Revolution

- 01 -

Theo handed me a rainbow lollipop with sticky fingers, sending me a toothy grin.

I took it from him, twirling the candy in my hand. The colors twisted around in a spiral, blending together, all the way to the base. I licked the side. It was sugary and sweet and perfect.

"Good, huh?" Theo asked, sporting a lollipop of his own. He stuck it in his mouth and cracked off the top with his teeth, crunching it hard. I watched him with curiosity.

"It's a lolly, silly. You're not supposed to bite it." At the same time, I couldn't help but laugh. He swallowed the rest and stuck out his tongue, already tinged with various shades of red and blue. I giggled again. "Stop it."

We sat down on a concrete curb and I brushed my fingers across the cool grass, leaning back in the sunshine. I didn't know if my lollipop would melt, but I wasn't going to wait for it. I mimicked how Theo had bit it, and instantly my mouth was enveloped with a sweet sensation. I smiled. He had used his last few coins to buy us these, and I was grateful.

I blink at the memory. Or, at least, as best I can. My arms still feel heavy as I lift them, my fingers feeling for the little gel circles making the world around me fuzzy. I rub them away, careful not to poke my eyes this time. Gently, I push the lid of my sleep shell open and sit up.

Another day.

I hear the door to my room click and open, a portion of the wall sliding out. A woman steps inside with a timid smile, but I try not to look at her face. My eyes slip down to what she's holding. A syringe and a vial of green liquid.

"Good morning, Paige," she says pleasantly, locking the door behind her.

I don't care for her formal attitude. I get out of my shell and close the lid, pacing to sit in the stool on the opposite side of the small room. I know how this works, regardless of how nice she is. I roll up my sleeve as she comes closer, drawing the chemical into the syringe. "Just your daily dose," she says reassuringly. It comes out less like she's trying to comfort me, and more like she's trying to comfort herself.

I know why. The weight of the metal collar reminds me of exactly why I'm here.

She slips the needle into the vein on the inside of my elbow and I stare straight ahead, not even flinching as the cool liquid enters my bloodstream. I've never been a fan of needles, but it's over quickly. She uses a soft cotton pad to dab away the pinpricks of blood. Most often, a quick swipe is all it takes, but she's cautious as she does it.

It's confusing, her gentleness. It's not efficient. She smiles again and reaches up to pull the electrode pads off my temples, tugging at the skin. My hair sticks to the gelatinous residue it leaves behind. I rub it off before the woman can.

"I'm Doctor Selden," she says.

I keep my mouth closed. I don't know if this is a trick, but I don't want to guess wrong.

"I'm here to help you." Carefully, she caps the used syringe and slips it in her pocket. I watch her, my hands folded in my lap, trying to keep the suspicion off my face. She gently replaces the leads on my temples with smaller wireless ones that I wear throughout the day. They're cold when she puts them on. I pull my black hair over my face to cover them up.

"You don't have to be ashamed of those, you know. Everybody wears them."

I don't understand why she's treating me like this. Her voice is soft and she's staring at me, but not judgmentally; it's like a gentle curiosity. I keep my eyes hard as I hold her gaze. She's not my friend. I don't have friends.

She obviously wants me to say something, but after a few moments, she gives a quiet nod and leaves the room. The lock clicks behind her. I let out a growl once she's out of earshot. The other doctors, the old ones, they treat me like a specimen. Doctor Bracken whispers words like freak and mutant in my ear. I suppose I am. I suppose that's why they keep the collar on me. We're too powerful for them without it.

That's why they try not to interact with us. That's why we have to have six guards escort us to a different room for training. That's why they carry electric prods with them. I learned that the hard way. At one point, I would've smiled, knowing that even without our abilities that make us freaks and mutants, we're still dangerous. I can't muster much enthusiasm today.

I've only met my other super-abled companions in training or in passing. They keep us separated for a reason. If I press my ear to the door, I can hear murmurs of the doctors' exchanges; talk of a boy named Liam with acid generation, Fiona with her painful psionic shocks, Sarah with skeletal manipulation. I fought her once. She made bones tear through the skin on her forearms and fingers, lengthening and sharpening into lethal points. She was so fast, it took me a few minutes of her slicing open my skin until I could get a solid grasp on her mind.

I think that's why I'm nervous. We have more trials today. Sarah is the only other Category 7, but I'll probably be fighting some lower-level mutants too. I hope not. There's a Category 8 speedrunner named Jax. I don't know if I'll be able to get a stable hold because it runs so fast, but I'm curious to see exactly how he operates at that speed.

I can already feel the fight boiling in my veins, but I hold it back. The collar will shock me if I step out of line or if I try to connect with someone, even if it's accidental. From the fragments of memories I have, it seems like that happened a lot before I was taken in. I can restrain now, even if I don't get to see my family. I'll see them soon enough. 2 years, and then I'm 18, and they'll set me free.

I huff and slide off the stool. Until then, it's lots of medications, fighting, and waiting.

An automated, inhuman voice comes over the loudspeaker. "Number 16, we request your presence down in training room 4B."

"Who's we?" I yell at the ceiling, not even bothering to mask the fury in my voice.

The lock on the door clicks, and that's all the answer I receive. I sigh, the anger draining out of me as fast as it came. It's always fighting. It's like they're preparing me to kill someone instead of just teaching me to wrangle with my power.

I slip on a pair of boots and crack my knuckles in resignation. It's not like I ever had a choice to begin with.