Paste your docum

It had been sixty-three days. Sixty-three mornings in a row Slater O'Brien had woken up not knowing where he was. Sixty-three days of hellish paranoia. Sixty-three days since he had become a wanted man by Peoples' Protection Program.

It had,however, only been three days since he had robbed a convenience store for underwear, socks, and shampoo. On that same day he had sneaked into a local YMCA and taken a shower.

It had been one day, however, when he had awoke from a restless sleep to find a note laying next to his plastic bag of belongings. In the messy chicken-scratch it had told Slater to meet him here, Central Park, at 10:30 in the morning. It had also told him that they could help him.

As much as Slater hated to admit it, he needed help. Desperately. The nightmares didn't stop and neither did the hunger, the overwhelming sense of loneliness, nor the damp chill that always kept him shivering his clothes. It was a constant reminder that he was now homeless, and more alone than ever.

The red-head pushed his Aviator sunglasses up higher on his nose, shielding his eyes from the sun—and the curious gazes from those who passed by. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his grimy black hoodie, and looked around. He felt...insecure, not to mention exposed, which was something that a person in his situation could not afford.

He glanced at his watch, 10:29. Whoever was meeting him was going to be considered late in two minutes. If they didn't show up by 10:30 like the note said, he was going to take his stuff and go find a dumpster to raid for brunch.

Just as his watch hit 10:30 he felt somebody tap him on the shoulder. Slater jumped and turned around, part of him getting ready to defend himself if he needed to—the part he hated about himself.

"Slater O'Brien." The man said. He had dark brown hair that was just a little too long and kind green eyes. "I'm Allen Rodgers."

"I'd introduce myself, but you already know who I am." Slater said, eyeing the man dubiously. "How?"

The man held up a white paper bag that had a few grease stains on it. "Would you care for something to eat? I know you haven't eaten anything decent in quite a while, eating all of your meals from a garbage can isn't exactly a five-star restaurant."

Slater eyed the man curiously. Allen looked quite sincere and the red-head's instincts weren't telling him to run. He had learned over the past few weeks to trust his instincts if nothing else.

He let his crooked grin slide onto his lips. He reached out a grimy hand and took the bag. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"So, mi amigo," Slater said, around an enormous bite of Sausage McMuffin, "What's this about?"

"This is about you. Bearoux Academy for Mutants helps people like you."

Slater paused and pushed his sunglasses down his nose so he could stare at Allen with his eyes. Something that made him uncomfortable due to his Heterochromia, a condition he had received when he had been punched in the right eye, traumatizing it and turning from its light blue color, to a dark, muddy brown. "There aren't many people like me, Allen, but if you find one I suggest you make like the Red Sea and part. Fast."

"Not people." Allen clarified. "Mutants."

He gave the man another dubious look and glanced around the picnic table."Okay, well there aren't many mutants like me. Trust me I would know. I escaped—"

"—From the most dangerous mutant facility on the planet. Reserved only for the most dangerous mutants in the world. I wasn't talking about your um, capabilities, I was referring to your current situation."

"Which situation is that?" Slater asked irritably. " There's: my nightmare situation, my homeless situation, my hunger situation—which you have already addressed, thank you kind sir—could you be more specific when you say you help people like me?"

Allen leaned forward, across the picnic table, spearing him with his green eyes. "I'm talking about mutants with no place to go." He said quietly before sitting back and sending Slater a rather smug look.

"You're giving me a home?" He didn't quite understand what the man was saying. He couldn't live with people. Anybody he got close to would end up getting hurt. Just like his family, his girlfriend, and his best friend. "Why?"

"You've had a rough life, Slater. It's time for a turn around, don't you think? At the Academy we will give you a place to exercise your abilities, to train, and teach you to help us recruit other mutants. There are over one hundred mutants there already."

"Exercising my ability doesn't seem like a good idea. It would kind of suck if I ruined your facility."

"There is only one way to control it and that is by familiarizing yourself with it. If you choose to come with me we will ensure that the absolute best security measures are taken. You cannot live in fear of ruining stuff forever!"

Slater sighed and rubbed his temples. "It's not something I'm worried about hurting. It's someone. And if you already know so much about me you would know that keeping people safe isn't exactly something I'm good at."

"That's what we're here for. If you get out of control we have specialized mutants that can stop you." Allen raised a dark brow to the boy. "What do you say?"

Slater put his hands in his pockets once more and fidgeted nervously. He missed being warm, he missed not starving, and actually having a bed.

Allen must've seen his unsure expression, because he said, "Slater, winter is on its way. You'll freeze to death."

He pressed his lips in a thin line, pushing his sunglasses out of the way just long enough to rub his brown eye. "I suppose."

The man beamed and held out his hand, "Welcome to the team."

ent here...