Frantically, I dart down the street and pull into the shadows. I glance down at the vials, the cynical plague inside is rampant in infecting isolated defectives, forcing them to become overwhelmed with disease, the suspicious figures are persistent in their persuasion for corrupting the rebellious imperfection, but doubt burns through me as I look to the anxious teen at my side. Change was always inevitable, ever since the beginning, but the right time is yet to come. I hide the flames and shake the thought from my head gazing up at the bonfire sky.

The hums of the shadows fade as the sparks leave the sky, finally in my element I pull my bandanna above my nose as if on instinct, masking my face as I slip between desolate apartment buildings. Sliding into the dead silent alley, only the hiss of the wind establishes its presence. They continue to approach, spying the sign labelled 'Area 63, authorised personnel only' flashes of the last time I tried to run shock through me, the darkness, the pain, the drips. I return my gaze to my escape revising her details; red hair, shoulder-length, brown eyes, eighteen years, quick and simple. I scale the piercing cold and creaking fire escape, concealed in the shadows and peer over the ledge of the building. Right on schedule I spot the head turn into the corner building at the end of the main street. Cautiously, I snake across the barren rooftops, target acquired. A small rusted plaque inscribed 'Conversus Autem Paginis' dangles from the edge of building. The blazing golden lights radiating from the large window flooding onto the damp, melancholy sidewalk.

Serving, surviving two years short of a decade, the time to prove my worth is here and failure is not an option. I hurry to the door and my fist rises, contacting with the splinter ridden door in front of me, again and again memories flooding back with each knock. Shaking the thoughts from my mind once again and driving the door open simultaneously forcing the thoughts away and returning me back to reality. I Shadow the Caucasian female through a dimly lit isle, once considered a childhood friend now simply a mission, soon a memory. The interior is filled with books and the aroma of freshly grounded coffee beans, taking a swift glace behind me I turn to see her removing a tattered and faded white book from the shelf. My clothes dark as night, the clock strikes twenty-three, I feel the sudden weight drop into my arms.