The night air fills my lungs. It's been quite a while since I've been able to move outside the institution for so long and follow my own decision without feeling remorse or guilt.
The sky above me is pitch black and the crescent moon is covered in clouds. Then the clouds move on to reveal a single star. Almost as if its light wants to assist me in this darkness.
Just dimly I recognize the outlines of the houses. For some reason the street lights have turned off, but even with the poor visibility, everything is painfully familiar. My heart knows the way, leading me forward like a reliable compass.
The closer I get, the more restless I become. The memories I have vehemently tried to push to the far corner of my consciousness creep back with a thud.
I hear his bright laughter, which I wanted to protect at all costs, see his loving eyes that caught my own with so much emotion, and feel his heartbeat under my fingertips, which took all doubt from me and let me know that I don't have to wander through this world alone.
How foolish of me.
I tried to forget all that. Yet I of all people should understand that it is impossible. You can't turn off the past as if it was a simple light switch of a lamp.
The road slopes slightly and maple trees form an avenue in front of me. Their colorful leaves sway gently in the wind, dance in the air and gather into little heaps at the curb.
Vaguely, I notice an unpleasant burning on my right wrist, which becomes more intense with each heartbeat. I immediately interrupt my ability and look down at my wristband, which is covered by the fabric of my jacket.
Has the clearance been changed? It would be unusual for it to happen so quickly.
A humming sound catches my attention. Startled, I raise my head and look over the rooftops. My eyes don't detect a drone, but the sound is unmistakable.
With no time to spare, I pay no attention to staying hidden and rush across the sidewalk. Two houses make up the end of the quiet neighborhood. While I brush one completely out of my field of vision, I approach the other with cautious steps. The porch light isn't on and an off-road vehicle is parked in the middle of the driveway. A figure lingers outside the front door. However, all his attention is on his cell phone.
My head is rattling. If the pictures I have seen are actually true, then there is another person in the house.
Slowly and extremely thoughtfully I move forward, but without warning my legs give way. The burning pain on my wrist becomes biting and spreads like a thousand little ants all over my upper arm.
I ignore it as best as I can.
I can't show any weakness now!
On shaky legs, I push myself up and force myself to keep running. However, I feel dizzier with each passing second. The stinging pressure and the fiery feeling are almost unbearable and at the same time I wonder what the hell is happening to me right now. Eventually I can't take it anymore and lean against a thick tree trunk. The rough bark stings my back.
A wave of pain overtakes my body. I clench my teeth tightly to keep a sound from escaping. A hand lands on my mouth. A faint, flickering light catches my attention, shining red in my face. My throat tightens instantly. The sleeve of my jacket must have slipped due to the movement, so it shows me my wristband. But instead of a dull green, it flashes fiery red at brisk intervals.
Red.
A sign should a subject disobey NOS's orders and be marked for killing. It takes some time to process this information.
With restless fingers, I grip my arm, which by now feels a bit numb. My clearance wasn't just changed for no reason - it was revoked the moment I was marked as a Renegade.
That would also explain the tremendous pain. Without the clearance, the wristband responds to the energy streams we unleash as soon as we try to use our abilities. The mere attempt to use them without authorization ends in agonizing electric shocks. These are so intense that they can cause, among other things, drowsiness, dizziness, memory lapses, and even unconsciousness or seizures. In the worst cases, it leads to respiratory arrest.
Shit.
Gritting my teeth, I peer out onto the porch. The cell phone light reveals position and stature. Burly, shaved head and rather tall. Completely defenseless, he leans next to the front door. I can speak of luck that he is so careless and hasn't noticed me yet.
Without wasting a second thought on possible consequences, I let my guard down. Immediately the man takes aim at me - he is taller and stronger than me, but his footwork is miserable.
He approaches me and puts all his weight into the strike. I duck under his arm and ram my elbow into his ribs. Before he gets a chance to grab me, I jump to the side and reach for the knife in my hip pocket. In a fluid twisting motion, I slam the handle against his skull.
Gasping, I feel his warm breath against my cheek, then he collapses from the force of the attack.
I hurriedly search the man, but he has neither an ID nor any other clue as to who he is and why he is standing in front of my friend's house. The only thing that catches my eye is a tattoo of a Phoenix on his torso.
A siren makes me sit up. Should NOS already be on their way to look for the subject from the news?
I really shouldn't waste any excess time, I think, as I turn toward the house.
Inside, it is unusually quiet. The entrance area is dark and the lively voices that used to welcome me can't be heard. On the doormat I find worn-out sneakers and the work shoes of Sam's father. On the wardrobe hang a coat, leather jacket, woolen scarf and beanie. All men's clothes and very untidily thrown over the hooks. A bad feeling creep over me. The hallway in my memory is filled with fresh cut flowers and framed photos. It radiated warmth and security. This one seems cold, almost lifeless.
A narrow beam of light comes from the kitchen. The door is ajar.
"My patience is wearing thin," a voice says menacingly. "Tell me where she is already!"
Something crashes to the floor with a clang.
"Dad!"
My heart slumps to the floor. That voice ... It's a little deeper, but just as gentle to my ears as it was back then.
"S-Sam ... stay where you are."
"Shut up!" the stranger roars.
Finally, I reach the door. A young man is sitting on one of the three bar stools in front of the kitchen island. Casually, with an uncaring expression, he plays with a folding knife in his hands. Flips it open, flips it closed, and flips it open again.
Sam's father sits huddled at his feet. I recognize him at first glance. He just hasn't changed at all. He is still wearing fabric trousers, a dress shirt and a lab coat. His lower lip is beaten bloody and one eye is already beginning to swell.
Sam is standing a few steps away from him in white shirt and sweatpants. He has inherited his mother's black hair and his father's eyes and nose. As far as I can tell, he has no external injuries. "Last warning!" the stranger barks. From his chest holster he withdraws a pistol and holds it up. "Start talking, or would should I rather shoot your son? Right here, right now?"
"Please ..."
"Then open your fucking mouth and talk!"
"Diane's dead!" Sam's father replies coolly.
"Dead?" In disbelief, the stranger shakes his head. "Nonsense."
"I'm telling the truth. My wife died in a traffic accident four years ago."
"Don't give me that bullshit!"
A quiet voice in my head whispers that I have to do something. I can't just stand there and wait for the stranger to pull the trigger, can I?
Sam is desperately pleading to leave his father alone and his panic makes me forget everything around me.
So, I rush into the kitchen and grab the stranger's wrist. Under my fingers, I feel his muscles tense as he finally pulls the trigger. The bullet flies past me and smashes into the wall behind me. Breathless, I kick him in the shin and twist his arm behind his back. Groaning, he drops his weapon.
I push the pistol out of his reach with my foot and take a swing, but then my arm is suddenly caught. In the corner of my eye, I can see the figure I left on the porch. Before I can even react, a cracking pain explodes on the left side of my face.
Holy shit!
My own soft-heartedness is now my downfall. I stagger several steps sideways and find my footing at the kitchen island. Just in time I manage to dodge his punching arm. I'm about to counterattack when Sam's voice makes me pause. Behind Baldy, his partner injects a transparent liquid into the veins of Sam’s father. Within seconds, he lies limp in his attacker's arms.
"We're leaving!" he turns to Baldy.
As quick as a flash, my opponent follows up with a kick to my stomach, causing me to lose my balance.
Up you go, is the only thing I can think of. I straighten up and feel for my own pistol, but just then a weight lands on me. That's when I hear hasty words, "Let's get out of here.", "Don't mind them.", "Move your ass!". A door is slammed forcefully and an engine is turned on.
"Dad!" Abruptly, Sam pushes himself up and rushes into the hallway. With my hand, I grab his arm and pull him back.
"Let go of me! Get the fuck off me! They got my dad and I -" His gaze blazes with aggressiveness, and as soon as it crosses mine, it's like two cold bolts of lightning are striking me. The pain in the left side of my face is still present, but at this moment I feel something much worse. There is a fear gnawing inside me that Sam's feelings have turned to hate. I can't blame him. After all, it was me who let him down.
"Tobias?"
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