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[i]"Four cops dead and ten seriously injured in terrorist attack on Chicago's very own Water Tower Place along the Magnificent Michigan Avenue. Reports coming in saying that no civilians were harmed in the various explosions that rocked the fourth floor of the building. How this middle aged woman went unhindered through security is still being investigated. Many allegations and evidence found at the blast sight point to religious extremism as the culprits M.O. The name of said individual is currently being disclosed by local authorities."

A camera, likely situated upon a roaming news copter, panned in to Chicago streets to identify the billow of black smoke rising from the blown out windows of the fourth floor. The damage itself looked to be collateral, more of a controlled blast than one likely to cause mass devastation. It was a statement—a calling out.

It was martyrdom at its finest.

The sudden cut to Michigan Avenue's closed off streets felt jarring and panicked, a look shared by the man currently staring the microphone directed just below him down. Something caught his attention and his head jerked upward. He swallowed and nodded, leaning forward to shield the mic from the wind. The reporter shuffled in closer, the camera catching her frustration clean. Her lips moved as she repeated the question, though the microphone inched further away from her. A nod was all he gave.

"She yelled something in some kind of language," he said, refusing to look the camera in the eye, "I couldn't understand it; it was weird, guttural. And then she just... exploded in this white light."

With the microphone lifted, the reporter spoke clearer, "Did you see any explosives on her? Was she wearing some kind of vest or—"

"No, she was in a business suit. Tight pantsuits and fitted jacket. An explosion like that, that close, it just... vaporized her and the four men around her. It was loud but it wasn't—it only reached so far," the man explained, rubbing his eyes in confusion, "One moment she was shouting and the next there was this loud bang. Then she and anyone close enough just—they were just eradicated. It was controlled, though. You can see the circle in there. Anyone standing close enough to feel the heat got severely burned, but nothing fatal. If they weren't standing in that circle, they weren't killed. Everything else was just charred. A lot of smoke. A lot of black soot. A lot of second degree burns. What kind of C-4 does that?"

"I'm sorry, we're gonna have to cut to—"

"Thank you Jane. We just got a report coming in that it was in fact a pack of C-4 strapped to her person. Apparently out of the many on there, only one functioned, which would explain why it'd been so small—"[/i]

Quiet as it came, the sound from the speakers fizzed out and the TV snapped shut. A rough growl ripped from Erskine's throat that came prior to the sudden flinging of the remote against the nearest wall. Common occurrence for Erskine Hyde after a bout of frustration. Many people often find themselves at an impasse in situations akin to Erskine's and usually, they quit after the inevitable failures that follow the years of searching. If anything but the powers he had had been inherited from his mother, it was the indomitable stubbornness that ached through the genes of every Hyde and McCullough that roamed the streets of Cairndow, Scotland.

On cue, his current adoptive mother knocked her way inside the small room, bathing the dark in the fluorescent light of the hallway. The room itself smelled of fresh cut grass and daffodils, with potted plants lining the many shelves along the walls. Erskine hadn't garnered much in terms of knick-knacks, unless people called plants mementos. Just above his twin sized bed lay only one track and field trophy, tangled in vines and the thorns of a tiny rose bush. Of course, having all these plants, Erskine had claimed the room with the most windows his and his parents lovingly obliged. Not many people could boast a well teemed garden in their own bedroom. Erskine prided himself in claiming such a title.

"Running through these video tapes one after another won't get you anywhere," Jin Hao mumbled, bending low to pick up the pieces of the remote, "Your mother didn't die for you to just sit watching people explain the sham of her death on repeat."

Shuffling himself up, Erskine furrowed his brows and shot his adoptive mother a frown. "[color=Lavender]I'm just a kid,[/color]" his accent fell heavy with sleep whilst he talked and Erskine couldn't resist the yawn that broke a pause in his words, "[color=Lavender]What else can I do. There must have been some reason she died for this. For what?[/color]"

"Well, you aren't going to find that—" the ringing of their apartment buzzer caught Jin off guard and she paused to look through the bedroom doorway. Putting a hand on Erskine's lap to stop him from standing, Jin shuffled from her spot down the apartment's hall. Erskine remained, a frown still stretching his lips; he listened, though, keen and quiet in the creaking of their modern home.

"He's not home," her voice echoed through the kitchen and funneled down to the various rooms that littered their halls "I can leave a message if—no? Yes, I worked with him on the project. I... I don't know what you're talking about. We were being watched 24/7, there's no way either of us could have tampered with the results. I know what you're insinuating, and I will not have that kind of accusation flung at me with baseless evidence."

Silence followed the pause that hung through the white walls of their home. Erskine frowned, listening closely to the padded footsteps of his mother's bare feet. "No, you may not come in. Stay there, I'll gather my things and leave our lawyer a message," her voice grew louder as she paced down the hall. Erskine didn't quite expect the suddenness of her arrival and was even more surprised by the panic stricken in her porcelain features. The silence that hung between them only acted as an irritant to Erskine's own rising panic. Her hand flow to her mouth, pressing her lips to the palm of her hand to stop the sting of tears that threatened to fall. She immediately pointed to the closet door and pressed herself against the door frame. Erskine obliged, pulling out things from within until she nodded erratically at the suitcase.

"I need you to pack quietly. We aren't... we aren't going anywhere yet. I just need you to promise me now that you'll be quiet. As for as we know, I am the only person currently here," she motioned with her hands as she spoke, backing herself into the hallway again, "Please, just stay put. We'll figure this out when your father gets home."

The moment Jin closed the door, Erskine's head snapped to the pile of videos on his desk and the unfolded letter sitting in the trashcan along with the ticket and envelope. No time to spare for clarity and thorough planning, Erskine grabbed all the clothes he could and whatever he deemed necessary for the stay and stuffed them haphazardly into the suitcase. With the ticket and letter in his mouth, Erskine flung open the window directly connected to the fire escape facing the alleyway. Halfway out, a thud caught his attention and Erskine's head whipped up to the door. A grunt followed after and then the loud ring of gunshot snapped him backward to collide with the railing, his hand immediately grasping the bar for leverage.

It took everything in his power to choke the sob and tears down, in order to regain his calm. It took even more to slam the window shut and rush his way down the steps until he could unlatch the ladder that lead all the way down. Five hours to get from where he was situated all the way to Chicago's O'Hare.

[i]'[color=lightgreen]...do not look back.[/color]'[/i]

Those words burned with the letter.

[hr]

An hour to spare—his new parents always appreciated punctuality. His thumb lay perfectly over the call button directly to his father's cellphone. That was dumb, though. Something as sentimental would get him killed. Regardless, he was likely long gone and now they had their adopted son on the hit list. He just couldn't help thinking this had to do with the blood samples. Both of the Hao's seemed extremely jittery at having acquired the job as specialists for hire. They seemed almost panicked when he'd come home to tell them about it, as well.

The letter just proved that point further. Erskine just didn't realize what they'd done in an attempt to protect the only thing they thought worth living for. Well, now they could die for it.

Furrowing his brow, Erskine shoved the phone back in his pocket and bit back another threat of tears. He succeeded the numerous times it occurred within the hour and all the way until the 'fasten seat-belt' sign clicked off. And then he let it out in quiet sobs inside the airplane lavatory heading all the way down to Haiti. These thing shouldn't happen to children.

But what was he kidding himself for? He'd lost the chance at being a child the moment his biological mother declared herself a martyr for all superhuman kind. He couldn't resent that. She was making a statement in hopes that maybe her child would follow suit in a less self-sacrificial way. Or maybe to keep him from it all—wipe out the entire line of superpowered Hydes. Who knew. Erskine Hao, Erskine Hyde, it was all the same to the government.

And maybe vomiting his guts after crying himself dry would help settle that undeniable fear in the pit of his stomach. Safe for now but security was just a fantasy.