Rise of Legends

Over the past many years, humanity has been changing. There have been many causes, some technological, some alien, some mythological, some biological. But a single fact remains- much of humanity is changing. And it is time for these Mutants, these Monsters, these Legends, to come to the forefront.

You are the modern Legends, and it is time for you to rise above prejudice. The people fear you, hate you, and mock you. When you are finished, they will love you, fear you, idolise you, hate you. It all depends on what comes next...

reserved

It wasn’t an easy walk back to her usual haunt. Breaking through metal fences by frying them with shots of electricity wasn’t too difficult, as long as no-one noticed she had access to places people wouldn’t notice. Home was a distant paradise during chases, it would be days before the newest corporation on the market gave up their pursuit and let her be. In the meantime, the carpark was home.

Ducking through the hole in the wall, she strode across to her makeshift bench and undid her veil and headdress. They had become a part of her in a way, by disguising her face she was adopting a new one. One of just eyes, the only part of her body not radiating electricity. The only part of her left that had real colour.

Grabbing her phone, she flicked through the messages, letting her long white hair shake loose before bringing it to her ear. One caught her attention. Returning the phone to her gaze, she tapped out a number, one she knew quite well, and often used. Returning it to her ear, she took a sharp breath before speaking.

“Mom… I’m okay, no big deal…” She glanced around the hovel, sitting down on the used mattress. The conversation was quite brief, ending with a long, drawn breath. Replacing the phone on the table, she pulled off her gloves and lay back against the tattered pillow. Not too long until she would get a break, at the very least find someone to play patsy to the agents for her.

A young girl by the name of Serina Ivanavna was sprawled across her bed, surrounded by artifacts of school. Math and English, Science and Social Studies, Health and P.E. The official world of pencils and papers, solid, concrete numbers that could be added and subtracted with very little argument or room for opinion, appealed to this girl quite strongly. Even in so diminutive an embodiment of such a realm as the common homework assignment could Serina find comforting sanctuary from the land of hate and ostracization that faced her each day at 7:00 A.M. sharp, and oftentimes she found herself checking and double-checking each paper for the slightest mistake.

Yet even the cruel place of the outside world managed to disturb Serina's oasis of academic meditation. The pencil slipped from her grasp for the second time that hour, the third that day, the forty-seventh that month, and for the twelve-thousand, eight-hundred and sixty-first in her life the pencil dropped noiselessly from the grasp of the girl's drastically elongated digits.

She didn't even deign to give this particular incident any special attention, such as the dramatic sigh, the enraged groan, or even the subtle eye-close-head-dip. Instead, Serina simply plucked the pencil from its residence amidst the folds of the bedsheets and returned her attention to the work.

Her handwriting was improving, gradually.

John walked the streets. He was down to only two targets, now, and was starting to think about life after revenge. For a long time he assumed that would be it- Revenge, until he died. But with only two left, who could blame him for feeling optimistic? maybe things would go well, he'd kill them, but then what? He could find work as an english teacher, perhaps, spend his time imparting wisdom to his students, passing on a message of tollerence to the next generation. Or he could spend his time protecting youth in the city, as he has on occasion before. Especially the young mutants, so many unable to control their gifts, so many in constant pain...

But first, he had food to find. Revenge was fulfilling work, but it was hardly filling. He wandered the streets for an hour, or maybe it was two, he never could tell the time, before finding a relatively secluded fast food place. The store had closed hours ago, and noone was even glancing at it as he passed. Still, always good to be sure. He pulled out his quill, flicked it through the air. Surge. The word flew to it's target, the lone streetlight illuminating the parking lot. the bulb flashed bright, and went out with a muted bang.

Walking up to the wall, John traced its contours, before finding a promising point- a ruberized seal, covering a crack from years past- perhaps a car had drifted into the building, time had done it's work, or vandalism weakened the wall. Either way, a spiderweb would out, covered in rubber. Widen.

15 minutes later, John was once more on the streets, enjoying a burger and a shake. Not the best food, of course, but it had been years since he last had good food, so he was willing to appreciate even the lowly fast food burger. Starvation would do that to you.

Flicking her phone aside so it landed on the table, she rested in the musty armchair for a few minutes, tapping her fingers together with the satisfying snap of arcing. Bored, so damn bored. All she could do really was sit around the hovel to hide from cheap electrical scanners.

Her feet met the floor once more. Grabbing her hood and veil, she tied her hair back up and re-covered her face. It had become a part of who she was, the concealing of her face. Taking her gloves in hand, she left the hovel and jogged down to the ground floor to plan out her route.

She had to avoid any secure buildings like banks and police stations just to prevent the misconception she was planning something shifty. Tightly doing up her gloves, the fence was well behind her by the time she was ready to get going once more.

Serina neatly scribbled "83" in the final blank space on the sheet of paper and, retrieving the selection of others like it, placed them all in a single stack and knocked the papers on the table to line them up for maximum neatness.

And now to check my answers.

The girl really had nothing to do. She was not artistic, found no joy in poetry or television, and oftentimes found herself staring out the window or napping for lack of any alternative. Thus, homework was a godsend.

She recovered one paper from the top of the thin, delicate stack and placed it down in front of her, chewing on the end of her pencil as she scrutinized the numbers.

There are always rumors of strange things happening.

Things that everyone witnessed but no one can prove, things too wild to believe or things too frightening to believe.

One of the strangest things is that of a car. An old car, perhaps from the 60s, late 50s, painted a mellow shade of blue and with a license plate that changes every sunset. They say...they say it drives itself around. Like Christine. And that it merely watches and waits, from the tops of parking garages, the dark corner of a parking lot, blended in at car shows or, more boldly, waiting at intersections calmly.

Of course, such things can never really be proven, either way. If ever you want to have fun, bring up the supernatural. If someone believes in it, argue against it. If they refuse to believe in it, argue for it. You'll see how bigoted people are when it comes to strange things.

There was only one thing for sure-the urban legends varied from the car eating people, to the car that Kennedy was shot in (this, of course, only fooled the extremely gullible).

Well, perhaps there were two things. One, was that it was a sick car. The second was that the car didn't drive itself, although only one person in the world knew it. And it was the little girl not behind the wheel, but inside it. The girl that moved the gears with her mind and braked at will, or accelerated with the blink of a metaphorical eye.

A girl named Sylvia, who knew the words to every song on the radio and seemingly never ran out of gasoline. A very strange girl-itd been quite a while since Sylvia had any company. She settled for going through the car washes around town a few times a day, which as anyone who has been through a carwash can tell you, is nearly as much fun as having friends.

And so, Sylvia went.