Everything happened so fast yesterday morning. He was barely dressed when PSF officers came into his room and dragged him out of the house. He heard commotion downstairs and was afraid to check for fear of his power acting up. This was probably worse. His grandparents yelled at them to let him go, his mother wasn't there, probably gone to work already, and when his grandfather lunged at an officer he saw him get decked in the face with the gun, get shot, get knocked down, get beaten, 80% chance of severe injury, 15% chance of death, and 5% chance he won't be injured at all; a headache came, he yelled out, [color=lawngreen]"Don't!"[/color] His grandfather stopped, when he tried again he called out, [color=lawngreen]"Please! You'll die!"[/color] They stood there helplessly, Alki was lead away and thrown in the back of a black armored truck, guns aimed his way. He made sure to do as they said and he didn't speak a word. He spent the night on the floor with many other children at a community center. A lot of them cried, some where really young, and Alki didn't sleep. He spent the night avoiding the truth of who turned him in, because he didn't want to believe his father would do that. Why would he? But he was the only to know about him. He hated it.

The next morning they were loaded on a bus off to somewhere. He curled up on himself in his seat against the window and ignored the kid next to him at all costs. He's not sure what triggers his visions yet, but he knows it has to do with people. Avoid people, avoid a headache. They arrived to Du Pont Camp hours later. More like a prison than any camp he's ever seen. More imprisonment. Just what he needed. Lines of children inside and outside, kids thrown into rooms, and thrown back out with colored Xs on their backs. He's glad he didn't have his leather jacket. The paint would ruin it. Like it mattered. The situation's too dire for thoughts like that. Lightning shot out one of the rooms followed by fire and tortured screaming. A yell to run had the hall in chaos. Alki collapsed on his knees, death, death and more death. Fifty percent chance most kids would die via gunfire, 25% getting beaten if caught, 24% they'd all die, and 1% chance they all make it out alive. Bodies and blood stacked up in his mind's eye. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop! Then the hall quieted down. A man stepped and introduced himself as LTC Anderson, then the kids that caused the problem were beaten.

A PSF officer grabbed him off the floor and shoved him in a room with a man, and instructed to sit on a table with a machine.

"What's your name? Age? Height? Food Allergies?" The man asked one question after another. 

[color=lawngreen]"Alkibiades Alessi. Thirteen."[/color] Alki's head hurt too much to keep up passed his age and the man didn't bother to repeat himself. A green X was painted on his back and he was shoved out the door. He was back in line and led passed more buildings, camps, barbed fences and PSF officers. The numbers scared him. Just how many people were here to keep them prisoner? They eventually stopped outside of cabins, separated into groups based on X color, then assigned to a cabin. He was locked inside with nine other boys. To be around people. Just what he needed. He went to the bunk at the far end to the left, took off his shoes, laid down on the bottom bed, and covered his head with the pillow. If he can make it dark enough and block out noise, maybe he can get rid of his headache.