Our story starts outside the police station of an average city, a precinct handling what only those from Amarcia would consider normal, a case of not only kidnapping but of a series of abductions that took place every five years. This station, resting on the corner of a block, was much like any other, a curved face staring out over both streets, the wall of steel and glass, the entrance blending in with the windows that made up the curving side of the building, a tall, gray, metal flagpole standing tall and proud in front next to the door, a few plants against the side of the building, not even a miniature garden, the air smelling of late spring or early summer, birds tweeting every so often, the sky riddled with clouds, the scent of rain intermingling with the usual afternoon smell.

Within the building were chairs, similar to those found in the waiting room of a doctor's office or hospital, a fair-sized oaken desk at the back of the lobby, the bitter scent of roasting coffee and the soothing smell of tea calling from further back, down a hall.

The click-clack of an old desktop computer's keyboard seemed to resonate around the mostly silent lobby, the only other noises being the occasional distressed sound or the opening of the door before shoes were heard walking across the pale blue-gray tile, a voice speaking soon after.

A young, tan-skinned, brunette girl, in black jeans and a jail-striped shirt, quivered uncontrollably, sitting, curled up slightly, in a chair, a couple feet to the right of the police station's ancient front desk. Her shaking continually increased as the minutes passed and even more so as her parents entered, tears pouring down their faces.

The dark-skinned, brown-haired man, eyes a golden-hazel, was dressed in khaki slacks and a red t-shirt that barely hid the large purple birthmark on his shoulder. She's... she's safe now... my baby girl... is finally home... Unable to speak in his teary joy, he stood there, silent but smiling, as the lady with him moved towards the girl.

"Alia..." The pale, blonde woman, dressed in blue jeans and a white blouse, denim vest over it, a long, dainty, silvery-white cross necklace dangling from her neck, moved to give her daughter a hug, only to be surprised as the young girl furiously shook her head, still quivering as if a hurricane thrown leaf.

Unable to keep her voice steady, the child stammered as she did her best to speak. "No... don't... don't touch me... please..."

Another woman, fair-skinned and a redhead, wearing a dark gray, knee-length dress with black leggings and gray flats, stood, having been sitting next to Alia, a slightly sad look in her vivid green eyes. "You're Katherine and David Garcia, correct?" Her scent was that of lavender and lemon, a strange combination for what seemed to be perfume and yet it was a calming smell.

The teary couple nodded somewhat uncertainly.

"I'm Bethany Markov, from Child Services." With a sigh, the redheaded woman slowly guided the parents to the side. "She'll surely be skittish for a while considering what happened to her... and Alia... might never return to how she was..." Bethany sighed, glancing at the shaking Alia, frowning slightly. "Most victims of The Kidnapping... are the same way..."

At the same time, the girl felt like crying but she couldn't. Wanted to know she could feel pain but she was unable to. Her structure, her mutated state, would not allow for any of it. Why... why me..? Alia continued to quiver, her only other thoughts focusing on keeping her form the same. Focusing on the illusion of her being human. Trying to ignore the fact she no longer was. Unable to forget she now was a sentient being of clay, a golem with a human's mind, thoughts and instincts.

Several hushed minutes later, the parents returned, her mother reaching to put a hand on Alia's back, only for the girl to yell out once more, stuttering.

"N-no..! Don't... don't t-touch me..!" As she attempted to curl up further, her skin, first her hands, the tips of her fingers, her fingernails, slowly spreading, began turning gray. Upon noticing this, Alia let out a small, scared, worried shriek, a look of frantic concentration quickly growing on her shaking face.

Her mother uncertainly withdrew her arm only to crouch slightly so as to be as close to eye level with her daughter as she could. "Sweetie..? What's wr-"

"N-nothing..! Just... don't... touch... me..." The poor child shook harder, body spasming slightly, as if crying, but no tears could ever fall. Not anymore. Not after having been mutated. I don't understand... why it had to be me... or anyone... just... why..? She continued to dry sob, her mother torn between following Alia's wishes and comforting her.

The few people who looked their way seemed to be a mix of scared, worried and unsure, as if they felt they should help the family but also that they shouldn't or, perhaps, that they couldn't.

Minutes passed, the parents uncertain, Alia frantic, Bethany patient, all of them anxious, each for a different reason.

Alia worried that her parents, that anyone, would learn of her mutant state and hate her becoming one as they were despised by nearly all, the few who didn't have them most likely mutants themselves.

Her parents worried for they seemed unable to help their baby girl in any way. They could only watch on and hope. Hope that she would be able to get through what was going on with her.

And Bethany worried as she not only had dealt with many victims of The Kidnapping but had been a victim herself, one of the first, barely able to hide her trauma in public, and knew what horrors befell them, both during and after. She knew. And that's why she did her best to help. But she so often failed, the young victims unable to cope even with someone trying to help them, someone who had gone through what they had. And, at times, it almost seemed like that fact made it worse.

The excruciating minutes of stretched agony ended as David spoke, his calm baritone voice rough yet gentle.

"Alia... dear... let's go home... okay..?"

The young girl of clay slowly, shakily nodded, unable to form words at the moment, and gradually stood, head down slightly, arms crossed, body still quivering uncontrollably, both from fear and tearless crying.

Once more, her mother tried to put a hand on the child's shoulder, only to be stopped by Alia jerking away, a small glare aimed at Kat before the girl's gaze fell once more to the floor.

With a small sigh, the female parent pulled away from her baby girl and started outside, glancing back and watching as the child shuffled, walking slowly and uncertaintly, a look of concentration upon her face.

Upon reaching the car, a dark blue crossover, and climbing in, the kid curled up again, now silent save for the occasional dry sob or fearful murmur. I can't let them find out... not now... not ever...

The seats were leather, a dark gray, very much the same color as Alia's clay.

The scent of the vehicle was of an evergreen, the scent coming from a small, green tree hanging from the rearview mirror.

Other than the golem's murmuring and dry sobbing, the ride was mostly quiet, no one speaking but, every now and again, Katherine or David would glance back, worry in her emerald eyes or his hazel ones.

The moment Alia stepped inside the house, she sped to her room, golden-brown paint on the walls, faded white trim wrapping around the ceiling and floor. Upon locking the door, she finally allowed her body to do as it wished, melding into a gray form, slightly blobbish, as she curled up again, on her cherry-wood bed, converted in blue sheets, letting her thoughts disperse, eventually falling asleep, nightmares chasing her down all night, flashbacks of the man who had mutated her, turned her into what she now was, a monster in the eyes of those who could never know.

A sixth-grade Alia, clothed in a knee-length, dark blue, diagonally-striped dress and matching flats with open toes, was curled up in what seemed to be a glass cage, sobbing, back against two walls.

The room was plain, about 30 feet in length and nearly 45 in width, five cages in a cluster, separated by barely two feet of walkway, the floor a rough concrete, the only things within the cells being the soon-to-be-mutated children.

No sounds could be heard save for those coming from the five people within, one unconscious in the floor of her containment cell, another unseen, and two others barely audible in their whimpering but still noticeable to one right next to them.

Why... why me..? Alia tried to curl up further, paying no attention to anything else.

Her invisible neighbor stared at Alia sadly, pressing against the glassy wall between them, wanting to help but unable.

A slightly deep and mildly raspy voice spoke up, barely a hint of kindness in its tone even though its words seemed to want to tell Alia otherwise. "Come on now, don't cry. There's no need."

The child slowly looked up to see a light-skinned, gray haired man with a wispy goatee, looking both old and young, like he'd lived a hundred years and would live a hundred more.

He smiled, a failed expression of nicety, and pulled a silvery ring, speckled with rust, several keys upon it, out of the pocket of his long lab coat, pale blue slacks and a navy shirt beneath it, the man soon unlocking and opening the door. "You'll be out in five years... so enjoy the stay..."

She sniffled, her hazel-tinted green eyes teary. Why... why did you... take me..?"

"To unlock your potential dear..." He held out a slightly rough hand for her to take, soon attempting to smile kindly, barely failing.

She fervently shook her head at both his words and the gestures.. "You... you took me... from my home... from my friends... from my family... but why..?"

"Only to help you evolve." He still held out his hand, as if he'd forgotten it was outstretched.

"No..." She curled up further against the walls, as far back in the corner as she could, away from him. "I'm perfect as is..."

He finally lowered his hand, leaning against a wall, just inside the entrance to the cage, blocking the exit. "That something your dear mom and dad say to you..?"

Alia slowly nodded, seeming to have decided words were unnecessary as of the moment.

"They're wrong, no one is perfect because everyone is different." A slight scowl came over the man's face at his next words. "Perfection... is an illusion... made for people too lazy to change the world." His scowl turned into a crazy smile as he began to laugh a little, his golden-gray eyes slightly wild. "But I'm not lazy. I am bringing forth a new era."

Her quivering increased. "No... perfect... is different to... to everyone... one person's perfect... might not be another's perfect..."

"So they teach you garbage like that do they?" He seemed to sigh before walking in the rest of the way and grabbing Alia by the shoulder, pulling her out of the container. "There is no such thing as perfection, for anyone. People just talk like that because they want life to be perfect. They want the world to be perfect. But that's never going to actually happen without people getting off their asses and working for it, changing the norm, just striving for something different." He started dragging the girl towards the back. "And you'd best get that through your thick skull."

No..! Alia whimpered, trying to pull free from his grasp, without avail.

"You're not going back until I say so. So quit your squirming."

Eventually, with a sighing grimace, she resigned herself to being pulled down the hall, sobbing the whole way.

Alia awoke with a quivering gasp, fear and anger showing in her now-gray eyes, curling up as she began dry sobbing. I hate him... I hate me... because I'm a monster... thanks to him... She took a deep breath but it didn't help, she continued crying without tears, biting her lip as she tried to keep silent, to no avail, the sounds escaping even as her lips melded together.

Her parents were already asleep, she was certain of that, the time well past midnight.

And over thirty minutes passed like that. Nearly a whole hour, agonizing minutes that crept past on shaky legs, seconds crawling right behind. But Alia finally managed to fall asleep once more, curled up on top of the sheets, nose nearly touching the golden-brown peeling paint of her bedroom's wall.