Liberty Museum
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

As grand openings went the crowds were expansive, but so was the premises on which the museum was built. It was like nothing she was familiar with, although Philadelphia had that whole feel to her. Life had changed in every way in just three months, who would have thought that she would be riding in a limousine towards a museum opening for some World War II heroes when she should just have been just another senior at high school. Her life was watched by millions of American’s every Saturday and now she was one of the privileged.

As the limousine came to a stop, she caught her breath.

Stepping from the car, her sleek black dress clung to her body, cut just above her knees and she let a smile echo across her face as she waved at the photographers from the media. It was a special guest appearance, and there she was. Isobel Devalo, just an eighteen year old girl from a small rural town in Kansas, looking and being treated like a star.

The wind flushed her cheeks, her hair was loosely curled and stray hairs around her face were pulled back into a quiff. She pursed her lips as she posed, looking over her shoulders at the camera. They called her name, and it echoed in her ears. It was what she had always wanted.

Turning on her heel, she walked onwards into the museum.

Another limousine pulled up from behind hers, and out stepped an acquaintance and one of her new competitors on the nationwide television talent show, American Star, running in its sixth series. The twelve competitors were all specially invited to the opening.

Stepping out of the car with a small wave, wearing a rather sleek tuxedo, one of America’s newest All-American pin ups created the same craze as the young woman before him. His blond hair was dyed with numerous shades, and his smile was crooked but wide. Everything about him was endearing. Tripp de Lioncourt was the small town farm boy from Texas, he had always been the star, whether it was on the football team or otherwise. Now, he found himself in the top twelve singers in America.

Stopping to soak up the opportunity, Tripp looked like a classic gentleman. He was without the blazer of his suit, the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to the elbow and his tie was thin, and black. Everything about him was that of a young man, even when so many considered him to be a child.

After a few moments he turned and followed Isobel’s lead into the building, and the remaining American Star contestants made their way up the carpet, one by one.

Half an hour had passed by the time the young man made his way up the red carpet, following his father closely. This was exactly the kind of event a state Senator graced with his presence, and Senator Willoughby knew the importance of playing his constituency. George merely followed his father; his interest was in what was inside the museum, not how many votes this would earn his father.

George felt stuffy and uncomfortable in the suit he was forced to wear, the young man both looked and felt out of place in the situation. His afro was larger than life, and the sunglasses had created a dispute mere hours before with his father, his mother had referred to them as ‘James Bond’, only an African American version. Although his parents stopped to indulge the media, he marched on, unconcerned with the public scrutiny that enthralled everyone else.

Art had never been an interest of his, nor had superhuman ‘heroes’, Arthur Levin’s belief in God was too strong for him to believe they were anything but destructive. The Israeli exchange student had been sent over in the hopes that his radical views would be softened, but he had yet to stumble over his devout beliefs, despite the week he had spent with the Allen’s already and their Christian beliefs.

Mr. Allen was the museum curator, and he had decided to bring his son Kyle, and Arthur along to see the sights. All three avoided the media circus and entered through the staff entrance at the back of the museum.

At the front entrance alongside the security guard, whom she clung to in excitement, was a slightly overweight girl, who tried to look grand for the occasion but was unable to compete with the elite of Philadelphia. Only earlier she had seen the American Star contestants and she was still giddy, but the art in the museum was what preoccupied her and the designs of the costumes that had been worn by the Liberty Legion in their actives years back in the 1940s and 50s.

Her fringe fluttered about her eyes, and a wide smile was on her cheeks. She had entered through the service entrance and she wore a somewhat modest pink dress, a hand me down from one of her sisters but she was just pleased that she was given the opportunity, and she had her father to thank.

“Thank you daddy,” she cooed at him in a somewhat shrill voice, her anxiety getting the better of her. “This is just so...”

For the first time ever, Harold Mauricio found his daughter lost for words and he laughed.

“Just calm it Laurelle, Mr. Allen said that when everyone was in and settled you could wander around the exhibits.”

Laurelle’s smile only widened at the prospect but her eyes narrowed in disgust when she heard a conversation between a father to her right and his snobbish daughter, a pretty little blonde thing yet she hated to admit it. Leaning against the wall, she blocked her out and waited impatiently for the freedom to see what she had come here for.

“Ah really don’t see why ah have to be here,” drawled the blonde girl, she had a deep southern accent and a look of disgust on her face as she noticed the overweight girl watching her.

“Honey, ah need this for mah article,” the man replied to his daughter. “Whitlee, it wouldn’t kill y’ to get a bit of culture in y’r life. This doesn’t happen often. Ah wouldn’t even let the rookies handle it.”

Whitlee Waldorf sighed and she crossed her arms, her white dress was designer and clung to her svelte figure. Long blonde hair was pulled back into a messy up-do resting on her right shoulder, and her lips were tight and tense. Whitlee had always hated art, her father had started out as a small reporter and now Waldorf had purchased most of the major newspaper companies in the North and South. She was spoilt, but that was how she liked it.

Tired of the obviously poorer girl’s looks, she scowled at her and stormed off into the ‘Whizzer’ exhibit.

Eustace Mace felt out of his depth as he walked through the exhibit dedicated to his grandfather, the Patriot. In his youth he had often dressed up in some of the hand-me-down items granted to his mother and pretended to be what he was, a superhero. It was that dream that had led him to attending West Point in the first place and since his graduation he had dreamt of nothing more than serving his country when they needed him most. More specifically, serving them where they needed him most whether it is in Afghanistan or some other Middle Eastern country.

His mother was not looking forward to his departure, but the date had not yet been set and now he was just relishing the life he had left. If there was any way for a man to die, in Eustace’s eyes that was definitely in battle, but only if the man believed in the cause of the battle beyond a reasonable doubt.

Despite not having been on the elitist guest list in the beginning, Eustace and his mother, Sally, had been extended invitations after she had donated some of his grandfather’s belongings. She had wandered off to find the curator.

Just as he reached his hand towards the class frame of his grandfather’s costume, thunder sounded and the electricity of the museum flickered off.

Screams of shock filled his ears.

ICEBERG	WHIZ KID	REVOLUTIONARY	HOPE	2D	MS. AMERICA	BLUE EAGLE

Liberty Museum
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

The lights around her flickered and her blue eyes shot towards the ceiling, causing her long brown hair to flicker across her shoulders. She didn’t scream, thunder was nothing when someone had lived in Kansas for the whole eighteen years of her life. Isobel had survived tornadoes; she was a living and breathing Dorothy Gale. Walking forward as the thunder continued to echo through the halls, she heard children crying in their mother’s arms.

“Hi.”

Turning to see the voice from behind her, she saw a tubby but pleasant looking girl, who was dressed to the best of her ability. Not that Isobel had any right to judge, she would’ve been dressed in a hooded jumper and jeans if the production team had let her, but they wanted her to be something more glamorous than she really was.

“I know this is going to sound really stalkerish but I love you on American Star,” grinned Laurelle with excitement. “You’re first performance just blew me away.”

“Thanks,” smiled Isobel in return. “It’s nice to know there’s someone rooting for me. Especially with the live shows starting like, tomorrow. It’s really intense.”

“The whole experience has got to be one of the best feelings ever though, I mean, I’ve never heard ‘Hurt’ sang so beautifully,” replied the zealous fan before moving closer to her sheepishly. “Could I ask you something?”

“Um, yeah. Shoot.”

“What are you singing tomorrow? I’m dying to know.”

Isobel considered for a moment, it wasn’t like it was one of the world’s biggest secrets but it was normally kept under wraps until the artist began performing the song but the girl seemed harmless and it was just a little request.

“Promise you won’t go blogging about this?” Isobel said as she waited for the nod, and then she continued. “Tomorrow I’ll be performing Whitney Houston’s ‘One Moment in Time’.”

The girl squealed with delight and Isobel laughed. “A diva fan, I guess?”

“Only the biggest ever, I mean Whitney is a legend.”

Laurelle paused as she pulled her cell phone from her pocket, and opened it to answer the call. “I’m just at the Whizzer exhibit. Uh huh. Uh huh. Yeah, I’ll be right over.”

Hanging up the phone she turned the girl the media was already dubbing, ‘America’s Sweetheart’ and with another smile excused herself.

Isobel made her way towards the Whizzer’s old helmet, she found the quirky style was nothing like she would expect of modern superheroes. The bright yellow, the blue ‘W’ emblem and those small feathered wings, it just wouldn’t be done. Then again, Hawkeye’s costume was still pretty garish. Slowly she reached out towards the glass, and resting her palm against it, the lights gave another flickering from the storm and electricity surged through her body.

The intensity of the shock almost knocked her from her feet as she stumbled backwards, dazed and confused before she finally lost her footing and fell to her knees.

Laurelle rushed through the darkness to find her father, entering the room dedicated to the Blue Diamond. Brushing her fringe from her eyes, she looked through the crowd which seemed to be rushing into the building to get out of the storm. As she searched for her father, her eyes were attracted by the glow of the bright blue diamond shards from the very diamond that the hero had himself carried.

Licking her lips, she approached something that was more expensive than everything in her own life. Nervously, she outstretched her hand and reached forward towards the glass, electricity flickered from the diamonds and pulsed through her as she fell to the ground causing the people around her to move back. Her father pounced from the crowd and cradled her as her eyes refocused on him.

Tripp ran his fingers along the wall, he wasn’t the most culturally diverse boy and when he opened his mouth he often let himself down. Not only was he slow of speech but his deep, southern accent was reminiscent of that portrayed in comedic performances of small town hicks, and this was the one thing he despised about himself. When he sang, people saw him as something different.

Brushing his fringe a little from his eyes, he smiled goofily as some girls rushed him and took pictures in the ‘Red Raven’ exhibit. It would be a lie to say that Tripp was completely comfortable with his new life but he would make of it what he had too.

It was publicly broadcast by critics that he wasn’t the strongest of the vocalists, a ballad was virtually out of his reach but he was the best when it came to the reggae style that was becoming increasingly popular with modern and upcoming musicians, he had that edge.

Walking around the exhibit he looked on at the costumes and memorabilia that had marked a life, they all had their own individual history and it fascinated him. Tripp had often admired those heroic enough to risk their lives for a cause, yet he had never managed to find that courage in himself. It was something his father, from a military background, held in disdain.

Tripp had never found himself tested to that capacity before.

Static electricity rushed through his body as he grazed his hands across the clear glass framed container, it held an old helmet of the Red Raven, and as the electricity ceased so did the flickering of lights. Collapsing to the ground, Tripp’s body exploded into uncontrollable vibrations. Succumbing to the epileptic fit, the American Star bodyguards split the crowd around him and they could only wait for help as he writhed in pain, slipping between consciousness and unconsciousness.

Whitlee watched the crowds flock towards the ‘Red Raven’ exhibit, but the perils of some stupid fool made little difference to her. Brushing her fringe from her face, she entered into the only female member of the Liberty Legion’s exhibit, it was all short skirts and numerous red and blue stripes, and everything that America stood for was on display in the one tiny room. Miss America had been something, she had definitely moved the class roles of women but Whitlee wasn’t much of a feminist.

Pouting as she stared enviously at the numerous alterations that Madeline Joyce had made to her costume over the years, she wished that her life would be so exciting and stylish and glamorous, to be seen as the heroine of the story and not the wicked witch, but it was a box that she had pinned herself into.

As she heard the lightning, and cowered from the rattling lights, Whitlee slid backwards and was caught in one of the costumes that were on display before she slid her back down the glass. Electricity forced her to whimper before she slouched to the side, falling unconscious.

Leaving the Allen’s as his ‘guardian’ made his way to sort out the electrical problems, Arthur made his way towards the exhibit for ‘Jack Frost’, a foolish Christian fabrication of an ancient element. Even as a young child he had never believed in the magic and mystical side of innocence, the private Arthur had been stripped of his innocence through faith that had always been how he had addressed it.

Arthur smirked. Hundreds of people were paying in and driving out to see some pointless shards of ice, which may even have been completely void of any connection with the hero that it supposedly represented. He was a cynic.

Pushing the rim of his glasses up his nose, he ignored the flashing of the power deprived lights and continued to look at the shining crystalline shards. Even though he would be the last to admit it, there was something about them it was intriguing and it kept him entranced for a few moments longer as he reached towards icicles... manifestations of shining electricity shot forward and tore through his body as he fell to his knees, writhing in pain.

George examined a book that had supposedly given the superhero the Thin Man his superhuman abilities, there was something in that that interested him. The superhuman vigilantes like the X-Men and the Avengers had always been something that he had loved to follow in the media, his father however was often less impressed with them and their control over New York.

Removing his sunglasses as he leaned forwards, he read the only word on the front of the dusty manuscript, Kalahia. It had been an ancient civilisation but apart from that the name was unfamiliar, it didn’t spring a well of information to his mind.

As the lights flickered and he heard chaos from some of the other exhibits, George watched the word ‘Kalahia’ shimmered with a silver energy before he felt a burning sensation in his eyes, words in a long forgotten language ushered through his mind as he struggled to catch his breath. It was like electricity pulsed through his every pore, similar to what he had imagined lightning would feel.

The energy drained away, and he collapsed from the strain.

Feeling the fabric in his hands brought back memories of the grandfather that he had never really gotten to know. It was unfortunate but he had been stronger than that, Eustace had always just hoped that he would be fulfilling his role as a ‘Mace’ man; he didn’t know his father and he didn’t care. It wasn’t as if he had anything to prove, yet there was still that sound in the back of his head that always wanted him to be something more.

As the lights continued to flicker, a static shock rushed up both of Eustace’s arms and reverberated around his head, it left him kind of dizzy and light headed as he stumbled backwards, he couldn’t even speak; his entire mouth had went numb and he couldn’t feel his body, his eyes shot skyward and he slipped backwards as he fainted.

Standing with his hands in the pocket of his duffle coat, and watched cautiously. Jack Castle was a former hero, and he had fought alongside those who were honoured in this very museum. His sandy hair was wet from the rain, and when the lights flickered off and on again, he felt a tingling sensation running down his neck. It was then that he noticed the seven simultaneous collapses from the different, open planned exhibits.

There were cries for ambulances and help, and it was then that Jack made it his business.

The Courtyard
Wellington High School
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Only yesterday had America proven a very drastic point to the young Israeli exchange student, it wasn’t the land of opportunity but the land of misfortune. Arthur had been confined to a hospital filled with what he called incompetent doctors, and he had been kept until late in the night. They had been concerned with his rapidly decreasing temperature, yet Arthur had been unable to feel anything out of the ordinary, after much protesting he had been released back into the care of the Allen’s.

Despite the ordeal, he had been prepared for his first day of American high school with Kyle Allen. It wasn’t something he had been looking forward too, but he was prepared nonetheless. Arthur had always prided himself on being someone who was determined to finish what he had started. Even though he was young, at just sixteen, he had a flawless record as far as this ideal was concerned.

It was a public school, and it reminded him a little of a prison.

Arthur’s school in Tel Aviv had been a private school, it had been almost palatial in its architecture yet he was forced to slum it for the remaining two months he had to stay with the Allen’s. Kissing the ‘Star of David’ that he wore around his neck as a permanent reminder to himself and to those around him of his culture; he moved to one of the benches and unpacked the lunch that Mrs Allen had made for him.

Kyle had offered to stay with him but Arthur found him tedious and had sent him away, he was a loner by nature, although not quite the lone wolf he portrayed himself to be in his head. Scrawny and gawky, Arthur had often been the victim of bullying, it was perhaps why he was so deep routed in his faith as it had been the only release through his torment and now he had become stronger for it, spiritually if not physically.

Rustling the brown paper bag of his lunch, he pulled an apple out and as he prepared to shine it, he noticed something very peculiar. Simply by blowing on the apple, the side that his breath had touched shimmered in the sunlight and closing his hand around it tightly, it shattered into shards in his hands. His eyes shot opened as he gasped.

It was ice.

Jordan’s Surgery
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

“Thank you for your time, Mr Jordan,” she smiled brightly at him.

Laurelle had never imagined that she would find herself in the position she was in, but it had been two years ago. It had been an adjustment at first but her father had been a huge support to her. At eighteen, she should be a graduating senior but she had been forced to drop out in her senior year, they couldn’t afford what it would take to find a full time carer for Sammy.

As a teenager mother, she could no longer put herself first. There were responsibilities that held a deeper meaning; she had never understood maternal instinct until she had been a mother herself. She had lost her mother at a young age; there had never been that bond in her life. It was something she was determined that her two year old son would never feel.

Last night had scared her, but excited her also. She had been admitted to hospital after her collapse at the Liberty Museum opening but so had Isobel Devalo and Tripp de Lioncourt, two of the contestants on her favourite television talent show, ‘American Star’, they had both been genuinely lovely to her but she had gotten off far lighter than Tripp. It was weird to feel a bond with people she had never met before last night, something had told her that it was all changing, that her life was getting better.

Leading Sammy towards the toilets as he groaned she prepared to change his diaper, and it was then that she noticed something on her large chest. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned towards the mirror and saw the rough patch of skin. Her eyes widened with a sense of fear as she tried to scream, afraid that she would alert Sammy’s paediatrician.

Running her fingers across it she gasped.

“Diamond?”

The Girls Locker Room
Reynolds Preparatory Academy
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Pulling her blonde hair back into a ponytail the attractive blonde girl scowled at herself in the mirror, she plumped her checks to give them that rosy affect. She was gorgeous; Whitlee was the girl that most girls aspired to become, her body was svelte and her skin was flawless but she always pushed herself for more, it was never enough. Standing in her cheerleading uniform, a blend of red and white, she pressed her palms flat against her flat stomach, almost as if she saw weight that wasn’t there.

Her bright blue eyes watered.

Rushing through the row of lowers, she rushed into the toilets and smashed the cubicle door shut so hard that it slid of the hinges but she failed to notice. Leaning over the toilet she saw her reflection in the water at the bottom; she sobbed as she lifted her hand and forced herself to throw up the chocolate bar she had just eaten.

After she had vomited, she slid back and pressing her back against the cubicle walls she sobbed quietly into her knees. There were pressures that no one realised in her life, and she had no real friends or siblings to support her. Her mother was a hindrance and not a help, and there was only so much she could tell her father.

There was more to Whitlee Waldorf than met the eye.

Releasing all of the anger she felt, she screamed and smashing her fist into the wall behind the toilet, she created an indentation on the wall and stumbling back as the tears were still marked in mascara across her cheeks and her lower lip dropped she stared absently at the hole she had made.

“What the...?” she muttered breathlessly.

American Star
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

“Tripp de Lioncourt!”

With the voiceover man echoing his name over the stadium and the doors sliding open and he made his way through them onto the stage and he let the subtle tones of the backing track envelope him. Tripp had been wrecked with nerves, after the events of last night he had been tired and shaky, the epileptic fit had frightened him and he was still unsure about his voice and his place in such a competition, he had no idea why he was up as the opening act of the series.

Wearing a blue and white checked shirt, a pair of slumped jeans and black converse, as he sat on a high chair at the forefront of the stage he gave a smile to his fans. Lifting the microphone to his mouth, he began his song.

Tripp looked in the crowd, and his eyes saw clearly every face in the crowd which startled him, he didn’t have great eyesight at the best of times. Recollecting himself, he got back into his song.

Striking pains ran all over his body, particularly his back as he began to sweat, his voice became shaky as he entered the final stages of his song. His blue eyes fought back the tears, but he was stronger than he thought he could be and he fought on as he slid of the chair and continued.

Tripp put all of his effort into hitting the last note and when he missed it, he felt his life crashing around him. His eyes were in pain and everything was so much clearer than it had ever been. As the judges finished their mainly negative comments about his shaky performance, he rushed off the stage and straight towards the bathroom. He was gasping and writhing in pain as the fellow ‘boys’ from his category asked if he was okay.

As he screamed and removed his shirt, two bright blue wings released from his body.

Woodland Terrace
West Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

“Eustace, is that you?”

The voice called from the lounge, his mother was the over-protective type and she was constantly afraid that he would be called to his ‘tour of duty’. They knew it was inevitable, with the war in Afghanistan still brewing but Sally Mace wanted it to be as far away as possible. As the red haired Eustace entered the living room, his mother smiled widely at him and he kissed her on the head before he took the seat across from her.

Scars ran across his wrists, he had never self harmed but the previous night had left bright blue scars that looked like vivid veins clearly evident. He had been light headed since the incident but he didn’t want his mother to worry, she worried enough. Eustace had always been the man of the house, at twenty it was a burden no one should have filled but he was without a father and he considered his mother to be frail, and torn down by life.

“Would you like some tea?” she smiled, pushing her body off the seat.

“Mom, I can...”

Eustace made to rise but she snapped at him.

“For God’s sake Eustace, just let me do something for you.”

In frustration, she flailed her arms and knocked over the urn of her father, Jeffrey Mace aka the Patriot. As she gasped, Eustace instinctively and without warning launched forward and caught the urn before it had fully toppled from the table.

“How did you...?” enquired Sally.

“I don’t know,” was all he could answer.

American Star
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

“Isobel Devalo!”

Isobel walked onto the stage in a pair of tight denim jeans, and they accompanied her indigo, glittering top. She was worried, not about Tripp’s freak out backstage but about her own, all day she had had a serious case of the shakes and if she lost control of herself again she would fail vocally and she would really see the end of her dream. Her long brown hair waved around her face as she smiled, it was ballad and she needed to stand out, as the sixth act to perform that could be difficult.

Having overcome the smaller verse in the song, she prepared herself physically and mentally, she had trained for this and as she pressed her hand against her earpiece she made sure she was note-perfect, she couldn’t be anything less.

Isobel inhaled as she made it to her final verse.

As the last note from the Kansan faded, the crowd burst to their feet and she smiled cheekily at her critique, as she was dismissed from the stage she made her way through the wrong door, and found herself in an abandoned area. The shakes overtook her in a way that she was unable to control, it was more intense than she had experienced previously, and her body had been in overdrive since the accident the previous night.

Isobel’s body lurched forward at a superhuman speed, and when she realised what she had done, she forced herself to stop and was hurtled into the cardboard boxes that lined the walls of the abandoned room. Pushing the boxes from her body she sat up, her eyes wide and doe-eyed.

Willoughby Estate
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Stretching out in the bed, he yawned loudly. The African-American scratched his head, his hand entangled in his afro, as he pondered the previous night. George hadn’t been taken to the same hospital as the others, after he fell unconscious his father had brought him to a specialist in New York, but there had been nothing wrong with him by the time he had arrived. It was almost as if his body had healed itself.

Pushing the covers from his bed, he realised that his headache was back.

Slowly he made his way towards his en suite, and looked into the mirror. There was nothing stunning about him, but he was mildly attractive not that he had ever really been in a relationship to find out what people thought of him. Having went to a boarding school, everyone he had associated with were snobs but the nineteen year old had cut all ties and become something of a lone wolf.

Spitting out the toothpaste he had been using, his face tingled slightly and as he looked in the mirror once again he noticed that part of his face was slipping as if it were a liquid. Yelping before he slipped on the water that he had squirted everywhere, George landed on the floor in a heap. Still panting as his hands also began to droop and lose their consistency; it was almost as if he was elastic.

His maid rushed into the room, and he banged the bathroom door locked as his body regained consistency.

“Thin Man,” he stuttered as he realised what had happened.

Penthouse 2, Gellar Building
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

It had been long, and it had been hard but he had managed to find them all. The two talent show contestants had been easy; they were all over the newspapers and magazines. The Senators son hadn’t been difficult, even the cheerleader was easy to track. It was the Security Guard’s daughter, the soldier and the Israeli that had caused him difficulty, they were unknowns but they wouldn’t be for long. Not now that they were gifted.

Jack Castle, to this day, remained a scientist even though he had long since retired from the superhero business. Now he had a chance to make something from his otherwise wasted years of experience. Sending his aides to follow the each of the youths affected in the lightning storm, he had learned that some had already begun to exhibit powers. He still waited for some to display them.

As he looked at the pictures spread across the table in front of him, he knew what he had to do. As he reached for his Apple Mac laptop, he began to type hurriedly, he had little time.

7.03 pm
Liberty Bell
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

They were late, each of them. He wasn’t even sure if they would show.

Standing in the cold, Jack reminded himself why he was here; to help the next generation to become heroes and not the villains they had the potential to be. There was something beautiful and poetic about meeting them at the ‘Liberty Bell’ across from Independence Hall, it was something that they clearly represented, well; it was what Jack hoped they would represent. As his sandy hair ruffled in the wind, he noticed the first of the arrivals.

It was Laurelle Mauricio, the girl who sought for somebody to care, it made sense that she wouldn’t pass up such an opportunity. She was a plump young thing, eighteen years old and a mother so young but she had heart, and it was the first thing that Jack’s aide had noticed about her. As she approached from the taxi, she walked towards him with an anticipation that seemed to be killing her inside. Her skin was flawless, the marks of diamond had removed themselves but she still wanted answers.

“Can you really tell me what the hell’s going on?” she ordered.

“I can try,” Jack assured her. “When the others arrive.”

“Others?”

At that moment, the two singers emerged from either side of a cab. Isobel led the way and Tripp followed along slowly, he was nervous and it was clear in his face. She wore a woolly grey scarf and a fitted black coat with jeans and a pair of ugg boots. Tripp, however, was far more casual with a grey beanie on his head, allowing only his fringe to be seen and a purple v-neck top with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of jeans. He gripped his phone as if it were his very lifeline, as if he thought he would need it.

They both looked tense, there was a lot riding on this and they had very little time.

Stepping from the chauffeur driven limousine, George joined them. He had a look of excitement about him; he wasn’t as a fearful of the others. That didn’t mean he was braver, it just meant that George welcomed the changes that had overcome him. Looking sleek in his suit, he walked towards them as he rubbed his hands for warmth against the cold.

As if simultaneously planned, Eustace and Arthur arrived. Eustace had driven and as he locked his car, Arthur made his way from the cab. Arthur looked angry, it was a stage beyond frightened and there was a burning hatred in his eyes as he stormed towards Jack.

“What did you do to us?”

Jack was startled, but not surprised. “I will answer your questions in a moment.”

Standing away from the other five that had congregated, Eustace was uncomfortable he hated not having control and with the sudden reflexes and agility he had managed to display, everything was out of his control. His mother had tried to make sense of it, but she had still not reached a conclusion. They worried he was a mutant, and that the mark on his arms would lead to further transformations. It was an uncertain time.

Finally, fashionably late, the last of those contacted arrived.

Whitlee walked towards them in a salmon and white dress, wearing a white cardigan and heels. Her hair was straightened and her lips were pursed, she looked sultry and she snarled as she noticed Arthur was checking her out, it made her uncomfortable but it flattered her because it was the attention she strived upon.

“Suck it up dweeb,” she warned him before turning to face Jack. “What the fuck is this?”

She snapped at him, but she had said what they all had been thinking and breaking the silence, Jack told them what he had to say.

“My name’s Jack Castle and I have a proposal for each of you.”