The van stopped at the gates. Guards checked documents, their flashlight beams hitting his eyes.
The doors swung open, letting in harsh light and cold air.
"Get out," commanded a guard.
Jake rose slowly, wincing at the pain in his numb legs. Time had lost meaning-perhaps several hours had passed, or perhaps an entire lifetime. Ahead loomed the gray walls of the isolation facility-a monolith ready to swallow him forever.
Ellen Evans hurried down the hospital corridor, mechanically fixing a stray strand of hair. Glancing at her watch, she noted-four hours remained until the end of her shift.
Her mind routinely went through the to-do list: check IVs in room 301, change Mrs. Rodriguez's bandage, fill out reports. But her thoughts kept returning to Jake. How was his day at school? Lately, her son had seemed detached, pensive. Problems with schoolwork? Or first love? Ellen couldn't help smiling. Her boy had grown up so fast-it seemed like only yesterday she was holding him in her arms, and now he was a teenager with his own secrets and worries.
"I'll make his favorite lasagna with extra cheese tonight," she decided. "That always cheers him up."
Passing by the staff room, Ellen noticed unusual excitement-a group of nurses whispering about something heatedly. When she appeared, the conversation abruptly stopped, and several pairs of eyes turned toward her. Something in their gazes made her tense inside.
In the procedure room, she began preparing for the next patient when her phone vibrated in her lab coat pocket. An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen. Usually, she ignored such calls during her shift, but some premonition made her answer.
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Evans?" In the tense voice, she recognized the school principal. The hand holding the scalpel froze in mid-air.
"Yes, this is she," she replied, trying to speak calmly. "Has something happened to Jake?"
A heavy pause followed. Ellen heard the principal take a deep breath.
"Mrs. Evans, I... I don't know how to tell you this..." his voice faltered. "There's been an incident at school. With Jake."
The ground seemed to disappear from under her feet. Incident? What did that mean? A fight? An accident in gym class? Why was there so much alarm in the principal's voice?
"What happened?" she asked in a voice that didn't sound like her own. "Is he hurt? Does he need help?"
"No, no, physically he's fine," the principal quickly replied. "But... Mrs. Evans, it's better if you see for yourself. Can you get to a television?"
A chill ran down her spine. Television? What could have happened at school to make the news?
"I'm at work," she mumbled. "But I can go to the lobby, there's a TV there."
"Please, do that," the principal's voice was pleading.
"Alright, I'll go now," she responded. "Stay on the line."
Leaving the procedure room, Ellen headed for the lobby. Her usually confident stride became uneven, as if she had forgotten how to walk. The world around seemed unreal, blurry at the edges. The sounds of the hospital-beeping monitors, staff conversations, elevator noises-receded into the background, muffled by the loud pounding of her own heart.
Passing the nurses' station, Ellen noticed several staff members gathered around a small television. Their faces expressed a mixture of shock and disbelief. Someone covered their mouth with their hand, someone else shook their head.
On the screen was the familiar building of Jake's school. A huge mass of people crowded in front of the entrance-students, teachers, passersby. The camera captured frightened, shocked faces from the crowd.
And then she saw him. Jake. Her boy. But this wasn't the Jake she knew. This one looked scared, lost. Handcuffs gleamed on his wrists, and on his neck... She blinked, not believing her eyes. Some strange metal collar was around her son's neck.
The nurse grabbed the counter to keep from falling. Her ears rang, everything before her eyes began to swim.
"Mrs. Evans?" The principal's voice on the phone brought her back to reality. "Are you seeing this?"
"Yes," she whispered, not recognizing her own voice. "But I don't understand... What's happening? Why is Jake..."
"Representatives from the Mutant Control Bureau came to the school today," the principal's voice was quiet, almost sympathetic. "They discovered that Jake is a mutant."
The world around Ellen seemed to stop. The words echoed in her head. Mutant. Her son-a mutant? All the oddities in his behavior over the past few months, the detachment, the reluctance to attend school events-it all suddenly fell into a terrible picture.
On the screen, Jake was being pushed into a black van. His eyes, full of fear and despair, momentarily met the camera, as if begging for help.
The woman didn't remember running out of the hospital. The bright sunlight hit her eyes, a cool breeze touched her face. The world seemed unreal, like the set of a surrealist play.
She stopped in the middle of the parking lot. Her heart was beating so hard it felt like it might burst from her chest. The image from the screen still stood before her eyes: her son in handcuffs, with that horrible collar, disappearing into a black van.
"This can't be true!" The thought beat in her head like a trapped bird.
But reality was relentless. Her husband had died eight years ago during a mutant attack on Manhattan. And now her son turned out to be one of them. One of those who took her husband away, who turned their life into a nightmare.
Ellen felt anger boiling inside. At whom? At Jake for hiding it? At herself for not noticing? At the world for its injustice?
The anger gave way to guilt. She was a mother, she should have known, should have sensed it. "If only I had paid attention... If only I had talked to him more..."
The mother covered her face with her hands, trying to hold back sobs. What would happen to Jake now? Where had they taken him? She had heard stories about "special camps," about experiments, about disappearances without a trace.
"No," she mentally pleaded. "Please, not that. Not my boy."
Gradually, the shock began to recede. Jake was a mutant. That was a fact. But did that mean he had stopped being her son? Stopped being the boy she had raised, loved, for whom she was ready to give her life?
Ellen remembered his first steps, his first word, his first day at school. How he cried after falling off his bicycle, how he beamed with pride after receiving his first excellent grade. His smile, his laughter, his hugs.
And suddenly she understood: it didn't matter if he was a mutant or not. He was still her son. Her flesh and blood. Her boy, whom she loved more than life itself.
"What to do now?" This thought pulsed in her head. She knew nothing about the Mutant Control Bureau's procedures. Didn't know where they took detainees. Didn't know her rights as a parent of a mutant. Did such rights even exist?
To the car? Home? To the police? But what to say? "Help, my son was taken by the Mutant Control Bureau"? They would just laugh. Or arrest her for complicity.
Ellen leaned against the nearest car. She was a nurse and knew how to act in emergency situations, how to save lives. But now... now she felt completely helpless.
Lisa sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall. Sunlight fell through the blinds, striping the room. Her hands, usually calm, trembled slightly, crumpling her T-shirt.
"Jake is a mutant." Two words that turned her world upside down. She stood up and walked to the window. Below, life went on as usual: pedestrians hurried about their business, children played in the playground. A Guardian stood frozen at the intersection, its metallic body reflecting the sun's rays. An ordinary day for everyone except her.
Her gaze fell on a book about marine biology-a gift from Jake. Lisa remembered that day in every detail. He spoke about the underwater world with such enthusiasm that it seemed as if he was part of it himself. Now everything made sense: his unusual grace in water, nervousness around Guardians, strange detachment when talk turned to the future.
The voice of a news anchor came from the living room: "Today, a juvenile mutant was discovered and detained at a local school. Authorities assure that the situation is under control."
Lisa felt nauseated. "The situation is under control"-as if they were talking about a broken water pipe, not a person she knew. A person who saved Tim in the pool, who helped her with biology, who had never done anything bad to anyone.
In the hallway, she heard her parents' muffled voices:
"Who would have thought, such a quiet boy..."
"We need to talk to Lisa, they were friends after all..."
"Maybe we should transfer her to another school? After something like this..."
Anger rose inside her like a hot wave. Transfer to another school-as if a dangerous disease could be transmitted through a shared desk.
The phone on the table blinked with notifications. Dozens of messages from classmates:
"Did you know he was a mutant?"
"Can't believe we studied with a monster!"
"Do you think he could have killed someone?"
Lisa tossed the phone aside in disgust. Monster? Jake, who spent two hours a month ago explaining microscopes to first-graders? Who came to school an hour early every morning to help old Mr. Johnson with the aquarium?
On the shelf stood a new book-"The Mutant Threat: How to Protect Yourself and Your Loved Ones." Her parents had bought it a week ago, insisted she read it "for her own safety." Lisa opened it, ran her eyes over the first lines about the necessity of identifying and isolating mutants.
Her hands moved on their own. The first torn page fell to the floor almost silently. The second. The third. With each movement, something inside became lighter, as if not only pages were being torn, but years of instilled prejudice.
When only the cover and a pile of scraps remained of the book, Lisa finally stopped. Her hands trembled from tension. She looked at the bits of paper scattered across the floor and suddenly realized the futility of her gesture. What difference would a destroyed book make? Jake was still in the Bureau's van, being taken into the unknown.
The sun was setting, painting the room in red tones. Outside the window, another Bureau van drove by-black, with tinted windows. Just like the one that took Jake away. Lisa watched it until it disappeared around the corner.
In the gathering dusk, she sat among the torn pieces of the book, feeling as torn and broken as these pages. The clock ticked, counting the first hours of a new world-a world where a friend's existence had become a crime.