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Prologue

Forty years ago.

He awoke to the sound of something akin to shattering glass coming from downstairs. Like a wrecking ball through an abandoned building it ripped his dreamworld in two and it crumbled down around him as his eyes fluttered open. Maybe his mother was in the kitchen and had dropped a plate on the linoleum floor again. He grabbed the flashlight he kept shoved under his pillow with one hand, while he rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the other. He had to press down hard on the cheap plastic button to get the light to come on. The beam from the flashlight hit the circular clock on his nightstand. It's little black arms showed it was almost three in the morning.

He doubted his mother was doing the dishes at this late of an hour. Then he heard the telltale creek of the fourth stair from the bottom as someone descended the steps toward the living room.

"What are you doing in my house!" He heard his father's voice yell from downstairs.

It was a tone he hardly recognized. A tone that, his normally reserved and loving father, saved for only the rarest of angered occasions. He slid off the side of his bed before pulling on the back of his over sized pajama pants that constantly fell down at the waist. There was a loud thump on the hardwood floor downstairs just as he peeked out through the crack in his bedroom door.

He caught a glimpse of his mother, wearing a silky nightgown, rushing past the door and holding what looked like a gun in one hand. He had never seen a gun in real life before, but it looked just like the kind on the cop shows his dad watched on television with the spinny wheel that held the bullets. The handle was black, but the rest of the gun was chrome.

"Mom," he cried after her as she darted down the steps with one hand on the wood railing and the gun held out in the other.

"Go back to bed," she said. "Every thing's f-fine." But he could tell by the quiver in her voice that something was terribly wrong. He swung open the door and followed, but he froze as he reached the top of the steps.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs was his mother with the gun pointed at a man he had never seen before. His father was on the floor, unconscious, with blood coming out of one side of his head. His father moaned, but did not get up.

"W-who are you...what are you doing in my house?" his mother asked.

"Where are your valuables?" the man asked calmly. "Cash, jewelry; give it to me and I'll let you live."

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but I'm the one with the gun. Get out of my house...now," she said.

His mother sounded tough, her tone taking on a rough edge he had never heard from her before.

The intruder simply smiled at her. It was a simple enough gesture, but it had a sinister edge that even a child could recognize.

"Shoot your husband," he said plainly.

"Are you a crazy person? I said get out of my house," she repeated.

A bright flash washed over the man's eyes, illuminating the room. It was like magic, again it was something he had never seen before.

"I said...shoot your husband." The man waited patiently, with a serene look on his face, as if he had just asked to borrow a cup of sugar or some other menial task.

His mother's arm shook visibly, then her whole body trembled as if she were fighting some inner urge, yet slowly her arm lowered; shaking all the while. She didn't stop until the gun was aimed at her husband's body lying unconscious on the floor and seemingly unaware of what was about to happen to him.

"Please, no," she begged.

"Shoot him," the man commanded again as his mother hesitated. Her eyes went wide with terror.

His little heart jumped in his chest as the exceptionally loud bang startled him. He covered his ears after the gun went off. All he could hear was a loud ringing inside his head, but he could clearly see his mother's sobbing as she dropped to her knees and her back heaved in and out.

"Now put the gun in your mouth." He heard as the ringing inside his head began to subside.

Her head shot up to look at the man. Wet lines of tears ran down her face. His mother's arm began to tremble, but this time she was silent as her arm bent at the elbow. The metal of the gun clicked off his mother's teeth as she shoved the gun into her own mouth.

"Now, pull the trigger," the man said.

He wanted to cry out. He wanted to run to his mother and beg her not to do it, but he stayed at the top of the steps, frozen with fear.

Now his mother's body was shaking violently as she struggled to withstand the man's powers that compelled her to do the unthinkable. He could only watch as her finger inched toward the trigger.

"I said pull the trigger," the man said with a hint of anger in his tone for the first time.

His mother made a sobbing whine of a noise, muffled by the barrel in her mouth, as her finger pulled down on the gun's trigger.

Bang!

The gun went off.

The young boy was splattered in chunks of his mother's skull and gore as her brain matter was blasted out through the back of her head, and up the stairway.

The man smirked up at him. "Now what I am going to do with you?"

He whimpered uncontrollably, shrank down to the floor, and curled up into a ball.

Chapter 1

Today.

Michael stepped through the automatic doorway and into the crowded shopping mall. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts, he hardly noticed as he bumped into a man walking casually with his family.

"Hey, watch it bud," the man said, but Michael didn't respond.

His head hung low, he just stared down at his feet and continued on past the boutiques, chic outlets, and department stores full of electronics. The mall was everything he hated about society. It was full of happy people, their asses covered in two hundred dollar designer jeans, going on about their little lives, seemingly oblivious to the horror of the real world around them. It was enough to make him want to puke.

To say he was not a people person would be a vast understatement. He would sooner save an insect from drowning before he would risk his life for another person. After all, no one would piss on him if he were on fire. From the bullies at school, to the girls who alienated him every chance they got, he had never known the comfort of another humans embrace.

Not even his parents cared for him. He was a constant disappointment to his alcoholic father. As far back as he could remember, his mentally ill mother had always been distant with him.

He shook his head, physically trying to wipe away the terrible thoughts. He needed to focus on the here and now.

Michael entered the food court, a circular room lined with fast food joints along the walls and tables set out in its center. He passed hundreds of people stuffing their fat faces with noxious mall food. Not one of them bothering to look up at him as he passed; he was like a ghost to them. A table full of pretty girls giggled and whispered to one another as he passed. The same clique as in every other school; looking down on anyone they believed was not as cool themselves. They were the type of girls that never gave him the time of day, and why should they? He was just another loser in a sea of losers.

Again, he shoved the negative thoughts from his mind and made his way over to the register of his favorite juice joint.

"I'll take an orange smoothie," he said to the clerk behind the counter wearing a stupid looking bright orange and blue hat.

"Coming right up," she said in a perky tone that made him cringe.

How could she be so happy living such a shit existence? Michael waited off to the side for his smoothie as the blender spun the fruits of his drink to a fine pulp.

"Here ya go." She set the drink on the counter.

Michael lifted it to his lips and took a single sip. He let the icy liquid warm in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it down.

"Aah," he said thoroughly enjoying the drink. The icy orange flavor was like liquid bliss.

He set the smoothie back down on the counter and strolled casually to the center of the food court.

"Sir? You forgot your drink," the girl behind the counter called after him, but he just kept on walking.

"Won't need it. Not where I'm going," he said under his breath.

He didn't stop until he reached the very center of the room. He adjusted his stance, spreading his legs apart, and making sure he had a clear view of the entire court. The last thing he wanted was a column or potted plant obscuring his view. He needed to take it all in. He was going to savor every last second of this like that sip of his smoothie.

The pretty girls were still giggling at their table, but they wouldn't be giggling for long. He would make sure of that. He would make sure they never giggled at anyones expense ever again.

He raised both hands, one to each side, and began to grimace with strain. The force within him began to reach out. His entire body tensed as he mentally touched the energy in the room. The very air around him became his plaything.

Suddenly the building began to shake. The floor rumbled beneath their feet.

"Earthquake!" A woman screamed and dove under the table she had been eating at, pulling her child with her, and protectively curling over the small boy.

Michael knew better. He used all of his strength as a Mover to pull at the walls of the food court. His mind reached out at his surroundings and yanked the building from its very foundation. Men, women and children alike, screamed in abject terror. Some ran for the doors. Others, frozen with fear, just stood in place and cried as huge sections of the domed glass ceiling shattered, sending jagged fragments cascading down upon them, like razor sharp shards of rain.

A huge chunk of concrete broke away and fell to the floor, crushing a man in mid-stride as he fled. The tiles on the floor fractured as the ground shook. Long cracks zigzagged up the wall like bolts of lightning. Michael smiled as the building began to crumble in on itself. He closed his eyes and waited for the world to end. The building moaned as the walls gave way and the ceiling caved in. He, along with the hundreds of people out for an innocent day of materialistic gratification, never saw anything ever again.

Chapter 2

They crowded around the television anxiously awaiting an announcement that would forever change their world. Thirty plus Users, the slang name for individuals with super powers, waited anxiously for the news that had, up until today, just been rumored at. The living room of the big house was packed with Users sitting on every available seat, on the arms of chairs, and scattered across the hardwood floor as necessary.

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