Wilde's; If located; one must be executed on site, or immediately brought back to authorities. Anyone who associates with a Wilde will be executed. Anyone who assists a Wilde in a escape revolving plan will be executed. Anyone who has a relationship with a Wilde will be publicly hung.
Wilde's are the Devil's children. They obtain unholy Skills, which are increasingly growing stronger. They are evil. They are powerful. They will kill you, no matter how much you begin trust them. Please protect your socitey.
~FGGPC
For the Greater Good Protection Centre
The sirens sliced the crisp night air like a knife, and two more cars surrounded the boy. I stared silently on the front porch, on the balls of my feet, rocking back and forth. The screen door opened and slammed behind me, and I felt the constricting weight of my father’s hand fall onto my shoulder.
A cop much larger than the kid crudely grabbed his hands and smashed his head against the side door. A ribbon of blood streamed down into the boy's wild dark brown hair, and he squirmed under the bigger mans weight, the gash in his head filled with crimson liquid.
The door in back of me closed once more and my mother joined us. Her tongue clucked in brute disapproval and I cringed. “Hmm, I swear there’s one too many these days. The Devil’s children I say, right Samantha?”
I whipped around, and nodded vigorously, hoping she hadn’t seen me watching with hope that maybe this one would get away, this one could live. She scowled at the boy, watching him viciously thrown to the ground.
“I wonder what his Skill could be. This morning they executed a girl who could create wind gusts up to ninety miles per hour. Powerful. Darn right she was slaughtered; just as that filthy Wilde will be.”
My father muttered something about Wildes’s adolescent insanity, but was interrupted by the shrill piercing scream of the cop who had knocked the Wilde boy down, and I couldn't help but supress a small giggle, barely able to distinquish the cry from a two year old girl's. Mother gasped and jumped back into the protection of the house, her face ashen white.
In seconds, the cop’s demeanor had changed from a sneer to terror. Dreadfully; he batted away an unexistant figure he acted to see, though no one else could. Everyone froze, watching the man’s eyes grow tainted with blood and roll back, his knees buckle, and his nose hit the pavement with a solid crack.
The Wilde smirked; as we were all now aware it was his doing, and wiped blood from his lip. Both arms heaved his body up, and the boy flashed a poisonous grin, his eyes filled with an inhuman hatred. The others enforcements only stared in bewilderment, seemingly failing to recall they had guns. Other families had come out to watch this show, entertained by it's chaos. Before I knew it, his eyes snagged on a possible chance to escape, calculating the odds and finding them in his favor; me.
“Oh my God,” I heard Father rasp, realizing it only a second too late, frantically trying to jostle me back with Mother, but it was no use. The kid was on me in a second, his nails digging into my neck, warm blood cascading down onto my white blouse, as he dragged me in front of him.
I shrieked and twisted, looking for help of Father or the authorities, but my vision blurred. “Dad?” I mumbled, searching for his figure through my murky vision. “Don’t shoot!” he wailed, as I felt the boy position me like a shield against his body.
I refused to believe this impractical horror playing out in front of me. It could not be real. I would not accept that. Though my vision was failing my eager eyes, other senses were devouring all the information they could take in.
My father was yelling, his voice ending in a low disdainful moan, and a mental movie reeled through my head, hoping to imagine what my eyes would not tell me; the possibility of men with firearms surrounding our house, or maybe Mother inside, frantically searching for our family rifle.
It was as though the Earth had cracked open and Hell had taken reign. Screaming, yelling, sobbing; some of it I was sure was my own. But than as soon as it begun; the racket silenced. Confusment clouded my thoughts, and panic shot through me, fearing my hearing had gone as well. For one blissfully silent moment, a desperate part of me wanted it to be a dream, formed from some attention derived part of my brain.
That' when a cold metal gun muzzle slammed into my temple, the bullet clicking into place, and I realized the noise had vanished as soon as that pistol came out of his . "If someone moves; she dies!" the Wilde shouted, his voice smooth, with the faintest tint of amusement. The thought sickened me.
An anguished sob escaped from where I assume my mother was standing behind the door. His hand positioned itself to under my arm, and my bare feet skidded across the ground, my light figure easy to drag. "If anyone follows me, this poor little girl gets a bullet through her perfect head."
"Let go!" I shrieked, jerking my head so that his hand was around my lips. He knew better though. The gun holster came down hard onto my right temple, and the last shred of my remaining consciousness was enveloped in blackness.
