This is what I did for NaNo last year, but I only made it about nine pages before my coursework overwhelmed me and demanded my attention. This is the first four pages. And I started NaNo with a vague premise and no characters in mind, so that was a huge contributor to my failure, and I know the lack of defined characters in this part is a glaring weakness of the piece (as well as the fact that this is unedited from its original NaNo form and I'm sure there are some tense disagreements-- I'm terrible at present tense!) When I take this up again, I'm going to be making a lot of changes, so this piece is essentially stand-alone now (characters will be older than I imagined here, I'm going to have to adjust the plot and the motives, the rest except for the prologue will be in the third person since I don't find first-person very conducive to storytelling, etc.)
But otherwise, this is probably the most satisfied I've ever been with anything I've plunked out over the years, and the only thing I've been proud enough to really share with other people. I hope you enjoy it, and please don't go easy on me, I'm very receptive to criticism and I really want to grow as a writer. Thanks in advance (:


(3226 words)

Prologue

I'm going to die here. It's all I can think about, just that one phrase running back and forth through my grey matter like a mantra. I'm going to die here in this hell hole. Maybe not today, maybe not for a good long while, but I know that I'm not going to die outside. I could die in a place that seems like 'outside', but it's not true outside. The breeze is made by hidden fans, the sun is a hologram, the grass is too emerald-green and its roots don't feed into dirt. It's all a very clever, very precise illusion. I'm trapped in a subterranean compound more heavily guarded than the crown jewels. Worth more, too. I want to elaborate on this place and how I managed to end up in this state of affairs, but I'm distracted by the sound of approaching gunfire, the harsh spitting sound of bullets hitting dirt.

I can't stop, even though it feels like my lungs are stuffed with fire that consumes all my oxygen, even though all the muscles in my legs are searing and screaming for me to stop, even though my mouth is too dry and my palms are too wet. I skid to a stop around the corner of a structure of some sort-- I don't care what the hell it is as long as it's a solid-- and try to catch my breath and still the beating of my heart that seems so loud that they should be able to hear it. But the marching of combat boots is fast approaching, and I know I've got only a few seconds to make a decision. If I stop here, I'll die. If I keep moving, I'll still die, but I won't die as quickly. I'm almost tempted to stop, just throw my hands in the air, walk into the field and embrace my fate, just so I can get a small tiny piece of revenge on the scientists, mess up their data... but I made a promise to someone.

The sound of running feet to the left startles me; my heart starts to race again, and I spin on my heel, hand plunged into the small pouch of metal bits at my hip. It's a futile move; I can't melt metal and form a weapon as fast as somebody else can pull a trigger and bury a bullet in my head. I could always try to stop the bullet, but I'm limited in that I have to be touching the metal to melt it, and would probably wind up with a bullet wound and damaged nerves in my hands, and then technically, they would still win.

The figure was much quicker than I'd anticipated, and slid into a crouch beside me, pressing a finger to her lips to silence me. I exhaled, relieved it was her and not one of the soldiers. The small girl's eyes darted about like a rabbit's beneath her copper bangs, her limbs trembling uncontrollably, clutched to her chest in the most disgusting kind of fear. It made my chest lurch uncomfortably, rage igniting a spark that sent flames synapsing through my nerves, that these scientists could morally tolerate this, making the girl so afraid for her life. But now was not the time to be focused on my outrage; it would all be for nought if we didn't make it out of this puzzle alive.

I get to my feet, and motion to my companion that we ought to meet at the large building up ahead, at the end of the arena. It had been deemed the meeting area because it could safely hide all of us, but had been strategically placed in a pretty open place, making it difficult to reach undetected. That would be a problem. If the soldiers saw us run there, they would follow us, and their sub-machine guns would vehemently disagree with our assessment of the hiding place.

With a shuddering breath, the copper-haired girl nods and stands up... and then disappears. Surprisingly, I'm not as shocked by this event than I probably should be, and nowhere near as perplexed as the average person would be. She can teleport herself without any external devices or apparatus, which is... a pretty big deal. The only hitch is, she doesn't know how to control it so that the destination is more specific. Right now, she can control her arrival point to a few square metres, but there's nothing stopping her from appearing in front of a group of soldiers, and... I can understand her fear; we're all stuck in this chamber with a bunch of soldiers who would love nothing more than to turn us into swiss cheese over the course of an SMG cartridge or two, and the only thing we can depend on are our underdeveloped, unpredictable abilities... whatever they may be. In certain cases, it'd almost be better to be powerless than gifted in the way that one is.

So now I'm completely alone, and finding it increasingly more difficult to remain calm and think rationally. The sound of combat boots is now the beat beneath a melody of garbled radio chatter, and the music of my demise is far too close for comfort. I have to make a decision now, before they find me and rob me of that right to do so. I run my fingers through the metal pieces in my leather pouch before drawing a handful out into the light. Almost immediately, they begin to melt and form a homogenous pool of mercury-silver molten metal in my palm, until I will them to form a sharp, yet roughly-formed blade. Now, at least, if they find me, I can draw them away from the rest of the group; I have a fighting chance.

They're storming down the middle of the arena, on my right, too close for me to sneak by undetected that way. On the left, there's a narrow gap between the next structure and the wall of the arena, just enough that I could probably slip through. I peek around the corner of the wall, my teeth grit so tightly that I can feel a headache forming. These soldiers shot first and asked questions second, so naturally I was a little worried to stick my most vital organ out into the open where it could be perforated by a flurry of bullets. I peeked around quickly first, and upon seeing nothing, took a better look the second time. Nothing; crumbling buildings with no doors on a bed of dark gold sand contained by a tall, imposing wall of dark grey concrete. Epinephrine courses through my veins, shutting down all my non-vital systems and redirecting all my body's resources to my heart, lungs and muscles as my hands curl into themselves in sheer terror at what I am about to attempt... and hopefully accomplish.

And before I grasp what I'm doing, I'm running, clearing the gap between me and the next structure, and slipping through the narrow space, and... and I'm unable to believe that I'm still alive. I have to bite my tongue, hard, to keep myself from laughing out of relief. The meeting spot isn't far off now. I can see it. Forward a little more and to the right. Across a wide gap that is perfectly in line with the sights of the soldiers' guns.

My stomach lurches as I hear the quick staccato sound of a discharging machine gun, afraid for the rest of the people in the arena. The sooner we are reunited, the sooner we're a tiny fraction of a percent safer. My feet shift beneath me without my consent, restless, dying for this madness to be over. I make another breathless dash for the next sheltering structure, this one lower to the ground, not quite my height, and thus making me vulnerable. I slide in behind the dilapidated concrete and let myself sit for a few moments, mentally cursing my rotten luck, not only for being way too visible for my liking, but also for the next closest hiding place; it's pressed up against the wall of the arena. There's no other way around except a wide circle to the right, where I will surely be gunned down.

My breath catches in my throat and it takes all my courage not to burst into tears of anger and fear and just... giving up. It's not easy; the lump in my throat seems suffocating, and I have to bite my knuckles until I feel a tooth break through the skin. The pain distracts me enough to clear my head of all the emotion and exhaustion, and I can consider my options.

Option one (and by far the most tempting): Give up. My limbs have no intent to move, my mind is fuzzy with exhaustion and dehydration, and I want nothing more than this torture to be over. Even once we meet at the other end, we still have to figure out a puzzle-- all while remaining undetected by the soldiers-- in order to leave the arena. My optimism (which was slim to begin with) is waning. There's no way.

But then I remember a family from a life that seems separate from my own personal history, a little girl with smiling eyes who idolized me, and somewhere in the more proximal past, a tall, mysterious, endearing young man with whom I exchanged promises. And then a whole host of people came to mind next, people who were just as stuck as I was somewhere else in this hellish rat maze, and as each one passes by my mind's eye, I realize Option One is a bust.

Option two: wait for someone to realize I'm stuck back here. This idea's just as grim as the first; the others have enough problems on their hands that they shouldn't have to worry about me, too. And, of course, the people most likely to find me first are the soldiers, who I have no intention of meeting if I can at all avoid it.

Option three arrives accompanied with a sigh of defeat: get up, run like hell into the path of the soldiers, then do my very best to fight back and, most importantly, stay alive. My heart is still beating itself to a pulp against my ribcage, and my hands won't stop trembling. The rough blade I made is clutched close to my chest like a talisman. I move into a low crouch, making sure my head is well below the top edge of the structure, and try to calm myself down. There's no two ways about it. I can't check for soldiers, because I lose the element of surprise if they spot me observing their position. I can't think about what I'm about to do too closely, because I already think I might hurl as it is. I can't stop thinking about how much it's going to hurt to have a bullet rip its way through my body (preferably not my head, if I get any choice in the matter). And
I can't hesitate any longer.

I throw myself forward, using the wall I'd been hiding behind as a springboard to give me a powerful forward momentum from the beginning. I can't help the tears now; I'm so scared, they slip soundlessly from my tear ducts, but I can't even pause to think about them, let alone swipe them from my cheeks.
Oh, please... please, no.
My goal seems so far, and with every step, it feels like I'm widening the gap between myself and safety.
Dear god, someone save me...
Time has stopped almost completely. Air has congealed like gelatin around my form; it's hard to breathe, I can't move my legs.
I'm dying... I'm... I'm...
I can't see where I'm going, and all I know is that I'm not going to make it there.
I'm going to die here.
I feel phantom pains of bullets tearing apart my flesh. Every fibre of my body is in agony.
I'm going to die here.
I hear gunshots, and my heart drops, but I don't stop running.
I'm going to die here.
I'm gasping for breath, and no doubt they've heard me by now. I keep running. The wall I'm looking for looms over me, but it feels like I'm not getting any closer.
I can't die here, no. Please, no...
How long have I been running across that one gap? It feels like hours. Impossibly long. Like I've been suspended in time, an artifact of this one moment put in a museum for all the world to see. Or a piece of art, an image of desperation and pain and the pure primal yearning for safety.

Finally, I'm there, I'm behind the building. But, unfortunately, I'm not alone. As I careen around the corner, I collide with another figure, and instantly every muscle tenses to the point where it feels they may snap. I've got the blade out in front of me, feeling like it's taking my retinas hours to focus on the image before me. The image finally resolves into a familiar face, and suddenly he's got his hands on mine, lowering my blade, and he's telling me to be quiet, that I'll give them away, and it takes a few moments before I realize that I'm sobbing. He wipes my cheeks with the sleeve of his sweater, and I feel embarrassed; I'm acting like a child. He's so calm and collected, I must seem like I'm making a huge deal out of nothing.

He looks away from me, giving me a much-needed few instants to collect myself again. He's listening for soldiers, I can tell by the way he doesn't move a muscle, barely breathing. Then he returns to a normal posture, less rigid, and looks back at me to make sure I'm okay. I nod. When he speaks, it's just the barest whisper, but it resonates in my head as though he'd shouted it.

“We're almost there. Let's keep moving.”

And somehow, it makes all the difference in the world. We can do this.

The meeting point wasn't far off now, just forward around some of the larger buildings. My companion ducked his head around the corner I'd just inadvertently ambushed him from, signalling with a wave of his hand that I should start running. My muscles argued with his logic, and each running lunge felt like I was catching fire, burning up, like I'll be reduced to a pile of ash by the time I reach the shelter. This gap feels shorter than the last, even though the distance I have to overcome is longer. He's immediately behind me, running as hard as I am, and somehow having him with me makes it easier to keep moving, to keep optimistic about the odds of our survival.

When we reach the meeting point, we're received by a general tensing of the entire group; hands flare up with power, defensive stances are taken, crude weapons are raised. It lasts a few milliseconds; a mere instant after that, we're pulled into arms, quiet words of relief that we're still alive are exchanged, and then a silence overtakes us. Some are wounded, but only superficial wounds. What worries me more is that not everyone is present, and I have the sinking feeling that they're not going to be meeting us here.

We fall silent as we analyze the locking mechanism on the wall across the small space from us. They had clearly had us in mind specifically when constructing its lock. It's half the height of the wall, divided into three interlocking channels, and plastic; useless, immaleable plastic, which renders my ability useless. Others of the group curse when they realize their abilities, too, have been rendered ineffective. It looks like a lock that requires a fluid to function, that flows in channels and somehow transports keystones (which we no doubt have to find) to certain points in the locking mechanism. I suddenly have an idea, since I know which ones of us can manipulate fluids. We can try out some of the pebbles on the ground, and see if it just has to be a weight, or if it must be a specific stone in each place. Which would take a long, long time...

I'm about to vocalize my idea, but it appears we're out of time. The drum of boots, the clank of armour, the buzz of voices over a radio is much louder than it had been before. We all hurry into the building we're tucked behind, the only one with a door, but unfortunately it also has many windows on three of the sides. We crouch beneath the panes, exchanging worried looks as the shadows of the soldiers fall across us. Some of us want to fight back, some of us want to hide here indefinitely. My nerves are taut like guitar strings, and even the smallest sounds of a body shifting outside sets me on edge, vibrating in the key of stress.

A window is shattered from the outside, spraying broken crystals of glass into the room. The butt of a sub-machine gun had been jammed through the glass, then removed, flipped, and its muzzle now observes the room through the opening. I was on my feet the instant I heard the shatter, and now my hands are on the hands of the gun's owner, and a pull, and now my misshapen blade, and the attacker's neck, and... and...

Blood. So much blood. Someone gasps somewhere in the room. It spills over my hands like a red river, and it seems like it's never going to end. I marvel at the colour of it, its viscosity, not quite sure what I'd done. Someone's pulling me to the ground under a window pane and dragging the body into the room. It hits the ground with a solid, wet thump. The head lolls in my direction, and I feel sick. What is this thing? It's not quite... human.

I don't have enough time to think about the appalling abomination on the floor because more windows are being shattered, and muzzles of guns are peering at us. We're huddled together in a far corner, and it will only take a small percentage of the bullets they intend to send our way to kill us all. I'm resigned to my fate; in the few moments we have left, I turn to the boy I exchanged promises with, clasp his hand in mine, and close my eyes.

Time is ticking by like a heartbeat; rhythmic, but disjointed, a fractured, uneven sequence of existence. In one moment, we're taking our last breaths, but two beats later, we've leapt through time and space, and my hand sits empty and limp at my side. The boy is gone, and my eyes open to the image of him in the middle of the room, hands raised. Another tick. His skin bursts in small flurries of blood as bullets nick him or fly straight through and leave their red threads slinking down his body. Time skips. The ground is shaking. The building is crumbling. The air is restless with gunfire. Somebody is screaming, and it takes a few moments before I realize it's me.

You promised me!