A/N: If you're a new reader, welcome! Please feel free to disregard the rest of this note and enjoy the story; or don't, I can't really tell you what to do.

Returning readers: I know, I know, I'm rewriting the same book a third time. What can I say, I just can't leave it alone. I've resisted this rewrite for over two years, trying to convince myself that this work is finished and it's time to write something new. But people keep reading my book that actually know me in real life, and I originally wrote the story what, six years ago now? So every little plot hole and inconsistency and bit of dialogue that just didn't flow was being read in my voice by my coworkers.

If you ever publish a book under your real name my friends, small note of unasked-for advice: be prepared for your sister, your boss, a random person that has a crush on you, your grandma, and someone you seriously respect and admire to read it in your voice. If that makes you even the slightest bit uncomfy, I recommend a pseudonym or else you'll probably end up here too, caving to a two year impulse. If you don't, you're a stronger person than I am, and I salute you.

You can expect some plot deviations, and of course, the characters write themselves, so the ending will be significantly different. I'd love to hear if you think the changes are for the better or for the worse. That being said, if you just loved Origin V1 and hate to see it go, I will be posting the full first version on both FictionPress and Wattpad once the rewrite is complete. So for those OG fans, all is not lost.

Anyway, hello again lovely readers, if you are still out there. Looking forward to Round Two.

Best,

Addi

Chapter 1

The end of my life began on a Wednesday. Looking back, the day itself was rather unremarkable. There was no terrible weather signifying my impending doom, nor any natural disasters indicative of the beginning of the end. Nevertheless, this Wednesday was undeniably the beginning of it all.

I left my apartment bright and early toward 7th and Main, where an abandoned athletic center sat crooked and crumbling on the edge of downtown. The old gym equipment inside had long since rusted and was coated in a fine layer graffiti, but despite its condition, the center still served its basic function. Most of the kids and young adults in my hometown who couldn't afford a gym subscription frequently made use of the punching bags and cracked benches.

I personally preferred a more hands-on routine and spent most of my time at the pool practicing mixed martial arts with some of the other downtown inhabitants. I wasn't very good at fighting—adequate was being generous—but I enjoyed the workout and the company, even if the regulars tended to be involved in things I wanted no part of.

I descended the stairs to the pool area and tossed my bag beneath a bench, approaching a familiar figure waiting at the bottom of the wide basin, long since drained of water with faded sparring mats neatly arranged every few meters.

"Cobra, long time no see," I hopped in and bumped my fist against his. He grunted and offered a nod, backing up a few steps and raising his fists. His snakeskin facemask covered the lower half of his face and neck, rendering his slanted, hazel eyes his only distinguishable feature. Everyone in the group covered their faces in one way or another and had been since I'd first come here. I asked one of the guys about it once, and he said it started after a nasty flu outbreak that was getting lots of little kids dangerously sick. The nicknames came naturally after that, and the names and masks unofficially became the new uniform.

I had a sneaking suspicion it was also for the people who got in trouble on the streets, but I wasn't really one to ask questions. Some things were best left alone.

Cobra rolled his shoulder and cracked his neck, waiting for me to make the first move. It was always discouraging having a two-hundred-and-forty-pound man for a first match. His upper body was so broad he had to come through narrow doorways one shoulder at a time, and it didn't look like he'd been slacking off since I'd last fought him.

I swung, weakly. I hated starting first.

He ducked easily, his cloth-wrapped fist nearly grazing my collar bone. I aimed a solid kick at his shins, still weak. It took a few seconds for me to take spars seriously, some arbitrary inner voice always muttering that we shouldn't be fighting unless there was a good reason. Cobra liked to take advantage of that voice. He grabbed my ankle before it connected and I twisted, whipping my other leg around. Instead of kicking him in the jaw like they did in all the movies, he dropped my leg and I lost my leverage. I fell on the mat, hard. I swore under my breath, wincing as I stood.

"What was that?" Another man walked over, dark hair sticking up behind a mask with jagged teeth imprinted from ear to ear. "You think you're Cobra Kai or something, Moony? That's how you end up dead."

I made a face, annoyed.

"You have bedhead, Venom," I stood tenderly, rubbing my hip.

"Si, pero I'm not losing, so nobody cares."

I muttered something rude under my breath. He calmly responded with the finger and returned his attention to his own spar.

Moony was short for Moonshine, the nickname I'd been blessed with after a not-so-pleasant fight I'd gotten into one of my first times coming down to the center. The first spar I'd ever won had been against a drunk who tried to break an empty bottle of Moonshine over my head. Venom had run over to intervene, but not before I kicked him in the gut hard enough to make him vomit all over my favorite jacket. The nickname had stuck since, and I learned a valuable lesson about blows to the stomach.

I sparred with Cobra for the better part of an hour before hitting the showers, getting ready for school in the surprisingly decent locker rooms. The water hadn't been shut off yet, for whatever reason, and while it was ice-cold, I was all about the convenience. I walked to class with wet hair tucked into a beanie and the strap of my gym bag digging into my shoulder, taking in the gradual change in scenery from trash-infested gutters and alleys to meticulously manicured lawns.

I went to a private school known for its ability to produce nationally renowned scholars, athletes, and creative prodigies. Shorewood Academy had one of the smallest acceptance rates in Minnesota, and one of the longest wait lists. I attributed most of that to the very wealthy alumni, but I couldn't say for sure. I was the exception to the rule, after all.

I was part of that world once upon a time, daughter of a world-class geneticist and on track to be just like my mother. She had soared through school with perfect grades, dove headfirst into research on DNA sequences related to aging, then got the federal government's attention right before publishing. Whatever she discovered was reimbursed generously enough to delay publishing, put me through the best schools, life, and a happy retirement. She'd lined me up for greatness.

Then my parents split up.

She got the money because lawyers were scared of pissing her off (I didn't blame them, I would be too) and Dad got me. He never complained, bless him, and always told me that he got the better end of the deal, but I still felt pretty bad for him. Mom walked away with hundreds of thousands of dollars, and he got an angsty teenager that didn't understand what could possibly be important enough to justify a broken family. If it were me, I'd be pissed. But then again, I wasn't half the person my dad was.

So, when Dad couldn't afford to put me through Shorewood, I spent every waking moment I had studying and applying to financial aid programs, writing essays, volunteering for community service, creating online non-profits for supporting the community, anything that would look good on a resume for a high school I apparently was only good enough for on my mom's paycheck.

Wonder of all wonders, I was accepted on scholarship. As long as I kept my grades up, my tuition was covered with a small housing stipend. Dad and I celebrated the entire night with ginger beer and karaoke. I'd never seen him so proud, and I wasn't able to keep the smile off my face.

I was going to graduate top of my class and get a full ride to university. College was the Land of Opportunity, and the first step of many to providing the lifestyle for my dad that he deserved. I'd go buy our old house just because I could, and Mom could mind her business and live her life of fiscal freedom somewhere else. Dad and I would be happy on our own.

But, of course, that was long term. On the short term, I made it to class with ten minutes to spare and prepared myself for my first lecture of the day. My physics professor entered the classroom just before the warning bell, another new transfer student in tow. We'd been getting quite a few foreign exchange students lately, further fueling my conspiracy theory that majority of the students here were accepted on their parents' dime, and the real intelligence had to be funneled in from overseas to maintain the lofty success stories of the graduating class.

The professor cleared his throat.

"Alright, you post-adolescent nightmares, listen up." He stepped aside and gestured to the student next to him. "This is Bacil Eros, another new student. You all know the drill. We've had four other transfers this week and no cap on classroom sizes in sight as of yet. Can I get a volunteer to help him acquire his uniforms and textbooks?"

Crickets. I sympathized.

The professor frowned at the class.

"Vultures, all of you," he casually insulted. "Well, Mr. Eros, high school is not for the faint of heart. I would assure you they get better once you get to know them, but I have no knowledge of that pursuit. Again, I am Professor Vuong, your Advanced Physics instructor, and I'll leave you to introduce yourself to the class."

Hushed whispers were exchanged as twenty-eight pairs of eyes turned to him. He stared back very intently, posture relaxed. He didn't seem much affected by the full attention of the class.

"I go by Bae."

I snorted, then immediately coughed to cover it up, horrified. His eyes flicked in my direction, as did a few of the other classmates, and I shrank in my seat, eyes down.

Please let them think I just had to hold in a sneeze, please…

"Nice to meet you, I guess," he finished.

The girls sitting in front of me started whispering furiously. He had a very subtle accent I had never heard before, but most distracting were his eyes, which seemed unnaturally blue against his deeply tanned skin. I couldn't place the accent, but he definitely didn't look like he was from local Minnesota. His gaze passed over me, eventually settling on the empty seat across the classroom.

To the class's delight, Professor Vuong opted for a short syllabus overview instead of a physics lecture and Bacil got to be the center of attention for the next hour and a half.

I'd like to state once more for the record that it never crossed my mind anything was out of the ordinary. For all intents and purposes, it was just another unremarkable Wednesday.

I read my textbook for the rest of class, dozing a little when I reached inelastic collisions. It was not until I was lightly tapped on the shoulder that I realized someone was trying to talk to me. I pulled out my headphones and turned to see Bacil Eros himself watching me. He was much taller than he had seemed from the front of the classroom.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"The dismissal bell rang," he told me. I glanced up in surprise. Sure enough, the classroom was almost empty, and I hadn't even noticed. I blinked.

"Oh, thanks." I grabbed my bag and stuffed the textbook inside, tiredly pushing myself to my feet. Three more classes to go.

"I'm Bae," he offered, and this time, I managed to suppress the instinct to laugh.Don't be rude,I admonished myself. Some people didn't have the luxury of normal names. It wasn't his fault.

"Simone," I offered back, pulling my bag over my shoulder. "Nice to meet you."

I ducked out of the classroom before he could ask me to show him around and congratulated myself on doing him a personal favor.

It would just be bad luck for him to make friends with the one student that had no connections to high-end clientele, no lake house for the holidays, and no prospects whatsoever. Almost anyone else, and he would be much better off, free of the reputation of the scholarship kid. Not that I was never teased or pushed around because my family was broke. That was generally frowned upon. Gone were the days of old-fashioned bullying.

No, here it was more of an exclusion thing. Most of the students didn't know how to talk to me, so they just didn't. They wanted to go to elite clubs with socialite friends and assumed I would not be able to dress well enough or afford the services. For the most part, they were right, but I also just didn't have the time. Valedictorian runner-up was a full-time job for those that couldn't pay their way to stellar grades. And while socioeconomic class gaps were a barrier most were not willing to breach at the risk of being perceived as insensitive or rude, I kind of preferred being ignored. But that didn't mean I needed to drag the new guy down with me.

School was slow but uneventful, and I walked home to my studio apartment at four, squinting at the heavy clouds in the sky and trying to guess whether or not it was going to rain. I was about to tackle a terribly dull writing assignment when a knock at the door made me pause. I made my way to the foyer and opened it a crack. My apartment was my own and I was proud of it, but I didn't exactly live in the nicest part of town.

"Hello," a polite voice came through the crack. "Ms. Chase?" I opened the door a little wider, getting a good look at the visitor. Nice slacks, untucked button-down shirt, curly brown hair combed neatly to the side, expensive shoes. I stared at his feet. Very expensive shoes.

"I'm not interested in buying anything," I told his shoes blankly. "You should try Timber Creek Apartments. People can afford things there."

His smile widened and I glanced up at his face. Perfectly straight teeth. I was suddenly a little self-conscious about my windswept ponytail and distinct lack of makeup.

"I'm not a solicitor," he assured me. "I'm looking for Ms. Chase."

"Simone," I nodded, leaning into the doorway. "Can I help you?"

"I'm not sure. Is there a Mr. Chase I could speak to?"

I chuckled, and then realized too late that he was serious. I was eighteen, did he really think I had a husband? Thirty seconds and this conversation already had my confidence shot.

"Oh, er… I'm not married," I awkwardly answered. "No, um, significant other or anything."

Wow. Social skills were really at their lowest today. What a nightmare. "Sorry, what do you want?"

"This is going to sound horribly strange, but please try to humor me," he met my eyes sheepishly, and I noticed his were a very light blue that made me wish I had combed my hair in the last seven hours. "Has anyone recently come into your life and acted obnoxiously interested in you? Maybe asking personal questions, singling you out of a crowd, anything like that?"

"Not that I can think of, why?"

"I'm looking for someone and thought he might come here. I guess I was wrong. Strange though, I'm not usually wrong."

"Do you have a picture of him?" I asked, trying to be helpful. Maybe his friend was missing, and I did know a group of muscleheads that seemed to know everyone on this side of town.

"No, unfortunately," the young man sighed, and I frowned. He was looking for someone with vague questions like that and didn't even have a picture?

"What did you say your name was?" I asked.

"I didn't," he answered distractedly. "It's Castor. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," I replied warily.

"If anything does happen that seems out of the ordinary in the next few weeks, would you mind contacting me?" he asked. "Especially the bit about obnoxious interest in you or someone you know." He pushed a business card into my hand and I reluctantly looked down at it.

"What is… 'WINGS Incorporated?" I asked, glancing up. I blinked. Where Castor had been standing just a moment ago now only empty air remained, my welcome mat resting unoccupied on the cracked cement. Exasperated, I closed the door and tossed the business card in the trash. Minnesota was full of crazy people, even good-looking ones. Best not to get involved.

I returned to my studies, opening my textbook to the most recently marked chapter. Thanks to my visitor I probably wouldn't be able to finish my essay before my shift. At a quarter to six, I resigned myself to the fact that it was going to have to come with me to work. Maybe Ellie could help out at the front while I finished.

Elena Davis was a force of nature that defied all known laws of high school. Her family came from old money, her future just waiting for her to reach out and take it in her perfectly manicured hand. If Bacil Eros looked beautifully exotic, she was the local equivalent, with wavy strawberry blonde hair and rich green eyes most girls would kill for. It was the kind of beautiful that made you feel drab just standing too close. She had been on the cheer squad for four years, attended every prom even as an underclassman, and had just about every guy in class drooling during lecture. The laws of high school said she should be spoiled rotten and snobby all the way down to her core. Instead, she was my closest and only friend. Ellie Davis broke all the laws of high school cliché. She often ate lunch with me in the courtyard instead of in the cafeteria with her friends from cheer, and she helped me out at work regularly, sometimes even covering down when I had to stay at school late.

At first, I thought she was trying to be nice out of sympathy for my family's financial situation, like I was the next charity case she could talk about during her prom queen speech. I shot her down the first three times she asked if I wanted to grab a coffee after school. I didn't need a pity friend and was not interested in handouts.

The fourth time she invited me out I said as much, and she stared at me like I was insane. As it turned out, I was the stereotyping ass in that conversation. She just wanted a deeper friendship than the ones she had made so far and thought I might have the down-to-earth energy she was looking for.

In the end, our rocky start developed into one of the most rewarding and genuine relationships I'd ever had, and I was forced to correct my prejudice that all the rich kids at my school were essentially shallow, egocentric idiots. Maybe money didn't ruin everyone.

I entered the bookshop and dropped my bag in the back just as Ellie rounded the corner, brushing strawberry blonde bangs from her eyes. They lit up like a tropical ocean in the sunlight as soon as they met mine.

"Finally, you're here," she slid around the counter to join me. "Fair warning, I might have told Marion that you have a super secret stalker and you have to take long detours to get to work safely."

"You what?"

"Yeah, she was all pissed about you being late and it was the first thing I thought of. But don't worry, she totally bought it. She was like, oh my God is he dangerous? And I told her we didn't know, but he's not cute, so it's not like a good kind of stalking, you know what I mean?"

"Not at all," I shook my head as I pinned my nametag to my shirt.

"Well, if she asks for all the juicy details, tell her he looks like he can't swim, so you aren't really in danger. You're just trying to be, like, super responsible and stay on the safe side. That has you all over it."

I smiled in spite of myself.

"Thanks for covering for me."

I quickly clocked in, hoping Marion would take Ellie's excuse at face value and I would not have to have another conversation about tardiness with my manager.

Evening gradually dissolved into night as closing time approached. With my essay complete and all the new editions shelved, I waved goodbye to Ellie and started the long walk home. I reached the corner of the street and ducked between two office buildings, taking a shortcut back home I'd taken several times before. As soon as I was enveloped in darkness, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I couldn't describe why, but something felt… off.

Fatigue from school and work melted away as adrenaline replaced it, my heart beginning the pound in my chest. I took a deep, slow breath, trying to calm frayed nerves. I glanced at the reflection in the window of a parked car to my right. A dark figure was creeping up behind me, their silhouette warped in the glass, but undeniably closer with every step.

My hand inconspicuously moved to my jacket pocket, closing around my pepper spray. I had been mugged once getting off a subway, but it had been too crowded to do much of anything, and he didn't get anything particularly important. He'd grabbed my gym bag, so the joke was on him, really. He got a sweaty sports bra and an old water bottle for his efforts. This time, I'd try to be as civil as possible, but I thought about maybe asking the stranger to spare my essay. That sucker had taken hours, and it was due tomorrow.

The quiet crunch of boots on dead leaves made the hair rise on the back of my neck. I tried to relax the muscles of my back and neck. He thought he had surprise on his side. It was better for me to keep it that way.

Just wait for it, be ready. Wait for it… Inevitably, once I'd reached the darkest, most isolated part of the alleyway, I felt a demanding hand land on my shoulder.

"Don't move."

…Yeah, right.

I turned hard and found myself too close to fumble with the pepper spray clenched in my fist, so I did the next best thing and punched my pursuer in the throat.

I was going for center of mass to just create some distance, truth be told. I felt a small trickle of guilt when the masked individual gagged, choking and coughing. The hand released me at once and my attacker dropped to the ground. I felt a flutter of panic. It looked like a woman, though it was hard to tell with her face hidden, and she was convulsing hard.

"S-sorry," I stammered, hovering uncertainly. "I just… thought you were taller…"

Wow. Did I just apologize? What on Earth was wrong with me?

"I—I'll call an ambulance for you, but I'm not gonna stick around, since you… well… you were the one that attacked me, you know…"

Just leave already! The tiny voice of Common Sense shrieked in the back of my mind. I shouldered my bag more firmly as the woman's eyes hardened and she reached for her side.

My eyes followed the movement and I saw the glint of something silver peeking out from her waistband.

Oh my God!

Without thinking, I stamped on her hand, cracking it into the asphalt. She hissed in pain, and nonsensical guilt flooded through me. I grabbed her gun and ejected the magazine, putting it in my pocket. Then, for no particular reason, I put the gun back on the ground. I really wasn't much of a thief, and I didn't know where that weapon had been.

We stared at each other for a few awkward seconds before I eased my foot off her fingers and bolted, sprinting the rest of the way home.