Schools used to be places of respect and learning. Children went there to be prepared for the big wide world. In those hallowed walls, everyone was equal and had the same chance to achieve.

Or, that was the hope. That was the big sell.

Thomas, like his father, liked school. It had never quite lived up to its ideal, even before the Outbreak, but Thomas didn't mind that. There, apart from the treatment he received, he could lose himself in facts and numbers. He felt just like everyone else. In the classrooms, with the wooden panels put up at the smashed windows and the lopsided desks, they were all just pupils.

No one sat next to him. The teachers had tried to make the others double up with him. Be a friend. Help each other out. They all refused and the threat of detention failed to sway them. The teachers wouldn't push the threat and most of their students knew the threats wouldn't be carried out. The risks were too high.

Teachers were not too bothered if Thomas was alone. It meant less disruption, for a start. If someone like Billy sat in close proximity, Thomas could be seriously injured. That would be far too much paperwork.

As much as Thomas's life at school was fraught with pain, either physical or emotional, he still enjoyed it. He was part of something, rather than being constantly excluded. This was his last day and he wanted to say goodbye to the building, if not its occupants.

Maths was first. A pop quiz carried out by the teacher asking questions and then choosing someone who had their hand up to answer, not always correctly. Thomas knew most of the answers. Not all, but most. After being overlooked, or downright ignored, the first five times he tried to answer, he stopped and began to answer in his mind. Mr. Bancroft, made no pretence of the fact he was deliberately avoiding selecting Thomas. The man had not once looked in his direction. With the circle of empty chairs surrounding him, it was easily to look anywhere else than the boy who could, at any minute, fall into the abyss.

Thomas tried to keep his mind on the lesson. If he didn't think about the Spotters coming for him, they might not. By thought alone, he could possibly alter the path of time. He knew he couldn't, and it was only hope that fed his imagination, but he didn't mind. He'd wished for and wondered about so many different powers, he'd have been happy for anything. The only thing that was coming was the end.

"Thomas? Thomas!"

Thomas blinked. His mind had wandered and he'd been happy to hold its hand and be led off on an adventure where he could stand with his head held high and his powers on display. Mr Bancroft never spoke to him. So...?

"Yes sir?"

The other students laughed. One, Amelia, threw a screwed up ball of paper at the back of his head, only at some point along its flight, it solidified into a ball of ice. It was inches away from impact when Mr. Bancroft waved his hand and the ball flew to the side, hitting, instead, the door to one of the equipment cupboards.

"Twinings! You've just earned yourself a detention tonight, young lady."

Amelia, a girl working her way up to the level of bullying that Billy aspired to, shook her head.

"You've got no chance, Bangers."

"I beg your pardon?"

"No need to beg, Bangers. I ain't doing it. You can fuck off."

Thomas sighed internally. He knew what was coming.

"We'll see about that," 'Bangers' Bancroft said sharply.

He raised his hand and gestures towards the girl. She was lifted from her chair and left hovering in the middle of the room. She cried out, but he ignored her.

"We do things my way in this class, Mr. Twinings."

"Fuck you," Amelia said.

Thomas saw her mouth working and then ducked as she suddenly spat at the teacher. The drops of saliva seemed to shudder in mid air, then they, too, solidified, becoming shards of ice aimed at Mr. Bancroft. Again, he raised his hand and the shards were knocked to the side, one embedding itself in the back of Thomas's hand. He swore, not able to prevent Amelia's profanity from rubbing off on his under the circumstances. Two boys at the front cheered when they saw the blood on Thomas's hand and at least half a dozen others applauded.

"Nice one Meals!"

Amelia looked smug and seemed to not care she was still airborne. She folded her arms.

"You," snapped the teacher, pointing at Thomas. "Take that hand to the nurse. I don't want any more blood in my classroom."

Thomas nodded wordlessly and exited the room as quickly as he could, managing to dodge the two outstretched legs designed to make him trip. He checked his hand. It was a small nick from ice that had already melted. The blood made it look worse than it was and he was grateful for that. He mentally threw back a thanks to Amelia for giving him a reason to leave the room. He liked school but hated it when things like that happened in class. Just let the teacher teach! Why be so awkward?

He knew why. Because they could be. Because they could get away with it.

Instead of going to the nurse as instructed, he went to the nearest toilets, locking himself into one. The toilet bowl was smashed and the seat had been separated and rammed into the wall. Thomas was shocked it wasn't broken. Rather, it was half in and half out, with the surface of the wall holding it tightly in place. It didn't matter. He didn't need to evacuate either his bladder or his bowel.

He pulled off a couple of pieces of toilet paper and dabbed his hand to clear away the blood. It had stopped bleeding and the wound was barely visible. A small droplet of blood seeped out in a last gasp of freedom, but that was easily wiped away too.

He reached into the jacket he was still wearing. As lockers were useless anymore, most students kept their belongings with them. Those that didn't were mainly the ones who made everyone else want to. His fingers touched his purchase and he felt his heart stumble then speed up. He noticed he was sweating and wiped his forehead dry with the bloodied tissue. This was no time for nerves. This was a time of eagerness and triumph.

So why was he so scared?

He liked being him. He was happy being him. Yes, he longed for the powers that had been denied him for so long, but that was more to fit in than have abilities. He knew who he was and thought that being able to fly or freeze could change him. What if he became another Billy or Amelia? He didn't think he was that sort of person, but he'd had a lot of abuse in the past couple of years. What if he decided it was time for pay back?

He was ordinary, but why did that have to be a problem?

Because ordinary people lost their minds.

He shook his head. He really had no choice. He'd put it off since the previous night and couldn't do so anymore. He needed to get on with it and then go back into the classroom a new person. One who could stand up to icicle missiles and electric shocks.

He pulled out the package. It was a small padded envelope, one that had no protection against powers, but kept the contents safe. He peeled back the stuck down flap and reached in, taking hold of the vial. Pulling it out, he stood it carefully on the remains of the toilet bowl. Red with dark spots. He repeated the action again, once for the blue and once for the green and remaining red vials..

He hadn't been able to decide which to go for. Oscar had described their differences three times in greater detail each time, but it hadn't mattered. Thomas's brain wasn't taking any of it in. He only knew he needed them. Or one of them. Oscar had gone into much greater detail about how dangerous it was to mix them.

"I feel sorry for you, kid," he'd said. "None of this is your fault. You seem fine to me, kiddo, but we both know what's coming."

He'd picked up the vials and stared at them thoughtfully before putting them back down.

"Look, you ever tell anyone I've done this and you know what'll happen, right?"

Thomas didn't know what he wasn't meant to talk about, but he was fully aware of the consequences of breaking the confidence. He liked his arms and legs where they were. He nodded.

"Right. How much you got?"

Thomas showed him, being carefully not to let the other snatch it from his hand. Oscar had no intention of doing so, but didn't say anything. The kid was right to be wary, not just of the Fixer, but of everyone. Trust yourself, he wanted to say. And only yourself.

He kept his words of wisdom to himself. This wasn't the time. There was a deal to be made.

"Give me all ya got, and I'll do you a special."

"A special?"

"Give me the money first, and then I'll tell ya. I don't discuss the details until the money side is done."

Thomas looked at the cash filling his small hands. He suddenly felt very insignificant. Here was he, trying to be a big man in a bigger world, and he was floundering. He quickly decided that it didn't matter what Oscar was about to offer, he'd accept regardless.

He passed the money over, but Oscar put up a hand.

"Just put it down on the table, please."

Thomas frowned, but did as instructed. Oscar picked it up and counted it thoroughly, his fingers skimming through the notes with a well practiced flourish. Satisfied, he picked up the four vials and placed them slowly, one by one, in front of the boy.

"Take them," he said. "Think about what you need and what you want to risk then drink the one you choose."

"All? I can have them all?"

"You can."

"But... why?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm being nice. Maybe business has been good."

Thomas didn't wait to find out if business had, indeed, been good. He didn't care. He'd got what he wanted. More. It was time to leave.

"Thank you," he said as he put the small bottles into the envelope Oscar handed him. "I really appreciate it."

"'Tain't nuthin."

But it was. To Thomas, it was everything.

But now he had a choice to make.