29,258,129

“The year is 5259, and I am a mutant.”


        Dain headed down the crowded sidewalk towards the small apartment he called his home. The normally springy, fuchsia grass on the side of the road was flattened out from the rush-hour walkers heading towards their own homes from a long day at work. The asphalt sidewalks were crowded with people, and the concrete roads were jam-packed with cars. The maroon skies were clear of any sight of those puffy orange clouds, so he could see the bright green sun shining down on everyone and giving them that sheen to their faces that made them look ill. The year was 5259 on planet Earth, and even in this far distant future, a man of Dain’s type would be shunned by society; possibly even worse than just that. Shocking, no? You'd think that with all the time, society would become more accepting, not less.
        Recently, a Civil Rights Act had been passed by the government. An act which successfully integrated cyborgs into the human society; quite successfully and painlessly, also. But mutant experiments, like Dain, were still forced to wear illusionary devices, disguised as media players or other electronics. This was not only for their safety, but also for the safety of those around them. The devices would visually hide their mutations, but they couldn't actually cause them to disappear, promoting a major hindrance for the mutant populace.
        Humans often feared mutants, and would cause a panicked uproar if they saw one. Possible riots could occur, and then the government would have to get involved and people would be hurt. So, to avoid all this, the government issued serial numbers and the devices to all mutants. This was the accepted way of life, and no one had ever complained of it outright. Sure they whined to their friends- of their own species -in their own homes, but never to anyone who could change anything.
        The only issue with this system was that the devices only worked on most people. 99% of people, to be exact. As for the other 1%? Well, they could see the mutants for what they really were. The could truly see this world's so called "monsters", and often took that as a job given by God to exterminate the entire race of mutants. Illegal or not.

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        Today had just not been my day. First, I calculated the wrong equation for my boss at work. Next, I spill my lunch all over my shirt and have to use up my half hour lunch break hiding in a back alley until everyone was gone, flying home, and changing my shirt. Then, I almost got my wing caught in a door on my way back in and blew my cover! Seriously, what else could possibly go wrong today; short of a massive explosion resulting in my eminent death?
        As I headed down the street, I whistled a quiet tune to myself, watching the people passing and the cars hovering over the smoothed, tan roads. This isn't too terrible, I figured. It was pretty nice out, and despite the clashing colors of the world and the cramped, airless environment of the city, Dain always felt at home there.
        And then, I spotted the small group of white capped men, I realized that, yes! It very well could get worse. This was worse than an explosion resulting in my death, mostly because it could also result in his death, but caused me to freeze up in panic. Feet glued to the asphalt. At least I wouldn't have to run away from an explosion!
        When I saw the tallest of the group point at me and shout, waving what looked like a gun in my general direction and causing the other men to point guns at me also, I suddenly knew exactly what they saw. They saw me. Those flat white hats were similar to your time's KKK, and so I'm sure you can understand the fear I felt if you know anything about them. Issue? Your technology is now obsolete, and these people used guns you couldn't imagine. So, I ran.
        I ran for my life- since as enigmatic as it sounds, they would slaughter me if they got the change. Only once before had I run into a group like this one. That encounter was on my way from the orientation that assigned my number and “wristwatch”, to me. That horrible day when those asses pinned me down and bashed my head into the pavement. One of them tried to scratch out my heart; I had the scars to remember this all by.
        As absorbed in my fearful, frenzied thinking as I was, I didn’t notice the blonde boy with the iPod earbuds jammed into his ears until I ran straight into him. My arm caught on the cord to those little white headphones and used the little wire as leverage for yanking the small device away from him. Then, as if I hadn't bothered the poor man enough lately, I knocked him to the ground several feet away. I myself skidded on my hands and knees, scraping my claws on the hard asphalt and causing them to make that horrid nails-to-a-chalkboard sound, and then nearly getting one of my horns stuck in the side of a trashcan.
        Getting up as quickly as I could manage, I turned to check for the men in the white caps and, not seeing them, took a few deep breaths to calm my rapid heart rate. Then, hearing a small sound of irritation from the ground beside me, it hit me that I’d sent that poor man sprawling across the blacktop and knocked his iPod away from him. He’d probably hit me if I tried, but I thought I’d offer to help him up anyways.
        So, I turned around, intending to offer him my hand and give him his iPod back but ended up being too startled by the drastic change in appearance he'd undergone, to actually help. He had massive wings folded to his back, that looked like solid stained glass. Gorgeous spirals- that seemed to be made of ivory -spanned his arms. But, the most striking bit, was his eyes: bright, ice blue, and piercing as a bullet. Beautiful in colour and design, even as he glared at me from the ground.
        “You’re a-” I started, but he interrupted me.
        “Mutant experiment.” He got up, dusting himself off and glaring at me. “A freak. Not human. A monster. Seriously, gawk all you want, just gimme my iPod back.”
        I shook my head and walked over to him, handing his iPod. I laughed the tiniest bit under my breath before turning my gaze up to his- he was a good few inches taller than me -and holding those icicles in my own sight, unwaveringly. “You forgot to add, “too”, at the end, there,” I stated nonchalantly.
        Tilting his head in confusion, light catching his blonde hair, he watched me rolling up my sleeve, unclasping my watch and pulling it off. This exposed my rather large raven’s wings, ebony horns, black and white eyes, and onyx talons to the world and even those without the gift to see them always. Unhindered by the restraints of the device, I stretched my wings to their good fourteen foot span and cracked my neck, looking up at him expectantly.
        If you're not a mutant with wings, you cannot possibly understand the joys of feeling the wind in your feathers after a long day of cramming them behind a desk. Can't believe the joys of holding your head to its full height and not worrying about catching your ram-like horns on a light fixture or the edge of a cubicle (yes, thousands of years later they still cram us into those things, shocking isn't it). The wonders of seeing clearly through raven's eyes when you've had to watch through a human's for hours. Nothing compares to that. Nothing at all.
        I looked up and realized he was staring at me. His confusion was just beginning to disperse, and the tension in his eyebrows was also starting to slacken by now. He even looked a bit like he was going to speak, when suddenly, I felt this unbearable pain stab through the left side of my chest. Like nothing I'd ever felt. It was excruciating and sense deadening.
        I swear I’d heard a bang, and possibly heard that boy shouting, but I couldn’t really tell. The pain overwhelmed everything else and destroyed any sort of coherent thought I'd attempted to have after it started. Though, I could feel my grasp on reality and consciousness slipping away. My knees gave out. I hit the ground with a thump and a slight squelch, and coughed once before passing out stone cold on the blacktop.

… …“Oren! Ooooooren! I need help on the math daddy gave me! Can you help me, big brotheeer?” Dain sniffled as he traipsed- contrastingly -energetically over to Oren, whom he considered an older brother type, there at the lab.
        Oren sighed irritably at the idiocy of the child, but couldn’t help a smile at the adorableness of it all. Chuckling, he took the sheet from Dain. Turning his smile down towards the small raven-boy and fluttering his own stained-glass wings, he took a look at the math problems on the paper.Laughing and shaking his head, he figured to himself that this boy would never amount to anything mathematically useful if he kept up at this rate. “You’re more of a blonde sometimes, than I am, Dain.”
        Laughing as the boy pouted at him cutely, Oren reached down and ruffled Dain’s jet-black hair before taking the small mutant into his arms and flopping down onto the couch with him on his lap, starting to explain the math problems… …

        Blinking my eyes open, I shook my head slightly and tried to clear out the remnants of some old memory that had probably been deleted from my "hard drive" at the orientation- mind you, as soon as my head moved, it felt as if it was going to implode and leak brain tissues out of my ears. That happened to me a lot (the memory thing, not the brain leaking): short blips of memories came up as dreams and I’d swear I recognized someone. Though, it was odd that it would be a complete stranger like this man. That had never happened to me before.
        I tried to open my eyes to look at him, reassure myself that it actually was him in the dream, but the sun was much too bright and I closed them again immediately, groaning and wincing slightly. Yep, one brain stew coming up, sir.
        Suddenly, I heard a gasp and I found myself being jostled around, and moved up into a sitting position so that I had to force my eyes open and stare up into the shocked face of the boy. Damned man was going to tip my head too much and let all those needed cells float right out my ears, I was sure. My brain was obviously not working and my chest hurt too, now. What the hell? Was the soldering on my bones coming apart?
        “You’re not dead!” he gaped.
        Well that wasn't the expected response. I expected something more like: 'You're dying!' Or...'What's that in your ears?!' Or maybe, 'Your arm just fell off at the elbow! What the hell?!' Not: 'You're not dead!'
        I furrowed my eyebrows slightly, gaze jumping from his puffy eyes, to the blood- my blood -smeared all over his hands, and then back up to his face. I repeated this cycle of fidgeting vision, until my onyx eyes finally rested on his vibrant blue ones a few moments later. I held his gaze steadily for another moment before speaking. “Should I be?”
        Disbelief written all over his face, the boy just gawked at me. “They shot you! Those bastards shot you! Straight through the heart! So yes, you should be dead!”
        Looking down at my chest in confusion, I saw a small hole in my shirt. There was blood seeping steadily out of said hole, and staining my shirt. I shook my head irritably as I sat there for several long, silent moments, just listening to the cars whiz by on the nearby road, and watching the stain spread steadily across the pale lavender fabric. I'd liked that shirt, too. I then spoke, quite flatly, I was sure. “My heart,” I began boredly, “is over here,” I flicked the right side of my chest, which was completely undamaged and then looked up at him expectantly. Though, the reaction I got wasn’t quite the one I expected.
        He blinked, staring at me blankly for a moment. Then suddenly, he slammed his fist on the ground, leaving a small smudge of crimson liquid, there and making me jump. “Damn it,” he grumbled angrily. “So, I just basically snogged you for absolutely nothing!”