In hindsight, that's a messed up thing to say to a kid.

In the moment, I was horrified.

After that, more tears. I couldn't stop crying, saying sorry just about every other second as things wrapped up with Officer Frank and I was led out of the room. Everyone who interacted with me was covered in thrown-together garments, the police station not having anticipated this. Pretty soon on I was met with hazmat suits, however. When the professionals arrived, those who dealt with catastrophically destructive abilities.

On our way out, I saw the woman from the store, Ms.—no, Officer. Gutierrez only said 'Ms.' to comfort me—Leanne. She was sobbing still, looking even more of a wreck than before. She wasn't the only one, either. It was a dark day for that police department, they'd lost one of their own. Everyone I saw was either crying, looked like they were about to, or looked like they just did.

And every time any of them looked at me, even as a child, I could recognize the pure disdain. It didn't matter that it was an accident. It didn't matter that I didn't know. It didn't even matter that I was six. Death is death, and everyone mourns.

They wanted to keep me in a facility that specialized more with children, but nobody wanted me. Nobody wanted to accept me for safety reasons, everyone wanted me as far from themselves and their loved ones as possible.

Except prison.

Which may be in part because they didn't really have a choice. I mean, it's prison. It wasn't a nice one either, like the ones where you can have pet cats and stuff. Not that I'll ever own one, but still. Hardly even a courtyard, though again, it's not like I'd be going outside.

I was given a hazmat suit, though it wasn't yellow. It was a bright red, fit for a child, and it was uncomfortable. It was too warm, and it would grow harder and harder to breathe the longer I wore it.

I was taken to a room, which thankfully at least had a bed and some books. Even a few toys, almost as if the prison guards decided to splurge a little bit like expecting parents. At the very least I had that comfort, and a few of the guards even seemed to feel bad for me. I mean, I was a child in a hazmat suit being shunned by every adult in the vicinity. I also hadn't done anything to them.

Yet.

They weren't taking it seriously, and they didn't for a while. They treated me like a kid, a few of them would even play with me sometimes. This went on for a few years, and then—

"Vroooooom," I was racing cars. They were tiny and fit in my hand, but I was still driving them around on the rug of my cell. I had another guard in here, Christine, who told me I could take off the suit so I could be more comfortable. They'd only done that a couple times before, and there were no incidents.

"Oh, come on, Honey," she smiled at my eight-year-old self. I smiled back. "Play with the new one I got you."

Then, like a reflex, she ruffled my hair.

And dropped.

The details can be assumed. Veins, blood, clouded over bloodshot eyes. The woman collapsed to the ground, and I hadn't killed anything in a while. I was still inexperienced enough with my power to feel something, so I screamed.

After that, I had no human contact.

I was locked away, though one upside is that I was basically given anything I wanted. Nothing super modern, no internet, that wasn't allowed, but I had books. I had art. Even a TV, though it only had pre-downloaded movies from before I was born. I had board games I could play with by myself. Sewing supplies, crochet hooks and yarn. I also got to keep my flower, even if it was dead. All that was left was the smallest bit of stem, the rest having worn away and decomposed over the last two years.

I'd have to endure ten more.

I got used to it all. I had textbooks to attempt to give myself an education. I even eventually got the privilege of a small robotic toy dog as a form of company, and after that obviously went fine, I was given a fish. The fish nearly lasted until the end, too. I did a good job caring for him, and he was my best friend for several of my formative years.

Then, it all fell apart.

I was eighteen years old when a deafening boom rang out through the penitentiary, scaring me out of my sleep. My eyes shot open, pupils adjusting to bright red flashing light filling my usually-grey room. I sat up on my creaky bed, rubbing at my eyes and glancing around the room. My area was intact, but I didn't know how long that would last.

Distant shouting rang out through the air, and I didn't usually hear much noise in here. The room was supposed to be soundproof, but things slipped in every once in a while. This sound was one of them, and my eyes widened as I finally processed the crashing and gunfire.

Oh, no. That was not good. That didn't sound like a bad inmate fight, that sounded like real explosions. Real danger.

I was instantly alarmed, and I doubted anybody would come in here. Nobody ever did, the closest I got was someone sending me my meals through the small, closed off hole in the wall that I—by design—could only access once they were no longer touching the plate. But if I ever suspected it might happen, I'd change into my red hazmat suit. I don't know why they kept the same color with age, but whatever. I liked red. Not as much as I liked green, but still.

I didn't hesitate before hurrying to my little prison wardrobe—which I'd decorated with paint by then, but it was still a prison wardrobe—to find my suit. It didn't take long since it wasn't uncommon that I wear it. Even if I was always by myself, wearing it would often make me feel better if I was upset. It would help to know that at least in that moment, I couldn't hurt anyone.

Unfortunately, I only got my legs through their holes before my world was officially turned upside down.

Everything flipped on its head. And it all began with my door bursting off his hinges.

It flew several feet into the air before landing near a wall, dust and debris spreading through the air. The dust would float as close as a few feet in front of me as a massive hole was torn through my solitude. By the time I could make out any objects, half sprawled on the floor because of the explosion, I found...

Light.

Not sunlight. Just light. From the hallway. Light I hadn't seen in years, used to the cool fluorescents that lessened over the years as the bulbs burnt out and nobody changed them.

Then, the bright light shifted orange. The neon glow spread all throughout the room, mixing smoothly with the red.

When the dust finally began to settle, all that was left was a girl.

I noticed a few other people with her as everything died down, but most of them seemed busy holding off guards and such. They weren't my focus, anyway. The girl was the only thing in the room with my attention, she was so striking, and after a few minutes, I realized...

She was walking towards me.

"Wait!" My voice was raspy from lack of use. I cleared my throat to mend it. "Stay away from me! P-Please—"

"Oh, relax." The girl laughed, finally reaching close enough that I could make out her features. I was cornered against the wardrobe, watching everything unfold and praying she'd listen to me. Her eyes glowed white and her skin looked darker than mine—though it was hard to tell in the crazy lighting, fluffy black hair pulled into butterfly wings. She had a skintight armored suit on with a black skirt and crop top. I'd never seen anything like her.

And she grinned. "I'm Delta."

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. All I knew was that I hadn't had human contact in a decade, and I had no idea how to respond to that. I hardly knew how to associate with other people in general. So, I decided to stick to the basics. The stuff I learned as a child.

"Hello," I greeted her, visibly confused. I tried not to feel alarmed as she began to walk toward me again. "I'm Sunny."

She took two more steps and it was stressing me out, the woman now only about as far away from me as the wardrobe was tall. The wardrobe wasn't very tall.

"Oh, I know." She told me, thankfully stopping. The fact her hands were covered and she also seemed to have some idea of my ability was basically the only reason I was staying in place, and I still wanted to run.

"Sunday Orethilia, the would-be Pinnacle Hero Solutions heir. The boy with the death touch. The world's best executioner."

Executioner?

"How would you like to get out of here?"

The answer was simple and obvious: I'd love to. I'd love to see the sun, I'd love to watch dogs run around at a park, I'd love to ride in a car. That wasn't up to me, though. I was hazardous. I'd heard it a hundred times, there used to be a yellow and black symbol on my door and everything... before this girl just blew it up. People were supposed to stay away.

"Please stay away," I begged again, trying to cover as much of my skin as possible with all the chaos going on and my hazmat suit malfunctioning—the zipper got stuck when my wall blew up. My red gaze met her white, and despite the fact we just met, I hoped she could sense the gravity and sincerity in my voice. "Don't touch me. Leave. Now."

"But I came all this way!" She defended. Her gaze then wandered to my fish tank. "At least hear me out! You can even bring your fish—actually, no. Why do you own an empty fish tank?"

Marques had died the previous week and the wound was still fresh. It took quite a bit for me to keep it together, not used to having to do so, but I didn't want to cause a bunch of problems with my emotions. It seemed like they were limited on time.

He had somehow gotten out of his tank. In a panicked haste, I tried to put him back in.

Fill in the blank. I took a shaky breath. "He died."

It's okay. It's okay. Keep it together. I didn't really know what to do, all I knew was that I don't want to talk about this. I also didn't appreciate the way her mood seemed to improve even more at my words. "See? That's what I'm talking about! How would you like to come work with me?"

I was confused. Work with her? Doing what? She made it clear she knew who I was, and she seemed quite fixated on my ability, so I wondered if she was trying to utilize it somehow. I couldn't think of a single way my curse could be useful to somebody, unless...

I blinked. "Are you villains?"

The girl responded with a grimace that was half smile. Like she was proud of it but also knew it wasn't a good thing, at least that was how it came across, but I'm not the best at reading people. She still didn't really acknowledge that, instead taking a step forward so she was right in front of me.

I hadn't been this close to someone since I was twelve. I was frozen.

"Does it matter? Haven't you been treated like a villain since you were a kid?" Her words made me pause. I guess she had a point. I'd been treated like a villain, like a weapon my entire life. I was hazardous. I never questioned my treatment because I always saw it as justified. I'd killed people, as far as I was concerned, they didn't owe me anything. Even something as simple as kindness.

I'd never let myself consider anything else. What would it be like, if I were treated as an asset instead of a biohazard? I'd have to use my ability, that was the main setback, but... maybe I could learn to control it? Maybe I could even learn to stop caring? Grow numb?

"Alright, one question: would being my executioner be worse than this?"

It would be selfish.

If I stayed, I'd die here. If I left, far more lives would be lost.

But... maybe I could get another flower. Maybe I could keep her alive this time.

"Can I bring my plant?" I asked her, watching her eyebrow twitch like that was a strange question. Maybe it was just unexpected. Or maybe she didn't understand the desire to hold onto a dead plant.

"Yeah, sure. Bring a hundred, go crazy."

"And will you promise me that you guys will be careful?"

The mischievous but somehow seemingly well-meaning smile was back on her face. "Don't you worry your cute little head. We'll be safe."

I was confused about the cute compliment. I'd never been called that. I'd always understood it as something very positive, with kind and gentle implications. It sounded strange to hear the word directed at me. Again, I was dangerous.

Maybe she didn't understand my power. "You understand that if you touch me, you'll die?"

"Mm-hm!" She replied enthusiastically, giving me a singular head nod.

I blinked. "Immediately."

She soluted me like a soldier, despite the fact that she seemed to be the boss of this whole brigade. "Yessir."

Maybe she was just crazy.

I glanced around my home of twelve years. My bed, my wardrobe, my plant, my books. If I could bring my plant, I could only assume my other belongings could come too.

"Hey, their backup's almost here!" Someone shouted from the hallway they all appeared from.

The woman held out her gloved hand. The only reason I even knew what to do was because of my books. Honestly, books and movies are the only reason I understand anything regarding other people to begin with.

I glanced down at her hand

Her executioner.

The Executioner.

I didn't put much more thought into it. It was that place or a real life, and I selfishly chose to live.

So I reached out, and I took it.