My heart practically jumped out of my chest as I whirled around to see the commotion on the streets. 

In the center of the road was a large crater, cracked rock and debris flung all over the place. Citizens were screaming, cars were strewn to the side, and the midst of it all, two men stood tall in the chaos — one with a dark bodysuit and black hair, the other with a burly build and long brown strands.

"Answer me. Are you serious about killing me?" Burly roared. "Are you really serious? Are you that much of an idiot, huh?"

Black Hair was dead silent, only charging at his opponent again at lightning speed.

Dropping to the ground, he kicked out his legs and slammed them into Burly's calves, sweeping his enemy off his feet. Burly's back slammed into the earth with a deafening thud that might as well have shook the ground.

I swallowed, my heart punching my chest and rattling my ribcage. 

Just what in the world was going on?

"Marko!" shouted Burly, jumping to his feet and thrusting a fist into his opponent's face. 

In a flash of motion, Marko's head jerked back — hell, his entire body almost collapsed from one superhuman punch — and I swore a couple teeth flew out, accompanied by streaks of crimson blood. 

Screams erupted from the crowd on the other side of the fight, all gathered in one corner near a building. 

Burly whacked his left fist into Marko's face way before the poor guy could even recover. A deafening crack resounded through the air, and Burly didn't waste time. Another punch shot right into Marko's gut, and then a kick that sent his body flying and skidding across the broken road. Three loud thuds that rang in my ears, almost shattering the earth.

The stocky man pounced on Marko's curled-up, battered body that looked like it was on the verge of death. Burly slammed a foot into Marko's stomach, kneeled down, and began a barrage of hits. 

WHACK!

SMASH!

SMACK!

"Oy, Ch-Chandler…" Marko's face was a mix of black and purple, with splatters of bright scarlet blood splattered on top. "You're not… gonna win this—"

Abruptly, Burly — or Chandler, rather — siezed Marko by the throat with both hands and squeezed. Just squeezed and clenched the life out of the man as his face turned red and eyes glossy. Marko's choked gasps for air were drowned out by the horrified shouts and cries from the audience. 

I gritted my teeth, clutching my water bottle. Even though I'd die if I stepped in, shame was crawling up on me for not doing anything. Fear was locking me in place — of course it would; there was literally a superhuman that was beating and choking someone to death — and paralyzing me permanently. Even if I wanted to take a step forward, invisible icy hands tugged my legs back.

Tears were running down Marko's beet-red face, but after three more beats of choking, his body went limp, eyes closing as Chandler threw his victim down on the floor.

He huffed a sigh and stood up.

BANG!

The second Chandler's back straightened, a gunshot rang out loud — yet there were no bullets; only a thin glowing rope that snapped and bound Chandler's body, arms strapped to his sides. I nearly screamed along with the crowd, but stifled it and whipped around, my head pounding. 

A blonde woman dressed in a black outfit strode forward with a strange green-and-blue pistol-like device in her hands. The rope hung from the business end of the weapon.

So now the authorities were here? Spot-on timing, coming right after someone already died.

She wasn't a cop, though. Cops didn't wear black uniforms or have these kinds of weapons. Who were these people?

"Ma'am." The woman looked at me. "Please, exit this scene. We'd rather not have citizens so close when handling situations like these."

I snapped my head to the right, eyes resting on the sight of Chandler, who was grunting and wriggling in the tight binding, his bright blue eyes full of fury. The man glanced up at the tiny squad of law enforcement (or whatever they realy were) marching from the tall buildings lining the sidewalk all the way over to him.

"Miss," repeated the woman, yanking my attention to her. "We need you to leave."

"Okay, okay," I said, stepping back. "Sorry, I will."

In a situation like this, that response sounded pathetic, but what else could I say?

I backed off from the incoming squad, eventually spinning around and forcing myself to walk the other way. Although, with shaky legs and shallow breaths, that wasn't exactly easy.

The image kept flashing in my mind. The sight of Marko's bruised and bloody face, turning red and being soaked in tears. I was used to seeing death on the streets — oh, horribly used to it — but that…

That left me rattled to the core.

In just a few days, chaos was already starting up. Even though I’d been expecting it from the start, I still had to ask: just how bad was this going to get? 

Clutching my water bottle, I forced myself to breathe deeply and stabilize my legs, which were probably going to give out at any moment. Ideally, I would have found a place to sit down and recover from what just happened. 

Too bad there was nothing like that in sight. 

Chandler's screams still resounded from far behind me, and I could still make out a few words.

"I worked for the government! I thought you guys still needed me! You can't arrest me!"

"Marko was the one working for the rebellion!"

"Why does it matter that I'm a superhuman? Hey! HEY! What are you…"

At some point, his voice trailed off: a clear sign that I was far away enough from the scene now.

I halted at the edge of the sidewalk, pulling myself away from the road and glancing up.

That's when four screams broke out on my left. 

Almost adding in a fifth scream, I looked to the left, heartbeat spiking. My eyes rested on the sight of four execution sites, all lined up one next to each other. Four blue-tinted glass boxes encased one terrified person per container, with a guillotine-like blade hovering right over their heads. A small crowd of people sat around in neat fold-up chairs, as they watched the blades inch closer to the victims' heads. The screams from inside the box were seen — wide open mouths, quivering irises — but not heard.

Not a single sound was heard.

In the midst of the chaos — the crying, the screaming, the laughter (yes, laughter) — one young man stood up and shouted above it all. 

"STOP! JUST STOP!"

He raced out the gasping crowd and to the boxes, red hair shining in the sun as he slammed a fist in front of the sturdy glass.

"Mom! Mom!" he shouted at the worried old lady inside. "Mom, we gotta —"

"Get away!" shouted an older woman from the crowd, leaping to her feet and dragging the younger man away by his hoodie. "There's nothing we can fucking do!"

"The hell, Adalynne?" Red Hair shouted. "We gotta save her!"

"We can't! And this is your fault, goddamnit!" Adalynne screamed back, slamming Red Hair back into his seat before sitting down herself. 

My heart plummeted the same way the guillotines did, slicing the victims in the boxes right in half. Waves of scarlet and crimson gushed out and splashed the glass, accompanied by slops of meaty organ matter flying and squelching against the walls. 

Another death I'd seen today. Four deaths I'd seen today. Five total.

Not a single ounce of disgust reached me — since, on average, you could see about ten street executions a week — although my heart did sink, dropping deep as if the sadness was pushing it down. 

The red-haired boy was crying, tears streaking down his dark skin as he howled into the air.

"Bastards! All of you, bastards!" he hollered, slamming his chair to the floor.

It took a moment for me to recognize who he was talking to: the four people, all clad in black, who had stepped out from behind the execution boxes — they were the Masters of this whole ordeal.

In a split second, he was charging at them with his fist raised high.

"Fuck you!" he screeched. "Fuck all of you —"

"Cillian!" Adalynne shouted, voice full of heat as she yanked him away from the Masters. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Cillian kicked and flailed and thrashed like mad, but Adalynne smacked him down with her palm. "Stay down!"

Something made me want to move forward, to separate the two, but I stood frozen. Was that even a smart idea, getting involved in this issue? No, right? I'd fail at solving the problem. 

But then again, it felt so cruel to just stand and watch this happen…

One of the Masters stepped forward and, placing one hand on each person's shoulder, yanked Cillian and Adalynne away from each other.

"Sit down," his cold voice boomed, like a wave of frost through the air. "Get away from here and sit down. Now."

The two in front of him fell silent, staring at the man for one, two… three moments. Adalynne then tugged Cillian by the wrist and dragged him back to his seat.

I stood frozen, sucked into the moment. 

What… what just happened?

Something furry suddenly brushed past my ankle. I snapped my gaze to the ground to see the tail of a black cat sway left and right, a tiny, white, star-shaped spot at the very tip. It looked back at me with piercing green eyes, as if it saw what I'd just saw, before bounding off across the street.

The last detail I caught before it rounded a corner was a stained yellow collar that was tattered on one end. 

I stepped back, exhaling deeply. I didn't even realize how much air had been trapped in my lungs until now, and I certainly didn't notice how much I was sweating and shaking either. My eyes trailed back to the execution, where the Masters were speaking inaudible noise at the front.

I already knew the executees did nothing wrong, because that's just how it was every execution. Someone simply spoke their mind — maybe about the government or Exelonians (even years after the Code-Exo war, there still remained few who had the guts to talk about them) or the current situation with superhumans — but it was considered too "out of line" to be spoken at all. So what was the answer? Killing them, because that made all the sense in the world to Codex's justice and order system.

Goddamnit. What was wrong with this country?

Ding!

The chime resounded from the walk sign across the street. With a sigh, I spun on my heel and started dragging my still-trembling feet across the road. Even though I wasn't the one doing the fighting or choking or shouting or executing today, just seeing and fearing the sights drained me enough. 

On the way back to Mom's house, I crossed my fingers and hoped for no more horrors.

Today already had enough of them; I didn't need any more.