I spent almost the entirety of my youth in prison.

Isolation, technically. Solace State District Penitentiary. North. Yes, there are four of them. I don't live in the safest city. I also barely live in a city—Solace International is more like an epicenter.

I wish I could've been confused, even as a child. I wish I could've not understood why I was locked away or what I did wrong. I wish I had any way to defend myself besides those annoying four words that will haunt me to my grave: I didn't mean to.

Which was true. I didn't. That didn't matter, though. It didn't change what I did. Or... what I could do.

I remember her face when I first arrived. My aunt, that is. The one who took me in when my parents suffered their consequences. She was annoyed. It was a nice gesture, although she wasn't a particularly nice lady. That doesn't mean she deserved what happened to her, though. She was doing her best, and when I first arrived, I was normal.

There was no reason to question the safety of caring for me. It was right after the hero reform, and I was on the wrong side. I was two years old, my parents were dead, and I was just flat out helpless. A random child whose corrupt family fell with the rest of privately owned hero services. An orphan from a name that lost everything.

Aunt Belinda knew this. She felt bad for me. She cared for me for four long years.

Then, I turned six, and my power manifested.

"Hey!" I heard my aunt's voice from in front of the register. I was busy counting all the squares that made up the floor design of the supermarket. She thought I was staring at the snacks at the bottom of the shelf. "Don't ask for nothing, I'm broke."

I looked away from the floor in confusion. I didn't dare talk back to her, though.

"We're leaving."

"Yes, ma'am," I replied quietly. She didn't spare me another glance, turning to the pay terminal. She then proceeded to argue with the cashier about coupons or something. The whole process took about five minutes, and then it was time to go.

The woman grabbed my hand to walk me to the car, standing right in line. She'd handed me something only a few minutes prior, and our hands brushed. Nothing happened then. We moved on.

This time, as I felt the woman's hand slip into my own and squeeze, it only lasted a second. Maybe two.

Thud.

I wasn't looking, so it was the sound that startled me. I jumped, feeling a rush of wind against my face and ears. Cold. No more body heat—she wasn't next to me anymore. I turned to look for the woman, finding her now lying on her side, flat on the floor and staring at nothing. Her eyes were open and her pupils were dilated, so I thought she was awake. I thought she was fine.

"Aunt Belinda?" My voice shook as veins protruded from her skin, her eyes slowly becoming bloodshot. Blood began to leak out of her nose.

I heard a scream. I hardly registered it, horrified and confused at the sight in front of me. What happened? How did she get hurt? Why wasn't she getting back up? Why wasn't she answering me?

"Oh my god! What happened to her?" Security was already on the case, an overweight balding man appearing out of nowhere and keeping people back. That didn't stop the rest of the checkout line from beginning to move past me in order to see what happened.

"Someone get that kid out of here!" someone ordered, possibly the security guard.

Another person grabbed me.

They dropped.

I turned to look at the other woman who was about to pull me away from the scene, but she was unmoving now. In a similar state as Belinda, veins and red. Sprawled out on the floor unnaturally—like she had no time to brace herself.

Another person tried to move past me to look at or possibly attempt to help Belinda. In doing so, their skin brushed against my arm.

Thud.

Now, people were starting to back up, including the security guard. He was speaking into his radio, though I couldn't quite pick up on what he was saying. The pure chaos turned into dead silence as a circle of adults stared down at my six year old self, sitting on the cold tiled floor of the supermarket surrounded by dead bodies.

I was beginning to cry.

The next few minutes were a blur of nobody touching me and overwhelming horror as I tried to understand what just happened, but I hardly got to attempt to fully process it all before the police were showing up and clearing everyone out. I was crying the whole time, until an officer made his way over to me, crouching down and giving me a small smile.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you." He reassured me. It actually worked, the stress in my shoulders easing and my tears slowing down. "How about you go with Ms. Leanne so she can take you somewhere happier?"

I thought about it. I didn't know what that entailed or who Ms. Leanne was, but I ultimately decided that happier sure sounded a lot more favorable than whatever was going on right now. So, I nodded.

The guy's polite smile widened at my agreement, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling as he made eye contact with Ms. Leanne, communicating something from one look alone. He stood back to his full height and pressed a hand lightly to my shoulder to lead me. He was barely touching me, but my shirt slipped. When I began to move again, the police officer's large hand brushed the back of my neck.

Then, it fell slack.

His whole body did, the officer dropping where he stood in a painful-looking collapse. The thud was louder this time. I swear it echoed. He wasn't alive to feel the pain, though. He was dead before he even hit the ground.

"Gutierrez!" The woman he was leading me to, Ms. Leanne, shouted. I watched her eyes widen as who I assume was her partner lay on the ground. In exactly the same situation as the others, veins growing more prominent and blood leaking out of his nose. At this point, Belinda looked almost purple.

Ms. Leanne collapsed to the ground next to him, terror in her eyes as they welled up with tears. She began trying to resuscitate him, to no avail. He was looking worse by the second.

This time, I screamed.

The crackles of police radios echoed through the air as the market fell into chaos.

"Officer down, I repeat—"

Everything was too loud. It was getting hard to breathe. I didn't know what was going on, all I knew was that everyone was terrified and I was the cause.

Then, darkness.

I thought I was asleep or something at first, but I found out later that one of the other officers essentially covered me in a massive blanket and scooped me up like a stray rodent.

I was hyperventilating. I was scared. I didn't know what was happening. I could barely breathe as I was taken back to the police station in what essentially served as a child-sized pillowcase.

Next thing I knew, I was in an interrogation room. Not one of the cozy ones they have for kids, either—no, I was surrounded by white brick, the floor was grey concrete, and the only furniture in the room was a chair and a table, both made out of metal. They didn't even give me water.

I don't know how long I waited for someone to arrive, I just remember I recognized his scent. He carried me across an entire parking lot and drove me here, after all. Even if I never saw his face, this was the guy who caught me at the supermarket, and that was confirmed when the man spoke. I could recognize his voice.

He had brown hair that was trimmed perfectly and a short beard styled just as neat. He also had a couple tattoos on his arm. They just registered as vague black blobs on his skin in my stress.

"So, what's your name, kid?"

I didn't say anything. I probably couldn't if I wanted to, I was so nervous. I never talked to a police officer before that day. Aunt Belinda always said they were bad.

The man set a small potted plant I hadn't seen before on the table. He didn't acknowledge the action at all, which only made me more curious. I couldn't help but stare at the pretty yellow flower, held in a temporary pot like it was just bought from the store.

"Well," the man sighed when I said nothing. "I'm Officer Frank."

I stayed silent again. The only response I initially gave was a nod of my head. Then a full minute went by of no talking, just the man looking at me in expectation and occasionally writing something on a clipboard. He was trying to get me to talk, which I didn't know at the time, but it worked. Silence made me restless.

"Hello, Officer Frank," my voice came out raspy and trembling as I greeted him the same way I was taught to greet anyone, though Aunt Belinda never really wanted to talk or make friends in general so I didn't put it to much use.

Aunt Belinda.

"Where's Aunt Belinda?" I asked him, before realizing that I wasn't answering the question he asked me. I still didn't speak again to correct myself, paranoid that I would get in trouble no matter what I said. I watched Officer Frank sigh, removing his glasses and reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose.

He mumbled something under his breath. I fidgeted, glancing over at the plant, the only even semi-vibrant color in the room. The only thing that was making me feel better right now.

I watched Officer Frank rest his arm on the table, tapping his pen. It was then that I noticed the fact he had gloves on. And tight sleeves. He even had some sort of cloth around his head, though it didn't cover him fully. Why was he wearing so many clothes?

"You won't be seeing her anymore," he notified me, giving me no further detail and settling his gaze on my small, terrified form. His expression was giving nothing away, and I only grew more nervous with each second.

I blinked. "Why?"

"I'll tell you," the man reassured blandly, glancing away at the plant. He finally grabbed it, acknowledging the only thing in the room that had any sort of life. The only thing that felt real, that I was familiar with. I loved flowers. "After you do something for me. I need you to touch this."

He slid the plant forward, only a couple inches and barely within my grasp. I could hardly even see over the table, I was sitting on my heels in an attempt to make myself taller. I leaned forward and reached out my hand, more than happy to look at the plant. It was so pretty.

My hands were too small to fit all the way around it, but I managed despite receiving no help. I grabbed the small container it was in, pulling it toward me. Then, I reached for the stem, intending to pull it out of the soil so I could keep it.

As soon as I made contact, the healthy smooth texture of the flower stem withered up into something ugly. The leaves shriveled up and the bright lively yellow died off into a sickly brown color. Dead leaves flew all over the place, falling on my lap and crunching on the floor.

I gasped, eyes widening and immediately filling with tears. Not like before, it wasn't so blurry that I couldn't see, but I couldn't help my devastation, reaching in and running my hands through the soil. I tried to choke back the tears that were resurfacing, but it was difficult, because I was starting to realize the gravity of the situation, even if I still didn't quite understand what was happening. I couldn't grasp the permanence.

"Now can you tell me your name, Kid?"

I gulped, staring down at the table. I couldn't even look at him anymore, ashamed of ruining his plant and causing all this.

"Sunny," I told him quietly.

"Sunday Orethilia-Pinnacle," the man corrected. I frowned, glancing up at him. I didn't hear my full name very often, Aunt Belinda said it didn't suit me. That name was for a rich heir, not a random orphan. I also wasn't supposed to tell people. Part of the reason was— "Pinnacle. Orethilia. Big names. What's your favorite superhero?"

I hesitated.

Heroes were going through some serious reform. There weren't a lot of them active, most proven to be corrupt right after I was born. I remembered someone, though. There were pictures of my parents with him, he was important to their business, before it fell. He was the only hero I could remember being exposed to, at least the most notable one. My aunt never favored them.

"Sentinel," I told the man, watching his lip curl a bit in distaste. He seemed to recognize who I was talking about, but he didn't say anything. I didn't understand. Was that the wrong answer? It was the only name I could think of.

"So, you're aware that people can be born with special abilities?"

I gave him a hesitant nod.

"Well congrats, you're one of them," he told me, and it genuinely improved my mood. For a split second I really thought that they'd discovered some special cool new ability of mine, unrelated to the horrific events of the day. I thought I was going to be the next Sentinel. "We have decided to call your ability Tactile Biological Termination. In short, kid—"

I didn't know what any of this meant. I was growing more confused by the second. I was still half-crying. I was scared, I was stressed, I was hungry—

"For the rest of your life, everything you touch will die."