Prologue

Prologue

          Despite the roaring of the wind and rain, he could still hear the crunching of the stones underneath his boot as the weight of his body came clamping down on the ground. He could feel neither the rain nor the wind however, for his body was at this point so dense he could barely feel the push, and the leather coat he wore, with the hood pulled over his head kept all effects of the rain at bay. He may as well have been indoors for all that was concerned in this matter.

          This rain wasn't natural. But then again, what was nowadays? With the sort of beings running around out there, it was almost impossible to discern what was as it should be, and what was under the influence of another.

          He had gotten here just in time, or so it seemed. If any of the others had made it here before he had, then the school would not be in the state of peace it currently held.

          Hands in his pocket, his head down, trying to look as anonymous as possible, he approached the building.

 

---------------------------------------

 

          "Please." The man begged, when he was able to pull in enough air to form the sentence, "He isn't part of this. He doesn't deserve this! This isn't fair!"

          "I know." Answered his captor. An individual who looked extremely out of place in this environment, wearing a green halter neck evening gown with hand stitched side sequins and sling-back emerald slippers. Such attire was necessary in the cocktail party she had just excused herself from. And so, putting one smooth  and shapely leg over the other as she sat down comfortably onto the wooden chair, she began to write on the clipboard between her fingers. "But it is needed."

          "How? Tell me how it is needed! He isn't even like one of us!" The man screamed, attempting to lunge forward, but prevented by the heavy shackles keeping him connected to the wall. This was not the first time he had endeavored to move against the chains, and his wrists were bleeding, but it seemed he barely noticed. "He hasn't manifested anything, and he is well into puberty. Please, please, just leave him alone! Please!"

          "Quiet, Max. We are going after him, and there is not much to be done about it." The woman said, finishing with her notes, and handing the clipboard to the assistant only a foot away from her.

          "Please. Laura. Please, for all our history, don't do this to him. He's the only son I have. He is the most important thing I am living for right now!" He tried to come forward forcefully again, and just as always, the shackles ensured that didn't happen. Tears were moving down his face unhindered, and now he was giving a bit of a light sob. "Please. I beg of you. Don't do this to him."

          "I am sorry, Max, but I have no choice." And truly, she did not. He knew that, yet he insisted on begging. Why? It appeared that was what sympathy did to someone. Fortunately for her, she was one hell of an apathetic human being, and emotion never clouded her judgement. She pitied all those who were burdened with such a thing... how did they feel knowing they could be so easily crippled by irrationality? It must not have been the kind of thing one would be proud of in any dynamic. Still, it was not their fault they were inferior.

          "Sorry?" He scoffed, and it appeared that he had finally given up, for his body had slackened, and he was now on his knees, his hands held high in the air by the shackles that were not too long. "You don't even know the feeling."

          "Goodbye, Maxwell." She rose to her feet, and gestured to the assistant by her side, who nodded faintly, and approached Max.

          He did not struggle, even as the assistant pulled from within the biege, ironed and drycleaned italian suit he had donned, a serrated bread knife.

          "A bread knife?" She asked. Such an inefficient choice. "Do you realize how long it will take to remove a head using a bread knife?"

          "That is the point, madam." The assistant replied, his voice just as nasty to the ears as ever before. She wondered for a moment what his name was; she still did not know even after his one month of service as her own personal assistant. She simply just called him that: Assistant. Should she ask? Probably not. It might encourage him to try and engage her in conversation.

          "Well, just ensure that he does not scream too loud." She said, her eyes once again moving to make visual contact with those of Maxwell. "We wouldn't want the others to be upset by the noise."

          "Of course, Madam." Said the assistant.

          "You are an evil person, Laura. And I do not say that lightly." Maxwell's voice was cold, and he was no longer crying. In fact, one might be inclined for a moment to believe that he had reached that level of enlightenment as she had. That point where one was not burdened by the whims of the heart.

          "So I have been told." She was about to leave, but paused, and decided that for all the time she and he had spent working side by side for almost a decade, she might at least do him one last favor and divulge some information to him. "If it makes you feel any better, Maxwell, Mitchell is outside the school right now, attempting to stop our man from retrieving your boy."

          He broke all hopes she had of him finally being no longer weak, by smiling. "Actually, it does." He was chuckling now, if only under his breath. "It really does."

Author's Note

Please tell me what you think. Try and be critical in terms of everything, I want to be as perfect at writing as I can be, and if it means taking potentially hurtful criticism, I'm more than willing to endure.