Kristyn brushed her finger across the touchpad of her laptop, as she scrolled further down the document that she was reading. With her eyes still trained on the screen, she raised a bottle of Pepsi to her lips and took a sip, before sparing a second of her attention to make sure that it was set back down on a coaster. She didn't want water stains on her desktop, after all.

    Her eyes lingered on her hand a bit. She envisioned an older hand there, grasping the handle of a coffee cup, in place of the youthful hand that was holding her favorite drink, and wondered if that was the future that awaited her. It certainly wouldn't have been a future that she would have imagined before, some months ago, but it now felt like a possibility, considering her current line of work and how much she had grown up in such a short period of time. On top of that, she had adjusted to a sex change, a supernatural power, and the role of a mother. To say that she felt old was a gross understatement.

    With a rueful shake of her head, she returned her attention to the task at hand.

    Before her were files on three individuals that were due to transition later that day, all within a seven-hour period. Since one lived in New Mexico, another in Georgia, and the last in Maine, she would need to assemble two teams to round them up in an effective and timely manner. That wouldn't be a problem, fortunately, since Lucinda had recently been elevated to the rank of master sergeant, and thus had the credentials, as well as her confidence, to lead a team in her absence.

    The perceived problems that did exist, however, lied with two of the three people that the Center had to pick up. The one that lived in New Mexico (according to Danielle's account) would be a strong aerokinetic, who would end up blowing away a good portion of their house. Personally, she didn't think that using a tornado as a cover story was going to be convincing enough when it was a clear, non-breezy day in that region of the states, so she hoped that the idea that she had come up with would work out better. The one that lived in Maine, however, would encounter unwanted company, and would get injured before they could get to them. It would be a head injury, and Danielle suspected that it would be serious enough to require Elizabeth's presence.

    She frowned, as she thought about the "unwanted company" that they would encounter in Maine. Something about it all was really beginning to bug her, but she wasn't exactly sure what it was, beyond the fact that other groups and organizations knew about what was going on in the first place. Which wasn't surprising, in and of itself. However, the Center had been in the dark for so many years, regarding just how many affected persons were out there, and yet...

    "Five minutes till eight, Miss Keys," her secretary's voice could be clearly heard from beyond her open door.

    Remembering what she had to do, she shut down her laptop and stood up from her chair. At this point she usually had to fuss with her skirt, blazer, or both — with a little tug here, and a little adjustment there — before she felt that she was presentable enough to leave her office. Today, however, she had dressed in casual attire, in preparation for the pickups that would take most of the day to perform. That being the case, nothing was stopping her from heading out right away. Well, except for her Pepsi, which she had to backtrack a few steps to get, once she remembered it. She finished it off, tossed it into a trash bin, then proceeded to leave her office.

    The one thing that did not change with her attire, of course, was the click-clacking sound being sung by the heels of her boots, which announced themselves quite clearly as she walked to her destination. Heels had become a mainstay of her wardrobe, for various reasons: one, because they helped to make her look more professional; two, because they compensated for some of the height that she had lost; and, three, because she felt sexy in them, and liked the overall effect that they had on her appearance. And it wouldn't be long before she was as adept in heels as Heather was in hers; of that she was certain.

    She arrived at what was essentially a briefing room a good minute before the eight o'clock deadline. It was a spacious room that allowed access to a pair of locker rooms, which were on her left, and an armory that required special clearance, which was on her right. Ahead of her, on the other side of the room, was a corridor that led to the garage, where they deployed for their missions. She also took note of the metal folding chairs that were stacked up against the wall, near the armory. She had a feeling that they would be needed before too long.

    There were seven people who had been standing around, waiting for her arrival, and those who had been chatting went quiet when they saw her. She was close to most of them, partly because they had shared a lot of field experience with her. Lucinda was fairly green overall, compared to them, but she was learning, and would no doubt become a proficient leader before too long. Today would be a fair exercise of her ability to lead and command others. Emily, who could sense and pinpoint a person's location, was about to go on her third field mission. She was a slight girl, about the same height as Danielle, but she had a lot of guts.

    "So, are we going off to war?" Ray joked, from where he was leaning up against the wall.

    Kristyn could understand why he would say something like that. Aside from himself, who could be considered a weapons specialist, he was also joined by Lucinda, Elizabeth, Rita and Emily; which, tactically, covered a lot of bases. Their group was rounded out by two empaths, Danielle and Chris, in order to aid their pickups. And then (of course) there was herself, the group's literal powerhouse. Had she not informed them last night that they would be dressing casually, instead of donning the more combat-suited uniforms that could be found in the adjoining locker rooms, his question would not have been delivered as a joke.

    That didn't mean that any mission guaranteed someone's safety, of course. However, if one assumed that all eight of them would form one team, and thus took all members into consideration, it did, on the surface, seem a bit overkill.

    She smiled at her boyfriend and said, "fortunately, no. But we're certainly going to be busy, today."

    "How busy?" Rita posed. She was biting her bottom lip, as if she feared that her service would interfere with whatever plans that she had made prior to the call of duty.

    "We will be making pickups in New Mexico, Georgia, and Maine," Kristyn replied. "It will require us to split up into two teams, because they will all transition within a seven-hour time period."

    Some seemed surprised to hear that, as Lucinda asked, "three, this time? Is that a first?"

    "It is," Kristyn confirmed with a nod. "There are usually at least two people going through the transition every week. And that's only counting those that we've been in contact with personally, regardless of the outcome. So this is bound to happen, every once in a while."

    While she could have added that the frequency of transitions had increased, she knew that there were only so many because they were now aware of what to look out for. She shuddered to think about the amount of people that the Center had missed over the years, before her arrival; and who, if anyone, had gotten their hands on them.

    "Anyway," she went on, getting back on track, "we'll be flying to New Mexico, first, to take care of an aerokinetic. To those of you who might not know," she spared Emily a brief look, who shrugged in response, "that means that they can control the air around them. They're going to make a mess of their house, to put it simply. Lucinda, I'll need you to take care of that. Emily, you'll help us locate everyone in the area, who might have seen or heard anything, so Rita can help them to forget about it."

    "Just one question," Emily broke in, her hand raised. "There aren't going to be a lot of people around, are there?"

    She got nasty headaches if she sensed too many people at once with her talent, so she was relieved when Kristyn said, "there shouldn't be too many people around. Fortunately for us, most in that neighborhood will either be in school or at work, at the time."

    "Why isn't our subject at school?" Chris posed.

    Kristyn shrugged and said, "they aren't home-schooled or anything, so maybe they just happen to be sick, or decided to skip for some reason."

    "Either way," she continued, "we split up into two teams once we're done there. Dani, Rita and myself will go to Georgia. We'll have our pickup back here before they transition, and the one from New Mexico before they wake up from theirs. Luce," she turned to regard her, "you will take Ray, Liz, Chris and Emily to Maine."

    "Awwww," Elizabeth whined. "But, mo-oooom...!"

    "Don't you take that tone of voice with me, young lady," Kristyn playfully chided, her hands on her hips. Her daughter responded with a pronounced pout, while a few grins and good-natured giggles were elicited from the others. "Our subject in Maine will be injured, so you will be needed there."

    "That said," she returned her attention to Lucinda, "you might encounter resistance. That's why I've included Ray and Emily in your team, in addition to who I know you'll need."

    "I understand," Lucinda somberly replied.

    Turning to Ray, Kristyn said, "before we leave, I'll let you into the armory to pick up some guns — your choice. Your fire support might be needed."

    Ray simply nodded to that.

    "So," Kristyn said, as she glanced around, "is everyone ready?"

    After a few nods and sounds of affirmation, she said, "good. Head out to the garage; Ray and I will follow shortly."

    "Don't you two take too long in the armory, now," Danielle playfully intimated. "Not that you two haven't done 'it' there, already, I'm sure."

    Kristyn and Ray had the good grace to blush, while the others snickered and giggled at their embarrassment. It was well known that they were a rather intimate couple. They certainly weren't the only one, but one of them being a Warrant Officer had the effect of raising their profile.

    In actuality, of course, they had never done anything like that in the armory. However, when Kristyn finally regarded Ray, and saw him waggle his eyebrows suggestively, she knew that wouldn't be the case for long. Such was his charm, and the overall thrill of the idea.

    "So, are you ready for tonight?"

    Kelly Baxter slowly turned his head to regard his girlfriend of five months, Jennifer Miles, whose back faced the window of the school bus instead of the seat. Strands of her long, chocolate brown hair whipped about her face, and she tried, in vain, to tuck them behind her ear. Her hazel eyes gazed at him fondly, patiently. She was cute, though not in a way that really stood out. However, she had a nice smile, and he knew that she did because the one that she was sharing with him was meeting her eyes.

    "I guess so," came his quiet reply.

    Now, many girls probably wouldn't like such a noncommittal-sounding answer, but it took a certain kind of girl, a patient and understanding girl, to know the true depth of his answer. Jennifer knew that Kelly kept everyone at arm's length, like many others did, but, unlike anyone else, she had been working for many a month to wriggle her way between those arms. And while she tried to not be too forceful in their relationship, in order to attain that goal, she sometimes had to resort to such a tactic.

    And why wouldn't she? Sure, his nose was crooked from being broken who knows how many times, he had a nasty-looking scar across his left forearm, and he was difficult to communicate with and relate to, but there were many things about him that were desirable. He was fit and looked like a bishounen from the shounen ai and yaoi manga that she read online, for one. In fact, in addition (as well as in part) to having so little body hair, much less any facial hair, he looked quite girlish. That, she had once admitted to herself, was the reason that he had caught her attention in the first place; and she probably hadn't been the only one. However, she had been the only one to really stick with him, the only one to find the kind and gentle creature beneath the quiet, dangerous beast that he had been labeled as. He was a martial artist, to be sure, but not a monster.

    She honestly didn't know why he was so aloof, but she just knew, without a doubt, that she'd find the mother of all pearls once she opened him up completely. It was a bit selfish, she knew, but she was ready to give as much as she was willing to receive. It was just a matter of time.

    She pat his knee and joked, "hey, now: don't get too worked up, or you'll be out of energy for our date."

    Kelly cracked a bit of a smile, but didn't say anything in reply. He seemed content as he stared into her eyes, and she was more than happy to oblige him by staring into his own. They were a vivid green, just like how the grass of Ireland was advertised, but far more animated. They went well with his short, unruly black hair. She suspected that he had never put a comb to his hair in his entire life, but she liked how his bangs swept to and fro across his brow.

    They admired each other for a while. The din of the other high schoolers and the loud grumbling of the school bus' engine could do nothing to invade the little world that they had constructed for themselves. It wasn't until the bus' breaks squealed in agony, and a familiar two-story house could be seen out the window, that he, and subsequently she, came back down to Earth.

    Without saying a word, Kelly got up, shouldered his bookbag, and moved his way down the aisle. It didn't take him long to disembark from the yellow monstrosity that was numbered eleven, and he soon found himself standing at the end of his driveway. He turned around to find Jennifer, even as the bus began to move, and he found her gazing out at him. She smiled softly and waved her fingers goodbye, but he simply stared back in response, his eyes following the bus until it rounded the corner at the end of the road and disappeared.

    With his shoulders sagging a bit, he turned himself around and made his way up his driveway. Just before he reached the hedge bushes that grew in front of the verandah of his house, he took a stone pathway that led around them and to the front door. He then proceeded to procure the house key from his pocket and let himself in. After he locked the door behind himself, he set his book bag aside, in the hallway, and stepped into the living room, where he made a beeline for the couch and sunk into its cushions.

    He stared at the dark face of the widescreen television, wondering if he was ready for a date, much less a relationship. Jennifer had been pushing him, gently but firmly, and he had gone along with it all, but he was unsure about how he should feel about it, if anything. He was aware that other young men his age probably wouldn't have so much trouble with it, if a nice enough girl paid attention to them, but he wasn't like them. Sometimes he wondered if he was even human.

    He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. He wondered if he should go up to his room, get on his computer, and go into a chat room: which was one of the few mediums that he could use to express his true self with some degree of success. It would be a good way to help him unwind, and ease his concerns about his date at seven o'clock. However, his father would be home before too long, and he would likely demand all of his attention until he had to leave to pick up Jennifer.

    Since his father's shift at the prison had ended at three, and it wouldn't take him long to pick up a few things for dinner at the store, he decided to pull up the blinds of the living room window and wait for him. It afforded him a good view of the driveway from the couch, so he sat back down and turned on the television. Of course, as usual, he found nothing to watch on the guide and had to settle with watching music videos on VH1 Classic. Which wasn't a bad thing, but still.

    One of his favorite songs was playing, hang on loosely, by Thirty-Eight Special, when he saw his father's Ford pickup truck pull up into the driveway. He got up to meet his father at the door, but paused: because he noticed that his father wasn't carrying any groceries and, for some reason, he had the visor of his prison guard uniform's cap tipped down to cover his face. That didn't seem too odd, for the most part; plans can change, after all. But he also had his head bowed, and the arm that he couldn't fully see was held stiffly at his side, which gave him the feeling that something wasn't right.

    As if to prove his suspicions true, he heard his so-called father jiggle the front door's handle. His father would have known that the door would be locked: it had been a habit picked up by the need to do so, back when they lived in Chicago. And that had not changed since they had moved from there, some four years ago. It had been a learned cautiousness while living amidst gang violence, in an area that was known for having a fairly high crime rate. Their apartment had been burglarized on more than one occasion, despite their best efforts to prevent it.

    He quickly moved to the door and stood in front of it. With his back to the staircase, he faced the door and prepared to confront whoever was on the other side. He'd soon know whether or not it was his father and, if not, it would be better to strike before they were ready to make their move, since they probably wouldn't have gone out of their way to sneak inside of the house for nothing.

    His body tensed when he heard a key being jabbed into the lock, then turned. The door quickly opened inward, swinging only inches away from his nose, and he got a look at the man who was about to step over the threshold... and he was not his father: because he had neither blue eyes nor a closely-cropped, blond vandyke.

    They both risked a quick pause, to take in themselves and the situation, before they went into action. The intruder decided to abandon all pretense and began to reach up with his left hand, with the intent to brush away both the hat and the auburn-haired wig from his bald head. At the same time, he was raising his right hand, which held a stun gun. Kelly saw what he had to do, and quickly backhanded the stun gun away with his left hand. Even as the force of the blow made his attacker pull the trigger prematurely, while it was pointed away, his right foot lashed out and struck the side of his left knee, which buckled and forced the man to stumble forward. Since he was unwise enough to preoccupy his left arm, and his right held a depleted weapon, Kelly had enough time to follow up the kick that had unbalanced him and delivered a backhanded blow with his right fist, via a three-sixty spin, to the right side of the man's face. His head bounced off of the door with a loud bang, and the motion sent his hat and wig tumbling to the floor. While he was dazed, Kelly reached out with both hands, applied them to the right side of the man's head, then drove it back into the door with as much force as he could muster. His attacker crumpled to the ground afterward, unconscious.

    Kelly stood over him, his heart pumping adrenaline, his breath picking up pace, and his mind racing. Before he could really begin to analyze what was happening, and think of what to do next, he heard the sliding glass door being moved along its track. He turned about, looked around the staircase, across the living room and dining room, and saw another man, this one in fatigues and a bullet proof vest, coming in from the back deck. He also had a rifle, which he raised and fired.

    Since Kelly had stepped back into the shelter of the staircase, as soon as he had seen the latest intruder raise his gun, he soon learned that it fired tranquilizer darts, rather than bullets. After sparing a glance at the dart that had made its home in a nearby wall, he ran up the stairs and to the safety of the second floor, since going outside would favor the guy with the gun, and because he could easily get cornered on the ground floor.

    He knew that staying in the house, no matter where in it he went, would be a bad idea, just as much as being out in the open would be a bad idea. So, with his mind working in overdrive, he began to lock and then close every door that he came across, beginning with his own room's, followed by his father's, and then the one for the second bathroom. He saved the guest room for last, which he entered before he locked and closed the door. Before he did, however, he heard the guy with the gun yell, "damn it," which was followed by a brief sound of white noise and then, "Quist is out cold. I'm pursuing the kid to the second floor, over."

    Finding out that there were yet more involved than just the one that remained in the house galvanized him back into action. He rushed to the window, opened it as quietly as he could, then he slipped out of the room and onto the top of the verandah. As he closed the window, he heard a door being kicked in, so he moved away from the window as soon as he had it closed and made his way to the lowest section of the roof, which was over the front door. He heard another door being kicked in by the time he had climbed onto it, so he wasted no time in pulling himself up to the roof that covered the bulk of the house. Another door was kicked in as he, while hunched over, made his way up the pitch. He paused when he came upon the apex of the roof, a foot established on each side of the ridge, and considered the rest of his plan.

    The idea was to jump to the ground while the guy that was after him was still in the house, so he could get far enough away to escape the gun's effective firing range. However, if he wanted to be successful, he needed to listen and find out where he was, so he could jump off a side where he wouldn't be seen. Ideally, he wanted to jump from the front of the house, so he could do so one floor at a time, but he was willing to take what he could get at the first opportunity.

    That's what he told himself, at least: because, while his mind was intent, his body suddenly wasn't so willing. How could he have not noticed the shakes, and the weakness, until now? And, sure, his adrenaline must have gone into hyperdrive, but was he supposed to sweat so much, and feel so unbearably hot? Had the stress gotten to him, despite his best efforts, and as a result he was suffering from some sort of anxiety attack? He couldn't have come down with the flu in the last few minutes, right?

    His legs folded in on themselves and, after his knees hit the rooftop, he found his upper body tilting over toward the rear of the house, where he ended up falling onto his face. He wanted to move, to be alert and ready to act, but his body wasn't cooperating, and the shakes and weakness only got worse. Some of his muscles were beginning to cramp up, off and on, and it hurt. All in all, it was beginning to remind him of the time, some years ago, when he had been bitten by a black widow spider.

    He had been so preoccupied with this unexpected development that he hadn't realized the fact that he hadn't heard the sound of a fourth door being kicked in. Nor did he hear the muffled voice before his legs had given out on him. However, now that his ears were so close to the roof, and he was relying on his ears to tell him if anyone decided to join him on the asphalt-shingled roof, he was just able to make out what was being said by the man in his house.

    "He's beginning to transition?" There was a short pause. "Good. That means I don't have to wait."

    Kelly didn't know what the man meant by "transition," but he was pretty sure that he had been referring to him. That meant, of course, that his plan would have failed — had he been in any shape to employ it — because the guy on the other side of the handheld radio must have been staking out the house, and had, in all likelihood, spotted him on the roof.

    Life felt so unfair to him, at that moment.

    It wasn't long before he heard movement on the roof, nearby. He knew that it had to be the man with the tranquilizer gun when he heard him grunt, which meant that he had pulled himself up onto the roof. The shingles crunched loudly under the man's boots as he walked, until he finished a semicircle and stopped near the bottom of the pitch, on the same side of the roof that he laid prone on.

    "Man," he commented, "you certainly turned out to be a bigger pain in the ass than your father."

    Hearing about his father gave Kelly the strength to growl, "what did you do to him," past his clenched teeth.

    The man chuckled, seemingly with amusement, and said, "still going, eh? Not for long, I reckon, so it's not going to matter to you what we do to him, since he's as good as dead as soon as you're secured — which is pretty much guaranteed once you pass out."

    Kelly wasn't about to let that happen. If he prided himself in anything, then it would have to be his self-control, which had been honed by many years of martial arts training. If he ever had a reason to overcome such a debilitating condition, such as the one that afflicted him now, the life of his father was certainly more than enough of one. He could not have asked for a better father, after all, for he had given him just enough freedom to explore, just enough counsel to keep him from being led astray, and just enough attention to appreciate the little things.

    And so it was with a great force of will, and much groaning and gnashing of the teeth, that he raised himself to his hands and knees. The effort had not been easy, and the motion had made his head swim, so he took a few deep breaths and waited for his head to recover. Once he felt that it was relatively safe to take his effort to the next level, despite his body's protests, he redirected his weight to his feet and lifted his knees from the rooftop. He almost fell over, but he caught himself, and he was soon standing, unaided by his hands (although something could certainly be said about his posture).

    The man seemed geniunely surprised to see him standing. However, he did not seem to see it as a threat. So, his tranquilizer gun remained on his back, where it hung from his shoulder, and he once again expressed amusement.

    "I'll give you an A for effort," he remarked, "but an F for futility. Give it up, already: the sooner we get this over with, the better it will be for the both of us."

    Kelly screamed, "never," and tried to rush the man. Unfortunately, his leading foot failed him, it twisted under his weight, and he turned and fell sideways with a gasp of pain: not only from the twisted ankle, but from how much his cramping and burning muscles had to put toward the act. The man, having just prepared for a frontal assault, had not expected the need to dodge over a tumbling body, and so his reflexive jump came too late and a rolling shoulder clipped one of his feet. He was sent falling, not only forward, but sideways, and the motion was too disorienting for him to make a safe recovery. As a result, he fell off of the roof, right after Kelly, whose head struck the edge of the deck's railing on the way down, then the deck itself when he landed. The man's legs caught the same railing a second later, which forced his upper body to swing toward the ground at a very unfortunate angle.

    "Rogers!" A panicked voice cried out from the handheld radio that was clipped to said man's bullet proof vest. "Shit! Are you okay? Please respond! Rogers!"

    A reply never came.

    Lucinda tensed when the "goon" turned onto Fleming, the second to last street in the Running Creek subdivision, their destination. She didn't have to tell the others where they were, since they could see the GPS navigator from the back, but she still felt that she had to look back at them, from her place in the passenger seat, and ask, "are you ready?"

    After receiving a mixed batch of responses that affirmed their readiness, she returned her attention to what she could see beyond the windshield. It only took her a second to find the subject's house up ahead, and, as they drove closer, she noticed someone on the roof. However, before they could stop in front of the house, whoever had been up there had disappeared. She suspected that they had fallen.

    "Emily," she said, in a tone that conveyed her reason for addressing her by name.

    "There're two in or around the vicinity of the—" Emily paused, her expression filling with worry, before she continued and said, "no, now there's only one person on the premises."

    To those who knew of Emily's talent — and all present did — they knew that she could only sense people who were alive. For her to no longer be aware of someone's presence, to date, meant that they had died.

    Lucinda knew that their subject would be injured, and nothing had been said about them dying from it, so she hoped for the best. She wished that they could have gotten there sooner, and she had made every effort to move as fast as they could, but Danielle's vision held true, as always. Considering what her own talent could do, she found it to be a bit frustrating for something to be beyond her power, whenever it was really needed.

    When the SUV came to a stop, she wasted no time in flinging her door open. At the same time, Chris opened the door next to hers, since it faced the subject's house. Right after they got out, they heard an engine rev up, quickly followed by the squealing of tires, and they saw a white van racing down Castle street, across the way. Lucinda didn't even bother to try and stop it, since her training had given her a good idea of where the influence of her talent ended, and the two half-acres worth of lots between Fleming and Castle were more than enough for her to be certain that the escaping van was beyond her reach.

    "There are two in that van," Emily said, as she leaned out of the vehicle and squinted over Chris' shoulder.

    Lucinda nodded to herself before she said, "that might be the rest of them making their escape, now that we're here, but don't let your guard down: we're going in."

    Before they could race into the house in earnest, she peered into the back of the SUV, where Ray was standing by, and ordered, "you're coming with us."

    Ray didn't even nod at the instruction, and simply disembarked. He carried two nine-millimeter pistols in a belt holster, their flaps open so that they would be accessible if needed. The sniper rifle was left behind.

    With that decided, they rushed up to the house as fast as they could without abandoning caution. The door was open, so they let themselves in. Most of the group stepped over or around the bald-headed man that they found lying in the hallway, just inside, while Ray stayed back to close the door behind them, so that no neighbor or passerby could happen upon them and inquire what was going on. If all went well, the only disturbance that anyone would notice would be the squealing tires from the white van that had left a moment ago.

    Lucinda knew that the subject would be on the back deck, so she stepped out of the hallway and into the living room. Right when she had spotted the part of her quarry that wasn't being obstructed by the dining room table, she heard Emily gasp. When she turned around to see what the matter was, the troubled look on the girl's face dropped a lead weight in her stomach.

    With everyone's attention on her, Emily managed to stammer out, "I... I could only sense one person in the house before, and I've confirmed that th-this guy was it."

    Nobody needed to consider the implication, so everyone but Ray, who kept a watch on the man that was unconscious, hurried on through the house and made it to the back deck. Once there, they found the still form of a teenage boy, wearing a T-shirt and a pair of denim shorts. The exposed skin of his arms, legs, neck and face gleamed with sweat, and showcased many rashes. The arm that he had no doubt landed on was in an unnatural position, and his head was lying in a small but growing pool of blood. At first glance, it was hard to tell whether or not he was breathing.

    Elizabeth had been behind Lucinda and Chris, so they stepped aside so she could fulfill the reason for her being there. When she could finally see her patient, her hand shot up to her mouth and her eyes widened in alarm. Even as she moved to kneel beside him, her eyes had darted up and down the length of his body, sensing that everything felt wrong, and becoming even more so every second.

    She knew that she had to act fast, so she didn't think twice about being burned, or what the result might be from coming into contact with someone who was in the process of transitioning. Since the head injury felt the most serious, her hands reached out and cupped the underside of the boy's head. She forced back a wince as the sensative nerves of her hands tried to tell her to move away from the source of so much heat, but she remained steadfast and began to issue forth her healing energy.

    Lucinda, Chris and Emily watched in silence, wondering whether the boy lived or not. They got their answer when the familiar sound of breaking bones and the meaty grinding of joints broke the silence. However, while the boy visibly shrank within his clothes, Elizabeth continued her ministrations by rearranging the position of his right arm and using her power to fix the break. She tended to the ribs on the same side, afterward, in order to heal whatever had been damaged there. Only then did she stand up and take a step back, so she could watch the transformation with everyone else, even though she was distracted by the thought of how it had begun. And, on top of that, healing the head injury had drained her more than she had expected.

    When all was said and done, the boy was no more. In his place was a petit, fair-skilled girl whose long hair was as orange as a carrot. Her voluminous clothes hid her figure (for the time being), and her eyes were shut, but what they could see of her face was a fine combination of maturity and childishness, which made her apparent age practically indeterminable.

    All present, except for Elizabeth, breathed a sigh of relief: they had been in time; she was alive.

    "Alright," Lucinda spoke up, "let's not stick around any longer than we have to. Emily, Chris," she turned to regard them, "check the premises and send back news of what we have here, so they'll have what they need when it comes time to come up with a believable cover story. Liz," she made a gesture toward a patio chair, "you're welcome to rest; you look tired."

    "That's because I am tired," Elizabeth replied, and chuckled weakly.

    Now that their first priority had been taken care of, by securing their subject, Lucinda went back to Ray and together they took care of the still-unconscious man that was lying in the hallway, so that they didn't have to continue watching him until someone came to pick him up. Then, once they had both finished transferring the newly-transitioned girl into the back of the SUV, Lucinda broke away from Ray to check on Elizabeth, because she had noticed something about the girl's expression when she had passed her by during her last task.

    "Is there something wrong?" She asked, as she sat down in a nearby patio chair. Her hair was already beginning to caress Elizabeth's hand when realization dawned, and she added, "are you worried that some kind of bond has been made?"

    Elizabeth shook her head and said, "I was just thinking of the process in general. Did you notice that he began to change only after I was finished healing the injury to his head?"

    "It didn't occur to me at the time," Lucinda considered, "but, now that you mention it..."

    "Yeah," Elizabeth said, as if they were sharing the same thought. "We know that it's easier on the body when a person transitions while awake, as opposed to being asleep. But it seemed like the transition had been put on hold, or couldn't properly be directed, because I was feeling what must have been widespread cell damage all over his body, and it had been getting worse. It may not be a coincidence for us to encounter something like this when there's a serious head injury involved."

    Lucinda nodded absently, as she recalled what little she knew — of what little anyone knew — regarding how the whole process worked. In addition to the known difference in respect to being conscious or unconscious at the time of the transition, there were also those who have had some success in influencing the outcome of their new appearance. And, then, there was the fact that everyone's talents were controlled by the mind. And if that wasn't enough, some became crazy, and needed to be terminated as a result.

    There was no doubt that the mind played a major role, but to what depth? And if someone ever found out, who would use that knowledge for what? All that Lucinda knew for sure was that the debriefing was going to be a bit interesting, once she shared what could possibly be a new facet on a worn topic.

    Once their job was finished, they returned to their SUV and left with their precious cargo. Soon there would be an orchestrated show, so that the people in the area would know that something had happened, rather than find out that their neighbor had disappeared without any explanation. Between the two men found at the house, the white van, and an attack made on Kelly Baxter four years ago, soon news would spread about how the family had once again been targeted by a gang member, and had been kidnapped by their hired hands. Of course, since no one inside of the prison had issued such a thing, the case would go unsolved unless the father could be recovered by whoever had actually kidnapped him. That is, of course, assuming that he hadn't been killed in the first place; and, of that, there was no guarantee.

    On the plane trip back to the Center, Emily said that she still couldn't sense the girl's presence, even though they had checked for, and found, a pulse. No one was sure about what that meant, but Lucinda and Elizabeth shared a look, thinking that it might have something to do with the state of her mind. Hopefully, despite being healed, they wouldn't learn that the girl was in a coma, or something worse, once they got her down to medical and had her hooked up to a battery of monitoring equipment.

    When Kristyn entered the room, she saw that Kelly was still asleep. The doctor that had been watching over her sat in a corner, holding up a magazine, though his eyes were now looking up at her, instead of at its contents. After she made a brief gesture with her hand, he nodded and went back to reading. She then pulled a stool up to the girl's bedside and took a seat, sure that she would wake up before too long.

    Like most who have been taken to the Center, Kelly was dressed in a hospital gown, strapped down to the bed, and hooked up to an ECG. She had also been hooked up to an EEG, but the doctor had gotten rid of it earlier that day, having, by then, found nothing wrong with the girl's brain. Well, as far as the EEG could tell them, since their facility wasn't equipped with an fMRI machine.

    She regarded Kelly's ageless face, being somewhere between girl and woman as it was, and wondered many things. The first, out of concern, was whether anything had happened to her daughter, due to coming into contact with the girl during her transition. Nothing negative had yet happened because of such an instance (in part because she was a part of the only known case) but, as a mother, she had every right to worry, as mothers are wont to do.

    Then there was the fact that, of the three that had transitioned yesterday, only Kelly had been targeted by someone. Perhaps it was due to a lack of resources on their part; she didn't know. However, she, after consulting with Harris, was sure that the group responsible had been aware of all three of them. How that could be so was unknown at present, but Harris had some ideas.

    Still, the group, more likely than not, probably hadn't known what their talents would have been. Even the Center had yet to figure out what Kelly's talent was, as opposed to the other two, despite how Emily and their telepaths had failed to use their talents on her. In that way, it was more likely for them to have been drawn to some existing quality. Exactly what that was, she wasn't sure. She knew that the girl was a martial artist, and had spent — at most — two years learning each of the seven styles that she had practiced, but that didn't exactly make her a master in any one of them. In fact, the known belt ranks that she had earned had never reached or exceeded the equivalent of a black belt. It was the same for her father, except he did hold a black belt in kenpō.

    Even more perplexing than that, was that the group had used a channel of communication that was reserved by the CIA to issue a message to Harris (which had more or less acted as an indirect notification to the Center's organization, in general), regarding a hostage negotiation. They had been given a week to meet them at a disclosed location, which turned out to be an old safe house in Northern Maine. They could bring four Center personnel to the meeting, though they had to be unarmed (relatively speaking), and Kelly had to be among them. A stronger presence than that, within a mile of the meeting place, and they would kill the girl's father and disappear. In such an event, they promised that they would strike again.

    Considering what they knew of the group's resources, however little it was, she agreed with Harris about the possibility of the meeting being a trap. The problem, as she saw it, was that he had laid the problem at her feet, to handle it as she saw fit. Test or not, as she assumed it to be, she was none too happy about being put into such a position. It was one thing to kill a rogue in order to protect others, but it was quite another to be given the option to sacrifice a complete innocent for the sake of the many. She could understand the justification for it, to be sure, but that didn't make her feel any better about it.

    Well, she had a week to make her decision. Aside from agreeing with Harris about using up as much of that time as possible, so they could learn more about the group that they would be dealing with, it should give her enough time to observe Kelly. It would also give them a chance to learn what they could about her psychological profile, since that was an area that their intelligence couldn't always determine well, given that, despite how many youths were now seeing psychotherapists, many yet did not. And, given that the girl's profile was four years old, and that she was now well into her teenage years instead of just on the cusp of it, it was all too likely for significant changes to have occurred since then.

    She just hoped to make the right decision, when the time came to make it. The Center was supposed to be a family of sorts, despite the obvious academic and militaristic environment that the institution was comprised of, so going to rescue the girl's father should reflect positively on the organization; especially to all those cooped up and unhappy about their arrangement. However, doing so would be a risk, and couldn't be done without serious consideration. If such an attempt worked out, good; if it didn't, it'd likely inspire unrest, and thoughts that they and theirs weren't safe enough, despite assurances to the contrary. And the last thing that she wanted, under her watch or not, was for a group of people to assemble itself in the Center and use its combined talents to make their escape, which would prove to be both unwise and disastrous.

    Her eyes had fallen to her lap sometime during her musings, so she was surprised to see Kelly staring at her when she looked up. For the first time in her life, she found herself staring into heterochromatic eyes: the right being an emerald green, and her left a sapphire blue (which, she noted, matched the color of her daughter's eyes). Her face was impassive, stony; she couldn't tell what the girl was thinking or feeling about her situation.

    She had had enough practice over the past few months, when it came to reaching out to someone and drawing out what she wanted to know, to know that she should start things off on a friendly note, by saying, "hey, there. I'm Kristyn. How long have you been awake?"

    Kelly glanced down at herself, for a second, before she re-established eye contact and, in a soft, mezzo-soprano register, said, "long enough."

    Kristyn wondered if she should be concerned by her lack of expression, or feel relieved that they might have someone who wanted to be a girl and, beyond that, might also be understanding enough to not freak out. However, something told her — women's intuition, perhaps — that something was wrong. Exactly what, she didn't know, but she intended to find out.

    She leaned forward and, with a show of curiosity, asked, "and you're not surprised?"

    Kelly would have just shrugged her shoulders in response, if she could, so she said, "it's certainly unexpected. But I don't see what good it would do me to make a fuss."

    Kristyn glanced over at the ECG, even though she could tell that the steady pace of the machine's beeping sound hadn't changed, and the numbers told her that the girl was as calm as she appeared to be. She returned her gaze to the mismatched eyes of the redhead and wondered about the source of her calm. Or, perhaps, was she simply indifferent?

    "I need to go," Kelly suddenly stated.

    That being something that Kristyn could work with, since she had gotten similar requests before, she easily said, "no can do. That's because—"

    "To the bathroom," Kelly interjected.

    Kristyn closed her mouth, blinked, then, as realization set in, she said, "oh! Right..."

    She wasn't sure if she could trust the girl, yet, but she had been unconscious for nearly twenty-four hours, and there was no telling the last time that she had gone to the bathroom before that. No one that had transitioned, as far as she knew, had ever been in bed long enough for them to need their bladder drained by a catheter, and so it was in this case. She usually explained the situation before they had access to the bathroom, but...

    She turned to the doctor and said, "Dr. Litchburg?"

    As soon as she had his attention, she made a motion toward Kelly and continued, saying, "could you help me release her?"

    "Sure thing, Miss Keys," he replied.

    He got up from his chair, set his magazine on its seat, then joined Kristyn at the bed, where she was already working on the straps that were holding Kelly down. They made short work of that, and the redhead continued to lie down on the bed as the doctor turned off the ECG machine and took care of the electrodes that were attached to her, while, at the same time, Kristyn lowered one of the side rails. Even after that, she continued to recline on the bed.

    "Alright," Kristyn spoke up, "you can get up, now."

    Kelly wasted no time in doing so, before she stretched out her arms and groaned in relief. Kristyn was mildly amused when she proceeded to scratch an itch beneath a breast, then became even more amused when she raised her hands to her breasts and cupped them, as if to test their weight. Despite how unflattering the hospital gown was to the girl's figure, it was easy to tell that her breasts were a bit large for a girl of her size.

    "Huh," came Kelly's conclusion.

    Kristyn held out her hand and, unable to hold back a grin, she said, "well, if you're done fondling yourself...?"

    If Kelly was embarrassed, she certainly didn't show it. Instead, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and, rather than accept the proffered hand, she slipped down to the floor before Kristyn could warn her about trying to walk without aid. However, even though she had reached out to prevent her from falling, she was surprised to discover that her help wasn't needed: she seemed to be as sure-footed as a cat.

    Confused, she asked, "are you having any trouble standing?"

    Kelly regarded her for a moment, as if trying to read something, before she shook her head.

    "None at all?" Kristyn pressed.

    Seeing that she would need to speak to end this line of questioning, Kelly asked, "should I?"

    "Everyone else has needed time to adjust, as far as I know; myself included," Kristyn informed her, obviously intrigued. "So, we've come to expect it."

    Kelly shrugged and began to walk toward the bathroom, seemingly without a care in the world. Kristyn stared at her back, almost too engrossed in thought to realize that she had a good view of the girl's bare behind. She glanced over at the doctor, to see if he found this development as interesting as she did, but she found him gazing up at the ceiling, as if it held all of the secrets to understanding the universe. That's when she heard the now-very-familiar sound of a female urinating into a toilet bowl, so she returned her attention to the bathroom and saw that the door had been left open. Sure, the toilet was behind the wall, and she and the doctor could not see her, but still.

    "I can see that you're going to need a lot of work," Kristyn remarked, as soon as Kelly stepped out of the bathroom. "I mean, everyone knows to shut the door when they go to the bathroom."

    Kelly simply shrugged. Since she had been strapped down to the bed, and considering whatever had caused her to change into a girl, she had assumed that they would have wanted to observe her, to make sure that she didn't try anything. Beyond that, she was willing to humor her captors as much as she could, so they would leave her alone. Had anyone in the room known her, they might have realized the lengths that she was willing to go to accomplish that, as the few words that she had spoken in the last few minutes were a bit much for her. However, that's what the circumstances demanded.

    Seeing as Kelly wasn't going to respond to her verbally, Kristyn sighed and asked, "so, does it feel like you need to get some more rest?"

    Kelly shook her head. Then, as if her stomach had a mind of its own, it chose that time to raise another issue, and quite loudly.

    Smiling slightly, Kristyn said, "well, I guess we should probably get you something to eat. Just go into the bathroom and get changed," she nodded toward the outfit that was set next to the sink, "then I'll take you to wardrobe so we can pick out something better for you to wear, for when we head out to the cafeteria." Then, upon remembering an important detail, she added, "oh, and I'll tell you what you need to know about your situation along the way, okay?"

    Kelly nodded and made her way to the door that opened up to the hallway, instead of the bathroom. Kristyn didn't know if she should feel confused, amused, sympathetic or exasperated about it, as she had no idea whether the girl was doing it on purpose, was hiding the fact that not all of her faculties were in order, or that she'd had this problem prior to her transition. She supposed that there was only one way to find out.

    "Wait," she said in a commanding tone, to which Kelly listened. She then pointed toward the open doorway of the bathroom and continued, saying, "the bathroom's that way."

    For the first time since she had awoken, Kelly's face actually expressed something: mild puzzlement. Kristyn idly wondered if it was meant to be seen as a miracle.

    "So," Kelly deliberately spoke, "you want me to change clothes so I can change clothes despite being clothed already?"

    Kristyn's mouth fell open. She wanted to say something, but she couldn't manage it. Had she looked behind her, she would have noticed that the doctor was just as gobsmacked. The logic presented was sound enough, she knew, but only for the kind of person that didn't care if they were seen walking around in a hospital gown; and an ugly one, at that. That kind of person was Kelly, it seemed.

    Was that a headache coming on?

    She checked her watch, saw that school was almost out, then announced, "hold on."

    She whipped out her phone, so she could send a text message to Danielle. They had already made plans for after school, in the event that Kelly awoke, to see if she could make use of her empathy. However, she feared that she would need her for more than just that. For all that she knew, she might end up being the one that needed to be calmed, instead of the new girl, who didn't seem to be much affected by anything.

    She wrote, "I'll be in wardrobe. Come ASAP. This one's..." She struggled to think of a proper word to describe Kelly, before she decided upon, "different."