Why was I so quickly desensitized to the rising rates of superhuman crime?

Two more weeks had passed — yes, two more lovely weeks of being on-edge and wondering when the government would pull some crazy dangerous scheme on me. But as I walked through the streets, still scared of my surroundings, the only real difference was the Patrollers littering the sidewalk. 

Unfortunately, that difference was terrifying enough.

On one hand, I finally figured out who the mysterious squad that dealt Chandler was, and there hadn't been another superhuman incident — at least not in Arlox; the other cities were probably hell right now — since they were around. 

On the other hand, this didn't spell out anything good. 

The president had brought Patrollers back. Ten years since the Chain of Rebellions and they had returned.

I couldn't imagine anything worse.

Rows of people clad in black uniforms with bright gold badges supervised the buildings, shops, and houses in Arlox, each of them holding a shiny black gun. As I passed by a white-walled jewelry store, eight Patrollers' gazes locked onto mine, sending bolts of fear through my body. I looked away, but not before I saw one of them twitch their arm, like they were fighting the urge to shoot me. Because I was the famous superhuman in these parts, and they knew that.

These people brought back nothing good. They brought back horrible memories of the Lockdown punishments. I was there when it happened — five years old when it started, eleven when it ended — and every time it was brought to mind, a bright flame of fear sparked in my heart.

Now that there were Patrollers everywhere — signals of the past everywhere — I could hardly bear the reminders. The sounds of Kora's screams and cries, of shattering glass and gunfights outside rang out in my mind. The images of me almost fainting from starvation flashed in my head when I turned a corner and spotted the bright-eyed Patroller who'd been in charge of locking up our fridges and anywhere else we kept meals, removing access to food in our own homes.

He made eye contact with me, and I jumped. Glancing away, I spedwalk past him. 

They were back again. Back to make sure no superhumans got out of line. Just how, during the punishments, they wanted to make sure no citizens got out of line. 

But both the Patrollers and the people had caused an entire massacre once — I was there to see it in its entirety, after all — so really, how safe was this? How was there any telling that the same thing wouldn't happen again?

I gulped once, grimacing at how dry my throat had gotten. Across the street was the grocery store. I exhaled slowly and steeled my core. All I had to do was grab two things, and then I'd be back at the dorms, safe and sound. 

Just twenty more minutes, and I wouldn't feel scared anymore.

The second the walk sign came on, I crossed the street and came to the front of the store. There were barely any Patrollers here, but why did it feel like there were still eyes glued to me? None of the citizens were looking, but something…. something was watching.

I stopped and glanced around, eyeing the brown building that stretched from right to left. No sign of anyone suspicious. 

Swallowing yet again, I made my way in. 

The uneasy feeling stopped once I got back to the dorms. Maybe it was just the cozy atmosphere of the blue-walled room that calmed me down, or the fact that I was completely alone now.

Then again, even when I was driving back to the dorms, the sensation of eyes glued to me didn't leave, and I was alone when I was driving, right?

… Right?

Passing by a huddle of uni students — during a double-take, I realized they were Desmond's best friends — I hoisted the grocery package higher in my arms and continued down the hallway. 

"So what was Desmond even a part of?" asked one guy in the group with short black hair and a plaid shirt. Last I recalled, his name was Connor. 

"I have no clue! I had no idea he was hiding so many secrets. But the news says they're refusing to give information about him," grumbled another girl (whose name I'd forgotten), scrolling through her phone with a frown. "What has our best friend been through…?"

"Well, he was part of a gang once, I just know it," said a kid with red streaks in their black hair — Mave Spallow. "I mean, it's common sense. That Dexter guy said something about 'bringing him back' — or some crap like that — so it's the most likely thing to assume." They sighed. "But what will we know? He's dead, and not even the news is budging on the information the cops have found. So we have no way of learning anything. Unless we tried doing something about it…"

"Us?" asked the girl. "You crazy?"

Mave shook their head. "Nope. I mean, I'd be daring to do it."

I glanced down to see my feet had slowed to a halt, mind fixated on the conversation. Just as Mave's brown eyes met mine, I quickly spun on my heel and hurried back to my dorm. 

Why did I let myself get caught listening like that? I knew there was a reason I covered myself up in public or barely went out at all, and it was to not get noticed. I couldn't let that effort go to waste.

"Talia?" called out Connor's voice, but I already sped off to my room.

Once I burst into my dorm and closed the door behind me, I set the bag of rolls and strawberry cream cheese on the glass table in front of my bed, which sat near the door.

Goodness gracious, that was close…

I stopped for a moment to catch my breath, plopped down in a chair, and started pulling out the items in my tiny grocery bag.

Melissa had less than a week left before she was discharged, and then we'd start looking. Then we'd actually start doing something other than just living our lives in fear. I sighed as I spread a glob of pink cream across the golden-brown inside of a bread roll. A part of me was hoping something would happen already, just because I was tired of being kept in suspense for so long.

But why bother praying for that? Today would be another day, where nothing would happen. And that should've been a good thing, but it only signified the calm before the storm.

I chewed slowly on my food, letting time pass as I pondered what I could do for the rest of the day. Maybe make a list of where to start looking for Caster; that way when the time came to search for him, we could get a head start. Or make some sort of safety plan for when the government did try pulling something on us. They probably had ideas by now, but were hiding them from the public. Hey, maybe they didn't want superhumans to make some sort of plan, and that was why they were so quiet about their next moves. 

My hand reached over to my phone. 

That meant I had to start preparing now. Before it was too late. 

I sighed deeply, leaning back in my chair and stretching my arms skyward. Writing down and overthinking all these plans and possbilities had a similar energy to cramming in a bunch of essays at once, the only difference being that I knew what I was talking about when I was making plans. 

Still, it didn't make the writing any less exhausting.

I listed four possibilities on a digital document, yet only one was worth considering: the first. It seemed the most likely, revolving around the idea of the government building a separate prison for us, just like they'd done for Exelonians. Because, well, why wouldn't Harley Rogers treat us two the same way? We both had dangerous powers, we both were causing violence and being victims of violence, and only chaos arose from us just existing. 

So why would superhumans walk free for a little while? Was it just because Codex had long-time beef with Exelon since 9050? Or was it because superhumans were actually native to this country, while citizens from Exelon weren't?

I mean, sure, those were other likelihoods, but my country oppressed its own people too. The chances of us supers getting off the hook were horribly slim, but it wasn't likely that the president would or could just murder us outright, so what was the next option? Jail. Of course it was Jail.

With hyper-advanced Codexian technology like BuildBots and enhanced machines, it'd only take a month or so to create a prison. Once construction was over, into the slammer we'd go.

And the only method to prevent that… was running away. Just like Melissa suggested.

I swiped out of my phone's note app and into the calendar one. It had been two weeks since the superhuman exposure occured, and that meant I had a little-less-than-two-more to prepare for my escape.

Or at least that was my estimate.

It should have been ample time, though. Melissa and I could run, along with her cousin Cassian and her girlfriend Elaine, but then… where would we go? Hiding in our families' houses wasn't an option — Melissa and Cassian didn't keep in touch with family ("long story," was Melissa's only explanation), and even if we all hid in my Mom's house, we'd be found the moment the government came knocking on the door.

And I knew, very well, the consequences that happened when you were caught in a place you shouldn't have been in. 

Hell, everyone knew that. We all saw what happened when Kiano Mai announced the Exelonian Roundup right as Codex started making peace with Exelon. We saw the Exelonian citizens that migrated to our country run into hiding, only to be caught shortly after. I remembered seeing my childhood friend, Iris, burst into my house to scream and cry because her adopted Exelonian sister was taken away from her and dropped right into a prison nobody knew the location of.

Of course I remembered all the consequences. How could I ever forget?

And just imagining them happening to Melissa or Cassian or anyone else rattled me to the core. There was no way in hell could I let that happen.

If we had to run, though, I'd be leaving everyone behind. I'd never see Hazel or my foster mom again.

Would I be able to bear that? Should I have beared that? 

I didn't know the answer.

Sighing, I got up. Maybe I had to think about this later. Maybe my brain was just too fried.

Knock knock knock.

I froze dead in my tracks. Who could possibly need me right now?

"Could you open the door?" 

A man's voice came from the other side. A voice I didn't recognize.

"We need to enter now."

Now it was the unfamiliar tone of a lady.

I slowly backed away from the white door, adrenaline coursing through my body. All this worrying was driving me right into the depths of paranoia. Was I overreacting? Probably, but still, I spun on my heel and searched for a place to hide.

Because, what if this was the government? What if they were here already —?

BANG!

I practically shrieked at the sound, swiveling on my heel to see that the door had been kicked open. A brown-haired man and a gray-haired woman stepped into my room, their black boots with a white insignia thumping on the carpeted floor.

So, my guesses were right. 

I wished they weren't.