Lunchtime arrives soon enough, and when my professor finally releases us, I do all but sprint to the dining hall. I push past the double doors, and my mouth nearly waters at the heavenly smells of food. After grabbing and paying for my desired lunch, I scan the area for a place to sit. Finding an unoccupied booth, I stake my claim, before enjoying my lunch.

However, I'm not alone for long as the seat across from me quickly becomes occupied.

"Did you hear about those speakers exploding?" the visitor begins, setting their bag down in the seat beside them.

My eyes meet the excited blue ones of Dylan Manchester. We met at freshmen orientation as Dylan was the campus tour guide for my group. The whole tour, he kept cracking awful jokes and equally-as-bad puns, yet I laughed - maybe even snorted - at every single one. This encouraged him to keep joking, much to the dismay of my group and their parents, but as fate would have it, we became friends shortly after. Through the course of time, we've come to realize that we've had much in common. We even joke that we were twins separated at birth. From music to movies and even to family situations, we've found that we're two-peas-in-a-pod.

However, we still had one major difference.

Dylan is a Normal, and I am not.

In retrospect, I've never told him that I'm a Mutant nor have I ever given him indication that I was different. Unlike Normals, there's always just something off about Mutants. Since the line between Normals and Mutants is so prominent yet so obscure, distinguishing between Normal and Mutant seems almost impossible. I say "almost" because it isn't hard for Mutants to locate one another in this world. You just have to look.

"I was there when it happened," I respond in lieu of a greeting, "and it didn't explode."

"It would've been cool if it did," Dylan points out. "Anyway, you'll never guess what happened in class today." 

"What happened?" 

"You know how Professor Blackwell consults with the weapon's designers in the MCF?" he asks, and I nod. He takes a quick glance around the room as to make sure no one is listening to what he says next, and he leans towards me, brown hair falling in over his eyes. "After the lecture, he managed to show me blueprints to a new invention they're working on."

My stomach falls to the soles of my feet, and I'm no longer hungry. Masking my discomfort, I ask, "What are they making?"

Dylan's eyes glint with an almost manic joy. "A Mutant Identifier."

My look must've been contemplative - or rather, Dylan's too caught up to notice the ever-growing panic in my eyes - because he leans back into his seat with a satisfied sigh.

"That's the hope at least. They're just in the drafting phase at this point," he continues, "but I do know that this will help us keep tabs on Mutants around the globe. If they step out of line, we'll be there in a heartbeat, before those freaks can even think about going Rogue."

Through the time of getting to know him and his past, Dylan and I have a common distaste for Rogues - Mutants that have turned against both mankind and supermankind, causing havoc and mayhem for both groups. Rogues like Sound-Wave and Viper. Rogues first appeared during the First Wave War, having lost patience with their fellow comrades and potential allies. They are the reason Normals and Mutants can't really get along with their ideologies that those with super abilities are far more superior than those without. Because of this thinking, there was nearly a global war between Normals and Mutants, but for some unknown reason, the Rogues retreated and almost disappeared entirely.

Though they lack mercy and compassion, never caring if you're like them, ironically enough, they share the same mentality as Normals:

It would be better if the other didn't exist.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dylan continues, "The goal is that it will not only identify Mutants, but it'll strip them of their abilities too- even if temporarily. I hope it's ready by the time I get there."

In disbelief, I ask, "You're still set on joining the MCF? Even after hearing about the horrible things they do to Mutants?"

He scoffs, annoyed, "First of all, those are just rumors. The MCF isn't a monster force; they protect people from monsters." I feel a buzz in my hand, and the dining hall lights flicker once. Dylan continues, unaware, "Why are you so against me joining, anyway? Your own family--"

His words are stopped by the sharp glare I send him. His shoulders slouch, and he scratches the scruff on under his chin, before speaking in a quieter tone.

"Today's the day."

I adjust in my seat and turn my head away.

"Yep."

There's a silence that passes over us. Finally, I just shake my head, tongue poking the inside of my cheek. "Sorry, Dylan, I'm not trying to pick a fight with you," I tell him, and he nods only once.

"I accidently set my lab partner's hair on fire," he offers, effectively changing the subject. "But honestly, he deserved it."

That earns a snort from me, and suddenly, all is right again. We're able to slide into lighter topics, pushing the previous conversation far behind us. However, no matter how much I laugh at Dylan's ridiculous stories, the thought of something being created to continue this war between Normals and Mutants has my mind spiraling.

——————

The sun hangs low on the horizon as I exit the interstate. A bouquet of flowers jostles in the passenger seat. The lull of pop radio is enough for me to slip back into my thoughts, and the conversation with Dylan replays in my mind.

If the MCF really are in the makings of building something that can point out Mutants in a crowd, what would they do once they find them? 

The effects of the First Wave War left an impact on Normals and Mutants alike. Prejudice plagued the world, stunting it from tangible growth. Parents abandoned their children who displayed any type of ability. Friendships disintegrated in the wake of choosing a side. Mutants wanting to maintain the peace of the world quietly integrated with society as they best they could. On the other hand, the Mutants who felt they were denied justice and betrayed by their fellow Mutants took to becoming an enemy to all who opposed them. Thus donning the title of Rogue.

Regardless, it birthed the Mutant Containment Force. A global police charged with keeping the peace between all people. Ironically, as the name suggests, there's only one type of person it wants to keep in line.

The thoughts begin to make my head hurt. "Today is not the day to be thinking about these things," I sigh to myself. 

"Incoming call from: Soojin Min." The car bluetooth announcement pulls me from my thoughts, and I hit answer.

"Hi, Nana," I say. "I'm almost to the cemetery, so I'll be home in the next hour or so."

Nana doesn't respond right away, so I glance at the signal on my phone. Four bars.

"Nana? Can you hear me?"

"[Name]," she sighs, and for some reason, a chill rushes down my spine. "I need you to do something for me."

"Okay..." I draw out, confused. "What do you need?"

"I need you to call Kim Namjoon. He's a good friend of mine."

"Namjoon? I mean, I can, but what about?"

Nana is speaking as though we're talking about the weather, but it drives the confusion even further. I hear her walk through the house and closing doors behind her. Although casual in tone, there's a slight uptick in her breathing.

"Nana," I stress, "what is going on?"

She takes a breath as though she's about to reply, but then I hear it.

The scream. The scream of an entity that lives in complete agony. The scream that shakes an individual to their very core where they can only plead it never finds them. It's the sound of a multitude, like a crowd of agonized people, begging for mercy. It causes despair in the unlucky ones who are subjected to hear the monster's cries. My whole being goes into shock at the familiar sound. A sound that I only hear in my nightmares. A sound that stole my parents and brother away from me on this day years ago.

"N-Nana..."

"There isn't much time!" Nana snaps, but I can barely hear her over the sound of my ever-growing panic. "You must get to the airport and find Kim Namjoon. He'll take care of you."

"The airport?" My voice sounds alien to my own ears. The air in my lungs has lodged itself in my throat, and my heart beats against my chest. "What?"

"[Name], listen to me, I packed everything for you. Get to the airport, fly to Korea, and find Kim Namjoon," the firmness in Nana's voice snaps me from my panic, and I scramble to get back on the road.

"I'm not going anywhere! What the heck is going on?" I push down on the pedal, illegally making a U-turn and speeding towards the interstate. "I'm coming home."

There's a pause.  "If you come home, you will die." Whatever rebuttal I have fades away at her matter-of-fact tone. "He's in the house right now." Her voice breaks. "You need to live. Do what I say and live."

The scream reverberates through my car speakers, and I jolt in my seat, unable to cover my ears. The jerk of my car results in an angry honking from the driver passing me, but I'm too distracted to apologize. I exit the interstate, slamming on my breaks as the stoplight turns red. The sound of splintering wood fills the car, and Nana yells in shock.

"Nana!"

"Find him, little light," Nana says once more. "Live."

The phone suddenly beeps as the call - and demonic screeching - disconnects, and the light turns green.